Beyond the Epiphany Experience

LATELY I’ve been thinking about epiphany experiences.  I’ve written many posts about the subject — here and at my other blog, Satyagraha — sometime in connection with the theories of humanistic psychologist Abraham Maslow.  Maslow placed great emphasis on transcendent experiences (or ‘peak experiences’ as he sometimes called them).  His work is important because it brings these experiences into the realm of ‘respectable,’ empirical science.  Maslow makes no metaphysical claims.  He simply observes that (1) most people have these experiences, (2) the experience of transcendence has many positive and productive psychological effects, (3) it enhances a sense of life’s meaning, and (4) it connects the experiencer with core values (including Truth, Beauty and Goodness).

So on the one hand I applaud Maslow’s efforts. Yet my praise is qualified.  In bringing transcendence into the realm of academic psychology, it was necessary for him to ignore the essential religious aspect of these experiences.  Secular transcendence is a half-step to genuine religious mysticism.  The half-step is good as long as one continues to the next; but it’s a problem if one is content to remain at the secular level.

A secular epiphany proceeds as follows:

1. The experience itself (say, feeling of awe at a glorious sunset)

2. A feeling of calmness, completeness

3. A feeling of gratitude (but to whom?)

A complete, religious epiphany builds on these three:

4. Awareness of the greatness of ones soul such that one is capable of experiencing such a thing; the experience, even more than it reveals outer Nature, reveals one’s inner nature.

5. A recognition that God has made not only this experience, but your own capacity to have and appreciate the experience

6. A feeling of religious devotion; giving thanks and praise to God

Last is what I might call ‘an awareness of charitable duty.’  The purpose of the epiphany is not our enjoyment, but to remind us of who we are: an anamnesis.  When one stands in Nature during such an experience, the culmination is that one sees oneself not simply as a spectator, but a participant in the great, glorious TAO of Nature.  Your beholding the Beauty and Mystery of Nature completes Nature’s telos.  Or actually, it’s telos is completed when you, beholding the spectacle, you assume the role of priest, and on behalf of all living things praise God.

Some may object that this last point opposes the essentially passive nature of an epiphany experience.  True, the experience comes not so much by ones own doing, but by not doing.  But this re-emergence as agent of divine charity transcends the traditional distinction between passive and active: one acts in the world by being perfectly aligned with Nature, God’s plan and God’s will.  One does not ‘do’: one enters the dance.

Thus added to the experience of Nature is an ‘inward turn,’ then an ascent, and finally a descent back into the natural world infused with a sense of divine charity.  This is a basically Augustinian perspective on mental ascent, as, for example, most fully developed in St. Bonaventure and Richard of St. Victor.

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Origen – Allegorical Meaning of the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins

John Melhuish Strudwick, The Ten Virgins (c.1884)

AS an earlier post on the allegorical meaning of Moses defending Jethro’s seven daughters at the well is one of the most-often visited here, I though I’d follow up with another on the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, which, as I mentioned before, seems similar.  We’re guided here by several patristic commentaries on the parables, but of course need not restrict ourselves to the meanings they find.

The parable would have a simple and straightforward interpretation if it concerned only one wise and one foolish virgin.  It would then affirm the ethical principle of ‘keeping ones lamp lit’ by remaining constantly vigilant and attentive to God.  The specific reference to five (and not merely several), however, suggests to several commentators a reference to the senses.

We can parse the parable (shown below) into its main structural elements and their general meanings as follows:

Virgins.  The patristic consensus is that these refer collectively a wise or foolish soul.  However, since all are virgins (including the foolish ones), there is a also tendency to see them more specifically as souls of those who are at least make the effort to follow a religious life.

Bridegroom. The obvious Christian meaning here is Jesus Christ.

Marriage. Spiritual marriage with Jesus, also understood (as implied by verse 1) as attainment of the kingdom of heaven.  Some commentators (e.g., Augustine) take the kingdom here in the most literal sense of attaining heaven in the afterlife, but that opposes meaning implied by Luke 17:21, the kingdom of God is within you. More likely then, the marriage symbolizes the soul’s union with God, a state of being constantly attuned and receptive to God’s Word as it directs and guides our minds.

Lamps. Conscious attention; vigilance.

Oil. That which keeps the lamps lit. Oil suggests grace or Spirit received from God.  However the whole point of the parable is to suggest that effort on our part is required to obtain the oil. What distinguishes the wise from the foolish virgins, according to several patristic commentators, is that the former pursue good works (which might be broadly defined to include not only acts of charity, but prayer, reading of Scripture, meditation, etc.).  Origen mentions sound doctrine as another form of oil that keeps the lamps lit.

Origen in his commentary on Matthew 1:1ff. understands the virgins as symbolizing “powers of perception,” which include for him both the physical senses and spiritual senses. (Origen is considered the father of the doctrine of spiritual senses.) Right use of sensation requires it being directed by the WORD of God. As with Augustine (Sermon 43 = Ben. 73), good works are needed to maintain this connection, i.e., to keep the lamps lit.

In the earlier post on Moses and Jethro’s daughters, I suggested that the story could be interpreted as either (1) describing a state of spiritualized physical perception — such that, quickened by grace and spirit, our physical senses may perceive material objects in a unitive, holy, and transfigured way, or (2) referring to purely spiritual senses, i.e., those which perceive immaterial things. Origen’s commentary of the parable of the virgins — which, it must be admitted, raises more questions than it answers — nevertheless does not seem inconsistent with either interpretation.

Hans Urs von Balthasar’s theological aesthetics (von Balthasar, 1982; McInroy, 2014) appears to affirm a link between Origen, spiritual senses, the virgins parable and transfigured physical perception. (McInroy, p. 159: “Balthasar calls for perception of a form that contains both sensory and ‘supersensory’ aspects (i.e. a material component and a ‘spiritual’ dimension).”

We add at the end a passage from Pseudo-Macarius’ Homily 4, which refers to the parable.  He briefly connects the virgins with the physical senses within a more general discussion of how the mind in its entirely must remain fixed on God and spiritual things, and not lapse into worldly concerns.

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MATTHEW 25:1–13 (KJV)

[1] Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
[2] And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
[3] They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them:
[4] But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.
[5] While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.
[6] And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.
[7] Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps.
[8] And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
[9] But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
[10] And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.
[11] Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us.
[12] But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.
[13] Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.

Origen, Commentary on Matthew 25:1ff. (Latin translation = Klostermann Commentariorum Series 63−64)

“Then the kingdom of heaven shall be compared to ten maidens who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom and the bride. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise” (Mt 25:1−2)….

Not without reason do we say that the powers of perception of all who have come to know divine things, no matter how they have received the WORD of God, “whether by chance or by truth” (cf. Phil 2:18), are “virgins” — made virgins by the WORD of God in which they have believed or wish to believe. For such is the WORD of God that it shares of its purity with all who through its teaching have withdrawn from the service of idols or from the service of the elements of God’s creation (cf. 1 Cor 10:14; Gal 4:3), and have come to the service of God through Jesus Christ even if they have not carried out good works nor prepared themselves for beatitude. But just as, according to the WORD of truth, the individual virtues — which are, in substance, Christ — go together, so that whoever has one has all (for Christ cannot be separated from himself), so too do all the powers of perception go together; and wherever one of these senses has too little of the right teaching of the WORD, there will all the other senses be deceived, as it were, and turned into fools. By powers of perception or senses I mean both those ordinarily understood as such: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, and those which the Book of Proverbs calls divine with the words: “You will find the knowledge of God” (cf. Prov 2:5). But again, the WORD of God is the cause of the right use of the senses, and it is not possible that, . . . someone use certain activities of the senses and neglect others. Thus if the Word has made one of the senses wise, so as to constitute it a virgin, it is necessary for it to pour out its wisdom into the other senses as well. Thus it is not possible that, of the five senses one has, some should be foolish and others prudent; they must rather all be prudent or all wise.

All these senses now take their “lamps” . . . when they accept that the Word of God and the Son of God is the bridegroom of the church; “they go out” from the world and from the errors of many gods and come to meet the Savior who is always ready to come to these virgins so that, with the worthy among them, he might go in to his blessed bride, the church. And after the reception of the WORD, as long as the light of the faithful “shines before men, that they may see their good works and give glory to their Father who is in heaven” (Mt 5:16), they are prudent [maidens], the kind who take along the oil which nourishes the light which is always poured forth in good works, i.e., the WORD of doctrine. They fill the vessels of their souls from this WORD, buying it from the teachers and keepers of the tradition who sell it, as much as is needed, even if their end is late and the WORD coming to their fulfillment is delayed; for they hasten to him to be fulfilled and to be set outside the world. But those who, after becoming Christian, were concerned to receive only enough teaching to last them to the end, … these are “foolish.” They accepted their lamps, which of course were lit at first, but they did not take oil along for such a long journey to go meet the spouse.

“As the bridegroom was delayed, all the maidens slumbered and slept” (Mt 25:5). When the bridegroom delays this way and the WORD does not come quickly to make perfect their life, the senses suffer somewhat while they remain and sleep, so to speak, in the night of the world. For they sleep in that they lose something of their alert vigilance; but those prudent maidens did not lose their lamps nor give up hope of saving their oil. . . .

“But at midnight,” that is, at the high point of that remissness, and at the midpoint between the spent light of evening and the still-awaited light of day, “there was a cry” (Mt 25:6), the cry of angels, I think, wishing to awaken all the slumbering senses and call them to go to meet the bridegroom. Inside the senses of those sleeping they cry out: “Behold the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!” (Mt 25:6). . . . All indeed heard and got up, but not all dressed their lamps in the proper way … and at an inopportune time “the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil’” (Mt 25:8). For although they were foolish, they still understood that they needed to go meet the bridegroom with light, with all the lamps of their senses illuminated. And since this parable was spoken for everyone to hear, Christ added for his disciples the words: “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” (Mt 25:13).
Source: von Balthasar, p. 190f.

Pseudo-Macarius, Homilies 4.6f.

6. Take, for example, the five prudent and vigilant virgins (Mt 25:1 ff.). They enthusiastically had taken in the vessels of their heart the oil of the supernatural grace of the Spirit — a thing not conformable to their nature. For this reason they were able to enter together with the Bridegroom into the heavenly bridal chamber. The other foolish ones, however, content with their own nature, did not watch nor did they betake themselves to receive “the oil of gladness” (Ps 45:7) in their vessels. But still in the flesh, they fell into a deep sleep through negligence, inattentiveness, laziness, and ignorance or even through considering themselves justified. Because of this they were excluded from the bridal chamber of the kingdom because they were unable to please the heavenly Bridegroom. Bound by ties of the world and by earthly love, they did not offer all their love and devotion to the heavenly Spouse nor did they carry with them the oil. But the souls who seek the sanctification of the Spirit, which is a thing that lies beyond natural power, are completely bound with their whole love to the Lord. There they walk; there they pray; there they focus their thoughts, ignoring all other things. For this reason they are considered worthy to receive the oil of divine grace and without any failure they succeed in passing to life for they have been accepted by and found greatly pleasing to the spiritual Bridegroom. But other souls, who remain on the level of their own nature, crawl along the ground with their earthly thoughts. They think only in a human way. Their mind lives only on the earthly level. And still they are convinced in their own thought that they look to the Bridegroom and that they are adorned with the perfections of a carnal justification. But in reality they have not been born of the Spirit from above (Jn 3:3) and have not accepted the oil of gladness.

7. The five rational senses of the soul, if they have received grace from above and the sanctification of the Spirit, truly are the prudent virgins. They have received from above the wisdom of grace. But if they continue depending solely on their own nature, they class themselves with the foolish virgins and show themselves to be children of this world.

Just as the souls who have completely given themselves totally to the Lord have their thoughts there, their prayers directed there, walk there, and are bound there by the desire of the love of God, so, on the contrary, the souls who have given themselves to the love of the world and wish to live completely on this earth walk there, have their thoughts there, and it is there where their minds live (Lk 12:34).

For this reason they are unable to turn themselves over to the kind, prudential guidance of the Spirit. Something that is foreign to our basic nature, I mean, heavenly grace, necessarily demands being joined and drawn into our nature in order that we can enter into the heavenly hridal chamber of the kingdom and obtain eternal salvation.
Source: Maloney, p. 52f.

First draft: 9 Oct 2022

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Bibliography

von Balthasar, Hans Urs. Origen, Spirit and Fire: A Thematic Anthology of His Writings. Tr. Robert J. Daly.  CUA Press, 2001.

von Balthasar, Hans Urs. Glory of the Lord Vol. 1: Seeing The Form. Tr. Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis. T&T Clark, 1982.

Gavrilyuk, Paul L.; Coakley, Sarah. The Spiritual Senses: Perceiving God in Western Christianity. Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Klostermann, Erich. Origenes Werke: Bd. Origenes Matthäuserklärung, II. Die lateinische Übersetzung der Commentariorum series. J. C. Hinrichs, 1933.

MacMullen, R. G. St. Augustine: Sermon 43. In: Ed. Philip Schaff, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 6.,  Buffalo, NY, Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1888. Online (New Advent) version by Kevin Knight.

Maloney, George A. Pseudo-Macarius: The Fifty Spiritual Homilies and the Great Letter. Classics of Western Spirituality. Paulist Press, 1992.

McInroy, Mark. Balthasar on the Spiritual Senses: Perceiving Splendour. OUP, 2014.  [dissertation]

Rahner, Karl. The doctrine of the ‘spiritual senses’ in Origen, Theological Investigations 16.81−103; originally published as Le début d’une doctrine des cinq sens spirituels chez Origene, Revue d’ascétique et de mystique 13, 1932, 113−45.

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Theodore Parker on Immortal Life

AS I’ve said before, I rely on Providence and grace choose my reading, and I’m seldom, if ever, disappointed. The limiting factor is not grace, but my prayer.  I must force myself in dry spells to clear my desk, calm my mind, and pray, “Lord, here I am.  What wouldst thou have me do?”  Yesterday the answer came as the suggestion in a devotional reading that, to keep faith’s fires burning bright, one might to read sermons. As I’ve recently been working on American Transcendentalism, this brought to mind the sermons of Theodore Parker.   Searching the topic quickly brought up a collection at gutenberg.org (providential, since this format is best for my purposes).  A quick look at the Contents revealed his sermon on Immortality, a regular topic here.

The sermon impressed me, and I’d very much encourage anyone with an interest in spirituality to read it.  It’s virtues are several, including: (1) its usefulness at the level of practical personal religion; (2) as an example of a very well-crafted sermon (this must rank among Parker’s best writings); and (3) for what it tells us about American Transcendentalism — its origins, message and relevance today.

Since my goal is to encourage others to read the sermon, I intentionally give only a very short summary such as may help to understand and appreciate its message.

Parker’s main subject concerns evidences of immortality of the human soul, and the possibility of a heavenly existence hereafter. The purpose is not to rationally convince an agnostic of these things.  On the contrary, he argues that logic cannot impart conviction in these matters.

Moreover, he sees a direct connection between an intuitive awareness of the soul’s immortality and of our own nature as spiritual beings.  Eventually he connects the latter with developing a greater sense of social charity.  This last part fits with Parker’s status as a seminal influence on the New England social reform and abolitionist movements.  But he is also a student of William Ellery Channing: social justice is not something apart from, but integrally connected with, our sense as spiritual beings seeking to progress in ‘likeness to God.’

Early on Parker emphasizes that human beings are aware of their immortal souls as a “fact of consciousness.”  We have, he argues, spiritual senses.  Just as we need no rational argument to convince us we possess physical vision — we need merely open our eyes and see — the same is true with spiritual vision.  If we pay sufficient attention, we simply ‘see’ that we already believe in our soul’s immorality.  In fact, we are incapable of doubting it.  Here Parker is showing influences of Kant and Coleridge (both important sources for New England Transcendentalism.)

But then why invoke rational arguments for immortality at all?  If these do not produce our own belief in immortality, they will neither persuade the atheist.  Parker responds that rational arguments here play an indirect, supportive role.  They prepare the mind to receive or recognize its innate knowledge. That is, reasoning (ratiocination, discursive reasoning) activates or improves the faculty of Reason (intuitive noetic apprehension of truths).

This seems very close to what I’ve said elsewhere about the purpose of Plato’s rational arguments for the soul’s immortality.

Parker’s actual arguments for immortality are traditional.  Their precedents can be easily found in Plato and Cicero, but they have been so thoroughly assimilated into Western literature that it would be pointless to try to identify his proximal sources.

He helpfully divides his arguments into three broad categories:  (1) from the general belief of humankind; (2) from the nature of Man; and (3) from the nature of God.

From the General Consensus

Parker notes that the belief in immortality exists in virtually all cultures throughout history.  He also argues that it is innate, and universal amongst individuals.  Moreover, it is most emphasized by our greatest philosophers and religious teachers.  Insofar at these geniuses are also the most ‘representative men’ (a principle Emerson alludes to often, e.g., in his essay ‘The Poet‘), this is added evidence of the universality of the belief.

From the Nature of Man

Here is a constellation of arguments that are again traditional.  Human beings have unlimited intellectual, aesthetic, moral and spiritual potentials.  In biological nature, all things are designed to reach a point of maximum maturity: an acorn becomes a fully grown oak tree.  Nature seems designed to promote the achievement of an organism’s telos.  How, then, could it be that no provision would be made for human beings to achieve their highest potentials?  For this Eternity and immortality are needed.

Again, we have an innate sense of moral justice.  This world is anything but consistently morally just.  How could the wrongs of the present world ever be set right?  What compensation could be made to the unfairly oppressed?  For those cheated out of their moral birthright by being born into perpetual poverty or even slavery?  The human soul objects to this. Our innate moral sense insists that (1) there is a God, (2) God is all Good, Powerful, Wise and Just; but (3)  a Good, Powerful, Wise and Just God would now allow people to unfairly suffer in this world without some compensation in the next.

We must note carefully how Parker invokes this argument.  He is not making demands on God.  Rather, he is appealing to our sense of what we deeply and instinctively believe.

From the Nature of God

The preceding lead to more arguments. Why would an all Good, Powerful and Loving God not make the human soul immortal?  And why would God design human beings with these beliefs (in immortality, perfect Justice, etc.) if they did not correspond to the true nature of the Universe?  God does not lie, nor would he build the human soul on a foundation of false beliefs.

The above suffices to convey a general idea of Parker’s arguments.  There is not much terribly new here, but he does organize the material ably and effectively.

In the process, he introduces certain characteristically Transcendentalist themes. One is his emphasis on the role of “innate facts of consciousness.”  Transcendentalists rejected authority and doctrine as the primary basis for religion, in favor of direct personal experience.

Also, like the Unitarians (Parker’s direct heritage via William Ellery Channing) and Universalists, Parker insists that all human souls will eventually be saved.  Here and elsewhere he flatly and vehemently rejects the Calvinist doctrines of ‘innate depravity,’ predestination, and eternal damnation of the wicked.

This liberating step widens ones perspective on social charity.  We can no longer blame the poor, the oppressed, or even the criminal for their actions, nor stand by as mere passive witnesses of their suffering.  Immortality is their destiny and right as well as ours.  Hence in the end — and to me this is the most original part of the sermon — Parker leverages all this discussion into an exhortation to be actively concerned with helping the oppressed.

But, — and this is vitally important — social charity flows from and must be integrally connected with spirituality.  We must remain conscious that our motivation is to advance others spiritually.  Material progress is mostly a means to that end.  Hence — as is sadly too often the case today — when an over-dominating concern for increasing the material circumstances of the poor reaches the extent that it obscures or even works contrary to our concern for their spiritual welfare, there is a problem.

A growing sense of our sense of immortality is integral to all this. We begin our immortal life in this one as we grown in holiness and virtue; and social virtue is integral to this.

I am struck with how similar this is to the integralism of Augustinian ethics — as, say, reflected so strongly in the writings of the Victorines.  There is a very strong element of anti-Catholicism in Transcendentalist writings.  Doubtless they inherited this prejudice from their English Puritan and Protestant ancestors.  It seems to have never occurred to them to give St. Augustine a charitable re-reading.  Several Transcentalists, in fact, converted to Roman Catholicism (Orestes Brownson and Rose Hawthorne, for example).

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Reference

Parker, Theodore. A Sermon of Immortal Life (1846). In: Theodore Parker, Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons in Three Volumes, Vol. 2, Boston: 1855 (repr. 1867); pp. 105−138.

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Today’s Need for Inspired Literature

Simone Cantarini, Saint Matthew and the Angel, Italian, 1612 – 1648, c. 1645/1648, oil on canvas.

IN ONE of his more famous writings, William Ellery Channing addressed the topic of developing a uniquely American intellectual tradition. His message is important today in several respects.  One of his chief concerns was to counter the growing tide of materialism in Europe and America.  This, he believed, could only end in, at the individual level, unhappiness, and, at the collective level, dehumanizing institutions and dysfunctional government. Sound literature, he maintains, is founded on genius, which is itself activated when our hearts and minds are aligned with our moral and spiritual nature.  Genius does not manifest itself in a vacuum, however: inspired writers write inspiredly when there is an audience capable of receiving an inspired message.  Hence our first need is to morally prepare the public.  This, Chandler, argues, is the proper role of religion.  But religion itself must be of a higher quality.  Instead of religion based on formality, authority, dogma or superstition, we need one based on personal spiritual experience and authentic moral consciousness.

New inspired literature must address different topics and meet different challenges from that of the past. Society has already assimilated the insights of past genius. What is the most promising need for new creativity? Channing answers: a spiritualized transformation of society, the social experiment yet untried.

Are we asked then to what impulse or power we look for a higher literature than has yet existed? We answer, to a new action or developement of the religious principle. This remark will probably surprise not a few of our readers. It seems to us, that the energy with which this principle is to act on the intellect, is hardly— suspected. Men identify religion with superstition, with fanaticism, with the common forms of Christianity; and seeing it arrayed against intellect, leagued with oppression, fettering inquiry, and incapable of being blended with the sacred dictates of reason and conscience, they see in its progress only new encroachments on free and enlightened thinking. Still, man’s relation to God is the great quickening truth, throwing all other truths into insignificance, and a truth which, however obscured and paralysed by the many errors which ignorance and fraud have hitherto linked with it, has ever been a chief spring of human improvement. We look to it as the true life of the intellect. No man can be just to himself, can comprehend his own existence, can put forth all his powers with an heroic confidence, can deserve to be the guide and inspirer of other minds, till he has risen to communion with the Supreme Mind; till he feels his filial connexion with the Universal Parent; till he regards himself as the recipient and minister of the Infinite Spirit; till he feels his consecration to the ends which religion unfolds; till he rises above human opinion, and is moved by a higher impulse than fame.

From these remarks it will be seen, that our chief hopes of an improved literature, rest on our hopes of an improved religion. From the prevalent theology, which has come down to us from the dark ages, we hope nothing. It has done its best. All that can grow up under its sad shade, has already been brought forth. It wraps the Divine nature and human nature in impenetrable gloom. It overlays Christianity with technical, arbitrary dogmas. True faith is of another lineage. It comes from the same source with reason, conscience, and our best affections, and is in harmony with them all. True faith is essentially a moral conviction; a confidence in the reality and immutableness of moral distinctions; a confidence in disinterested virtue or in spiritual excellence as the supreme good; a confidence in God as its fountain and almighty friend, and in Jesus Christ as having lived and died to breathe it into the soul; a confidence in its power, triumphs, and immortality; a confidence, through which outward changes, obstructions, disasters, sufferings, are overcome, or rather made instruments of perfection. Such a faith, unfolded freely and powerfully, must ‘work mightily’ on the intellect as well as on practice. By revealing to us the supreme purpose of the Creator, it places us, as it were, in the centre of the universe, from which the harmonies, true relations, and brightest aspects of things are discerned. It unites calmness and enthusiasm, and the concord of these seemingly hostile elements is essential to the full and healthy action of the creative powers of the soul. It opens the eye to beauty and the heart to love. Literature, under this influence, will become more ingenuous and single-hearted; will penetrate further into the soul; will find new interpretations of nature and life; will breathe a martyr’s love of truth, tempered with a never-failing charity; and, whilst sympathizing will all human suffering, will still be pervaded by a healthful cheerfulness, and will often break forth in tones of irrepressible joy, responsive to that happiness which fills God’s universe.

We may note how closely Channing’s ideas correspond with those of Sorokin in the 20th century, as discussed in a previous article. One writes with alarm as he sees the beginning of a radically materialistic American culture, and fears where it will lead; the other, in the aftermath of two world wars, the development of nuclear weapons, and growing modern alienation and dehumanization sees its consequences. Both recognized the role of the supraconscious in literary genius, the need for Idealism to combat modern materialism, the role of religion in promoting cultural transformation, and the need to reform religions themselves.

References

Channing, William Ellery. Remarks on National Literature. The Works of William E. Channing. D. D.. 6 vols. (Boston: James Munroe, 1841−43), 1:243−280.

Channing, William Ellery. Remarks on National Literature. In: ed. David Robinson, William Ellery Channing: Selected Writings, (Sources on American Spirituality), Paulist Press, 1985; pp. 166−193.

Uebersax, John.  Pitirim Sorokin: The Role of Religion in the Altruistic Transformation of Society.  Satyagraha (weblog). 19 Apr 2022. satyagraha.wordpress.com/2022/04/19/religion-cultural-transformation/

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Thomas Browne − Soul Illimitable

 

Frontspiece, Religio Medici (1642)

THIS Neoplatonism-themed passage from the Religio Medici of Sir Thomas Browne (1605–1682) caught my attention unexpectedly while researching another topic.  Especially as it relates to the subject of the greatness of the human soul — a topic of much interest to me — I thought I should share it.

Now for my life, it is a miracle of thirty years, which to relate, were not a history, but a piece of poetry, and would sound to common ears like a fable. For the world, I count it not an inn, but a hospital; and a place not to live, but to die in. The world that I regard is myself; it is the microcosm of my own frame that I cast mine eye on: for the other, I use it but like my globe, and turn it round sometimes for my recreation. Men that look upon my outside, perusing only my condition and fortunes, do err in my altitude; for I am above Atlas’s shoulders. The earth is a point not only in respect of the heavens above us, but of that heavenly and celestial part within us. That mass of flesh that circumscribes me limits not my mind. That surface that tells the heavens it hath an end cannot persuade me I have any. I take my circle to be about three hundred and sixty. Though the number of the ark do measure my body, it comprehendeth not my mind. Whilst I study to find how I am a microcosm, or little world, I find myself something more than the great. There is surely a piece of divinity in us; something that was before the elements, and owes no homage unto the sun. Nature tells me, I am the image of God, as well as Scripture. He that understands not thus much hath not his introduction or first lesson, and is yet to begin the alphabet of man. Let me not injure the felicity of others, if I say I am as happy as any. Ruat cœlum, fiat voluntas tua, salveth all; so that, whatsoever happens, it is but what our daily prayers desire. In brief, I am content; and what should providence add more? Surely this is it we call happiness, and this do I enjoy; with this I am happy in a dream, and as content to enjoy a happiness in a fancy, as others in a more apparent truth and reality. There is surely a nearer apprehension of anything that delights us in our dreams, than in our waked senses. Without this I were unhappy; for my awaked judgment discontents me, ever whispering unto me that I am from my friend, but my friendly dreams in the night requite me, and make me think I am within his arms. I thank God for my happy dreams, as I do for my good rest; for there is a satisfaction in them unto reasonable desires, and such as can be content with a fit of happiness. And surely it is not a melancholy conceit to think we are all asleep in this world, and that the conceits of this life are as mere dreams, to those of the next, as the phantasms of the night, to the conceit of the day. There is an equal delusion in both; and the one doth but seem to be the emblem or picture of the other. We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps; and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps. At my nativity, my ascendant was the earthly sign of Scorpio. I was born in the planetary hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece of that leaden planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor disposed for the mirth and galliardise of company; yet in one dream I can compose a whole comedy, behold the action, apprehend the jests, and laugh myself awake at the conceits thereof. Were my memory as faithful as my reason is then fruitful, I would never study but in my dreams, and this time also would I choose for my devotions: but our grosser memories have then so little hold of our abstracted understandings, that they forget the story, and can only relate to our awaked souls a confused and broken tale of that which hath passed. Aristotle, who hath written a singular tract of sleep, hath not methinks thoroughly defined it; nor yet Galen, though he seems to have corrected it; for those noctambulos and night-walkers, though in their sleep, do yet enjoy the action of their senses. We must therefore say that there is something in us that is not in the jurisdiction of Morpheus; and that those abstracted and ecstatick souls do walk about in their own corpses, as spirits with the bodies they assume, wherein they seem to hear, see, and feel though indeed the organs are destitute of sense, and their natures of those faculties that should inform them. Thus it is observed, that men sometimes, upon the hour of their departure, do speak and reason above themselves. For then the soul begins to be freed from the ligaments of the body, begins to reason like herself, and to discourse in a strain above mortality.

Source: Henry Craik, ed.  English Prose. Vol. II. Sixteenth Century to the Restoration. Sir Thomas Browne: The Soul Illimitable. 1916.

Reference

Browne, Sir Thomas. Religio Medici. London, 1682.

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Philo and the Liber Mundi

(Not Philo, but maybe he looked like this!)

LAST week I felt inspired to look at Philo’s On Dreams again.  The Introduction in Colson & Whitaker’s translation didn’t turn up much of new interest, until I got to their summary of Philo’s interpretation of Jacob’s ladder dream.

Philo pays particular attention to Jacob’s statement, “this is a gate of heaven” (Gen. 28:17).  Here Philo sees a reference to how the sensory world is a ‘gate’ to the Ideal world — every material thing being an image or shadow of a corresponding eternal Idea.  To me it seems Philo isn’t making so much a technical metaphysical point as a practical, psychological and experiential one: in the proper frame of mine, we can ascend from material things to catch sight of Eternal Beauty, or of objects belonging to that realm.

There are obviously Platonic overtones here — implicit references to the ascent to God from contemplation of beautiful things in Symposium 201–212, parts of the Timaeus, and the ‘pure world’ myth of Phaedo 107c–115a.  But in another sense it comes across (at least to me) as reminiscent of Neoplatonism — not just Plotinus, but of the characteristically Renaissance Neoplatonism idea that the world is a Book of God, a mirror or gateway into a corresponding universe of eternal, perfect Forms. One proceeds, say, from seeing an actual beautiful flower to somehow intuiting or contemplating a truth that the object not only instantiates, but one which the object is intended to convey to us for some didactic purpose.

IF that corresponds to Philo’s intentions it seems worth mentioning, because then it means that Philo is expressing this typically Neoplatonist idea two centuries before Plotinus.

Or perhaps I’m reading too much into the passage.  This general subject has been on my mind lately as I’ve recently collected and placed online quotations from American Transcendentalists and others about the transcendent beauty and meaning of flowers, illustrated with my photos  (Visit the new website Florigelium here).

Genesis 28

[10] And Jacob went out from Beer-sheba, and went toward Haran.

[11] And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep.

[12] And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it.

[13] And, behold, the LORD stood above it, and said, I am the LORD God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac: the land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed;?

[14] And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread abroad to the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south: and in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed.

[15] And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of.

[16] And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the LORD is in this place; and I knew it not.

[17] And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.

Philo, On Dreams 1 (De Somniis 1)

XXXII. [184]
Rightly, therefore, was he afraid and said in an awestruck tone, “How dreadful is this place” (Gen. 28:17). For indeed most difficult of the “places” in the study of nature’s verities is that in which men inquire as to where, and whether at all in any thing the Existent Being is. Some say that everything that subsists occupies some space, and of these one allots to the Existent One this space, another that, whether inside the world or a space outside it in the interval between worlds. Others maintain that the Unoriginate resembles nothing among created things, but so completely transcends them, that even the swiftest understanding falls far short of apprehending Him and acknowledges its failure.

[185]
Wherefore he straightway cried aloud “This is not” (ibid. 17); this that I supposed, “that the Lord is in some place” (ibid. 16), is not so; for according to the true reckoning He contains, but is not contained. But this that we can point out and see, this world discerned by sense, is, as I now know, nothing but a house of “God,” that is, of one of the Potencies of the Existent, that is, the Potency which expresses His goodness.

[Note:  Yonge translates this paragraph in a somewhat less difficult way as: “wherefore (Jacob) speedily cries out, This is not what I expected, because the Lord is in the place”; for he surrounds everything, but in truth and reason he is not surrounded by anything. And this thing which is demonstrated and visible, this world perceptible by the outward senses, is nothing else but the house of God, the abode of one of the powers of the true God, in accordance with which he is good;”]

[186]
The world which he named a “house,” he also described as “gate of” the real “heaven” (ibid. 17). Now what is this? The world which only intellect can perceive, framed from the eternal forms in Him [Note: Perhaps meaning the Logos] Who was appointed in accordance with Divine bounties, cannot be apprehended otherwise than by passing on to it from this world which we see and perceive by our senses.

[187]
For neither indeed is it possible to get an idea of any other incorporeal thing among existences except by making material objects our starting-point. The conception of place was gained when they were at rest: that of time from their motion, and points and lines and superficies, in a word extremities from the robe-like exterior which covers them.

[188]
Correspondingly, then, the conception of the intelligible world was gained from the one which our senses perceive: it is therefore a kind of gate into the former. For as those who desire to see our cities go in through gates, so all who wish to apprehend the unseen world are introduced to it by receiving the impression of the visible world. The world whose substance is discernible only by intellect apart from any sight whatever of shapes or figures, but only by means of the archetypal eternal form present in the world which was fashioned in accordance with the image beheld by him with no intervening shadow, — that world shall change its title, when all its walls and every gate has been removed and men may not catch sight of it from some outside point, but behold the unchanging beauty, as it actually is, and that sight no words can tell or express.

p.s. This passage connects with an earlier one in On Dreams about which I wrote previously.

Reference

Colson, F.H.; Whitaker, G. H.  On Dreams.  In: Philo in Ten Volumes, Vol. 5. Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, MA, 1938.

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Pitirim Sorokin: Techniques for the Altruistic Transformation of Individuals and Society

I just posted this at Satyagraha, my cultural psychology blog, but it’s relevant here also, especially since it considers prayer and contemplation (among other things) as practical and scientific means to effect moral and spiritual transformation.  The key ingredients for the individual and social changes most needed today, Sorokin argues persuasively, are agape love and techniques that help subordinate egoistic modes of thought to what he called the supraconscious. He based his conclusions on detailed studies of cultural history, the lives of great reformers like St. Francis, St. Teresa of Avila and Gandhi, and the ascetical-mystical traditions of East and West.

Satyagraha

OUR earlier article about Pitirim Sorokin (Culture in Crisis) explained the crises of modern culture as he understood them.  Especially in the wake of the Covid pandemic, it’s evident that, since that article was written (over a decade ago), crises have multiplied and intensified.  It’s appropriate, then, that we now direct attention more closely to the solutions Sorokin proposed.  Whereas in the past cultural transitions have occurred at the whim of chance and Fate, we must now, he argued, think in terms of intentional change, of active steps to produce an Idealistic culture.  This would involve a simultaneous transformation of individuals and society, but with the former as more primary.

Under the rubric of “Idealism” Sorokin understood the broad Platonic view of the unity of the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. Inseparable from these, he believed, is the principle of Love.  For personal and social transformation…

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Communing With Animals as a Spiritual Exercise

Francis Preaching to the Birds, Giotto (1299)

HERE is a spiritual or contemplative exercise that’s served me well. The source is Anthony de Mello’s book, Sadhana: A Way To God. De Mello presents the exercise as applicable even to inanimate objects (e.g., a coffee mug), but personally I’ve found it more rewarding when applied to animals and plants (or, possibly, astronomical objects). The text below borrows freely from De Mello’s description (Awareness Exercise 14):

This exercise will help you to develop an attitude of reverence and respect for all animate creation, for all the living things. Some of the great mystics tell us that when they reach the stage of illumination they become mysteriously filled with a sense of deep reverence. Reverence for God, reverence for life in all its forms, reverence for inanimate creation too. And they tend to personalize the whole of creation.

Francis of Assisi was one such mystic. He recognized in the sun, the moon, the stars, the trees, the birds, the animals, his brothers and sisters. They were members of his family and he would talk to them lovingly. Saint Anthony of Padua went sor far as to preach a sermon to fish! Very foolish, of course, from our rationalist point of view. Profoundly wise and personalizing and sanctifying from the mystical point of view.

For this you will have to temporarily put aside your adult prejudices and become like a little child. If you become a little child, at least temporarily, you might discover a kingdom of heaven — and learn secrets that God ordinarily hides from the wise and prudent.

Choose some animal or plant you happen to encounter on a walk or in daily activities. Let your gaze rest on it. . . . Become as fully aware of it as possible. Visually explore its shape, color, texture, its various parts. See every possible detail in it. Hear it. Notice its smell, if possible.

Now, with the creature in front of you, mentally speak to it . . . Begin by asking it questions about itself . . . its life, its origins, its future . . . And listen while it unfolds to you the secret of its being and of its destiny . . . Listen while it explains to you what existence means to it . . .

The creature has some hidden wisdom to reveal to you about yourself . . . Ask for this and listen to what it has to say . . . There is something that you can give creature . . . What is it? What does it want from you? . . .

Now place yourself and this creature in the presence of Jesus Christ, the Word of God, in whom and for whom everything was made. Listen to what he has to say to you and to the creature . . What do the two of you say in response? . . .

Now look at your creature once more . . . Has your attitude toward it changed? . . . Is there any change in your attitude toward the objects around you . . .

❧

Reference

De Mello, Anthony. Sadhana: A Way To God. Christian Exercises in Eastern Form. New York: Doubleday, 1984; pp. 53−56.

 

Allegorical Meaning of the High Priest’s Clothing

Furtmeyr Bible

EXODUS is a great presentation of the timeless philosophy, an inspired and extremely relevant allegory for the journey of the soul to God and to authentic human life. Within the larger narrative the story of the Tabernacal in the desert recapitulates and elaborates many of the central themes. Amongst all commentators of Exodus, Philo of Alexandria stands pre-eminent in psychological and mystical insight. Here he addresses the meaning of the High Priest’s clothing.  The High Priest symbolizes our interior person as it enters truer states of consciousness.  First comes a state of the Sacred Union of sensory and spiritual realms, the ethical summum bonum: living in the world restored to its true, miraculous condition.  We need not, like strict ascetics, deny the pleasures of the sensory world.  Rather, so long as we keep spiritual concerns foremost in our minds the sensory realm becomes divinized.

If again you examine the High Priest the Logos, you will find … his holy vesture to have a variegated beauty derived from powers belonging some to the realm of pure intellect, some to that of sense-perception. … On the head, then, there is “a plate of pure gold, bearing as an engraving of a signet, ‘a holy thing to the Lord'” (Ex. xxviii. 32); and at the feet on the end of the skirt, bells and flower patterns (Ex. xxviii. 29 f.). The signet spoken of is the original principle behind all principles, after which God shaped or formed the universe, incorporeal, we know, and discerned by the intellect alone; whereas the flower patterns and bells are symbols of qualities recognized by the senses and tested by sight and hearing. And [Moses] has well weighed his words when he adds: “His sound shall be audible when he is about to enter into the Holy Place” (Ex. xxviii. 31), to the end that when the soul is about to enter the truly holy place, the divine place which only mind can apprehend, the senses also may be aided to join in the hymn with their best, and that our whole composite being, like a full choir all in tune, may chant together one harmonious strain rising from varied voices blending one with another; the thoughts of the mind inspiring the keynotes — for the leaders of this choir are the truths perceived by mind alone — while the objects of sense-perception, which resemble the individual members of the choir, chime in with their accordant tuneful notes.
~ Philo, Migration of Abraham 100−104 (tr. Colson & Whitaker)

Integral to this experience is maintenance of a continuous attitude of thanks and praise to God.

The fire on the altar, [Moses] tells us, will burn continuously and not be extinguished (Lev. vi. 13). That, I think, is natural and fitting, for since the gracious gifts of God granted daily and nightly to men are perennial, unfailing and unceasing, the symbol of thankfulness also, the sacred flame, should be kept alight and remain unextinguished for ever.
~ Philo, Special Laws 1.284 f. (tr. Colson)

Beyond this level of consciousness is entrance into the Holy of Holies — which we understand as pure contemplation, completely detached from sensory concerns.

There is an amazing amount of material from Philo about the allegorical meaning of Exodus, barely explored by modern readers.

❧

Reference

F. H. Colson; G. H. Whitaker; Ralph Marcus (eds.). The Works of Philo. 12 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Harvard University Press, 1929−1953.

Christian Platonism as Spirituality


Art: Fyodor Bronnikov, Pythagoreans Celebrate Sunrise, 1869.

FOR some time I’ve hesitated to address the question, ‘What is Christian Platonism?’, believing this is something too important to treat lightly.  Just when it seemed I could delay no longer, W. R. Inge’s book, The Platonic Tradition in English Religious Thought (Hulsean Lectures, 1925−1926), became available online. As Inge’s definition and understanding of Christian Platonism, it turns out, corresponds closely to my own, and also has the imprimatur of a respected authority, let this suffice as a working definition for now.

As Inge explains in the first lecture, the key features of Christian Platonism might be summarized as follows:

• Christian Platonism is, first and foremost, a form of personal spirituality. It is not the abstract application of Platonic philosophy by Christian theologians (whom we might rather call Platonizing Christians).  It is, as Inge puts it, a religion of the spirit.  As such, it is based on personal religious experience, and, for that reason, not infrequently poses a challenge to dogmatic, authoritarian religion.

• This form of spirituality is very much — if not almost exactly — what St. Paul described as spiritual mindedness. As such, Christian Platonism is concerned with achieving a certain higher level of consciousness or awareness opposed to, or at least different from, our usual concerns for material and worldly things (carnal-mindedness).

• A religion of the spirit is the perennial philosophy, although this has evolved over time. It was the basis of Christ’s original teachings, which sought more to spiritually liberate individuals than to establish church hierarchies and dogmas.

• In each age there have been specific obstacles opposing the emergence of spiritual Christianity. Despite this, there have been periodic flowerings of it at opportune moments of history. Hopefully now is such a time.

Below are excerpts from this lecture, along with a few comments.

Religion of the Spirit

He begins by stating the axial age hypothesis: that during the 1st millennia before Christ, certain social and/or environmental changes led to the emergence of a different form of religion across Asia and the Mediterranean:

The study of comparative religion has revealed the remarkable fact that a new spiritual enlightenment, quite unique in character, came to all the civilised peoples of the earth in the millennium before the Christian era. The change was felt first in Asia, but the same breath passed over Greece and South Italy in the sixth and fifth centuries B.C. … The essence of the new movement was the recognition of an unseen world of unchanging reality behind the flux of phenomena, a spiritual universe compared with which the world of appearance grew pale and unsubstantial and became only a symbol or even an illusion.

With this new outlook upon life came the conception of salvation as deliverance…. The chief aim … should be to escape from the ‘weary wheel’ of earthly existence, and to find rest in the bosom of the Eternal. The way to this deliverance is by the observance of discipline, which whether ascetic, in the ordinary sense of the word, or not, involves a renunciation of the world of surface experience. (pp. 7−8)

Inge tends to characterize this new spiritual religion in dualistic, world-denying terms. What this excludes (but should not) is the possibility that more integrated forms of spirituality — i.e., harmonious combination of concerns for this and the Eternal world — existed at this time.  Ancient myths could be interpreted as reflecting such integral spirituality. Further, to assume no ‘religion of the spirit’ existed before the 1st millennium BC seems rather arbitrary.  However neither of these points are crucial to his main argument.

Plato, according to Inge, inherited this newly coalescing spirituality from earlier philosophers, organizing and presenting it more clearly than ever before:

[I]t is in Plato, the disciple of the Pythagoreans as well as of Socrates … that this conception of an unseen eternal world, of which the visible world is only a pale copy, gains a permanent foothold in the West. What (he asked) if man had eyes to see that pure Beauty, unalloyed with the stains of material existence, would he not hasten to travel thither, happy as a captive released from the prison-house? Such was the call, which, once heard, has never long been forgotten in Europe. It was revived with an even more poignant longing in the New Platonism of the Roman Empire, from which it passed into the theology and philosophy of the Christian Church. (pp. 9−10)

Christian Platonism

He then proceeds to discuss how Platonism passed into Christianity.  Jesus Christ, while not, that we know of, aware of Platonism, nevertheless sought to teach the perennial spiritual religion, and in an improved form:

A Christian will be disposed to find, in this independent growth of spiritual religion, which began to influence the Jews of the Dispersion not later than the second century before Christ, a divinely ordered preparation for the supreme revelation in the Gospel. For although we cannot trace any foreign influence, either Western or Oriental, upon the recorded teaching of Christ, which seems rather to point back to the highest flights of Jewish prophecy, it is unquestionable that most of the canonical books of the New Testament, especially the epistles of St. Paul and the Johannine group, do not belong to the Palestinian tradition. (p. 10)

Christ was primarily concerned with awakening into activity the consciousness of God in the individual soul; His parting promise was that this consciousness should be an abiding possession of those who followed in His steps … . The path of life, as He showed it by precept and example, was superior to anything that either Greeks or Indians traced out; but the conception of salvation is essentially the same — a growth in the power of spiritual communion by a consecrated life of renunciation and discipline. (p. 19)

It might be mentioned here that Jesus Christ, who likely knew Greek, may indeed have known something about Greek philosophy. At the very least (and this is not inconsistent with what Inge says above), the Jewish prophetic tradition and Plato’s writings may have had certain influences in common.

As distinct from the ‘original teachings’ of Christ, Inge allows for Platonic influence of the written Gospels, especially John’s.  He passes over this rather briefly, however, seeing a much clearer connection to Platonism in St. Paul’s writings:

We are on surer ground when we look for a Platonic element in St. Paul’s theology than when we discuss possible borrowings from the mystery-cults.

The whole doctrine of the Spirit in his epistles corresponds closely to the Platonic Νους. The equation was made by some of the Greek Fathers; and the associations of the two words are so similar that I have thought ‘Spirit ’ less misleading than any other English word in translating the Νους of Plotinus. The words, ‘The things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal,’ [2 Cor 4:18] are pure Platonism; and this is not an isolated instance. In Rom. i. 20 ‘the invisible things’ (νοούμενα) are understood through the things that are made, and 1 Cor. xiii. 12 [‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’] reminds us of Plato’s parable of the cave. The immateriality of Spirit was perhaps not quite clearly asserted by any writer before Plotinus. …

Other examples may be given of St. Paul’s affinity with Plato. The use of νους in Rom. vii. 23 (‘I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind’) is Platonic. … In 2 Cor. iii. 18 we read ‘we all, reflecting as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image.’ Col. iii. 1, ‘If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above,’ reminds us of Plato’s exhortation to ‘cleave ever to the upward path and follow after righteousness and wisdom.’ [Rep. 10.621c]. We must turn away from material things, for ‘flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God.’ … They share the tripartite psychology which divides human nature into νους (or πνεύμα in Christian theology), ψυχή and σώμα. ‘The earthly house of our tabernacle in which we groan’ is very un-Jewish, and very like the σώμα σημα of Orphism. Lastly, in the Phaedrus as in i Corinthians, love is the great hierophant of the divine mysteries, which forms the link between divinity and humanity. (pp. 11−13).

Much more could be said here concerning the connection of St. Paul and Platonism and many more verses cited.  Especially emblematic is Rom. 12:2, And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind [νοῦς], that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. Curiously, whereas Stoic influences on St. Paul have elicited considerable interest lately, any Platonic elements to his writings — which are arguably even more salient and important — have received little attention.

Inge describes how each historical epoch of Church history has presented special obstacles to the wide acceptance of spiritual Christianity, treating in succession the early centuries, Dark Ages, Middle Ages, Reformation and post-Reformation periods.

My point is that the religion of the Spirit, that autonomous faith which rests upon experience and individual inspiration, has seldom had much of a chance in the world since the Christian revelation, in which it received its full and final credentials. … [T]he luck of history, we may say, has hitherto been unfavourable to what I, at least, hold to be the growth of the divine seed. It has either fallen on the rock or by the wayside, or the thorns have grown up with it and choked it. (pp. 27,  29).

In the early centuries, both Eastern and Western Christianity suffered from excessive institutionalization, theocracy, and what he terms “caesaropapism”:

The religion of the Spirit has not fared much better in the West [than Buddhism in the East]. Scarcely had the persecutions ceased when the Church began to develop into the centralised autocracy which had become the type of civil government. Caesaropapism — the Byzantine type of state, which till lately survived in Russia, established itself in the East and produced a deadly stagnation in religious as well as secular life. In the West there was, in theory at least, a dual control; but the theocracy proved too strong for the Empire, which was rather an idea than a fact; and a fierce intolerance, which may be regarded as mainly Jewish in origin, but was strengthened by the Roman theory of rebellion against an Empire de iure universal, quenched or drove underground the free activities of religious thought. (p. 15)

In the Dark Ages, the loss of Greek learning in the West made it necessary to “bind the fetters of Church authority” on the masses.  Later, with the Middle Ages came the stranglehold of scholasticism and dogmatism.

Inge’s comments on the Reformation are especially interesting:

[T]he Reformation checked the progress of the religion of the Spirit. This was not the fault of the Reformers, but the inevitable result of the civil war which disrupted and distracted Christendom. In time of war the prophet and seer are not wanted. Effective partisan cries have to be devised, which will appeal to and be understood by the masses. If one side appeals to ancient and sacrosanct authority, the other side has to find a rival authority equally august and compelling.

… In the long and bitter struggle which was to decide which parts of Europe were to be Catholic and which Protestant, both sides were narrowed and hardened. The Roman Church was never again Catholic, and the Protestant Churches forgot the principles which justified their independent existence. The gains of the Renaissance were, within the religious domain, almost entirely lost. … Two religions of authority confronted each other, and real Christianity was once more driven underground. (pp. 23−24)

Inge sees both Catholicism and Protestantism as never having recovered from a descent into exaggerated dogmatism during the Reformation.  Among other things, this has left both camps ill-equipped to adapt to modern scientific discoveries.

Nevertheless, “The religion of the Spirit has an intrinsic survival value, and there have continually been “rare flowering-times of the human spirit which come and pass unaccountably, like the wind which bloweth where it listeth”:

We find it explicitly formulated by Clement and Origen, and we may appeal to one side of that strangely divided genius, Augustine. It lives on in the mystics, especially in the German medieval school, of which Eckhart is the greatest name. We find it again, with a new and exuberant life, in many of the Renaissance writers, so much so that our subject might almost as well be called the Renaissance tradition. Our own Renaissance poetry is steeped in Platonic thoughts. Later, during the civil troubles of the seventeenth century, it appears in a very pure and attractive form in the little group of Cambridge Platonists, Whichcote, Smith, Cudworth, and their friends. In the unmystical eighteenth century Jacob Bohme takes captive the manly and robust intellect of William Law, and inspires him to write some of the finest religious treatises in the English language. … The tradition has never been extinct; or we may say more truly that the fire which, in the words of Eunapius, ‘still burns on the altars of Plotinus,’ has a perennial power of rekindling itself when the conditions are favourable. (p. 28)

Whether these rare flowering-times are, as Inge suggests, unpredictable, or are connected with scientifically understandable socio-economic or evolutionary factors is unclear. The sociologist, Pitirim Sorokin, for example, saw in human cultural history a cyclical alternation of Idealism, materialism, rationalism and integralism that follows more or less lawful principles.

In a very helpful passage, Inge lists what he considers the essential features of Christian Platonism:

My contention is that besides the combative Catholic and Protestant elements in the Churches, there has always been a third element, with very honourable traditions, which came to life again at the Renaissance, but really reaches back to the Greek Fathers, to St. Paul and St. John, and further back still. The characteristics of this type of Christianity are

— a spiritual religion, based on a firm belief in absolute and eternal values as the most real things in the universe;

— a confidence that these values are knowable by man;

— a belief that they can nevertheless be known only by whole-hearted consecration of the intellect, will, and affections to the great quest;

— an entirely open mind towards the discoveries of science;

— a reverent and receptive attitude to the beauty, sublimity, and wisdom of the creation, as a revelation of the mind and character of the Creator;

— a complete indifference to the current valuations of the worldling. (p. 33)

See also Inge (1899, p. 79).  This is a good starting point, but we could easily expand it.  Christian Platonists also have a strong interest in understanding Goodness itself and in gaining the beatific vision. The are often perennialist in their interest in ancient traditions, and latitudinarian towards other religions and Christian denominations.  In terms of actual ascetical practices, Christian Platonists typically understand the cardinal virtues and contemplative practices as essential.  Many follow Philo in interpreting the Old Testament in allegorical terms corresponding to Platonic ethics and psychology.

He then adds:

The Christian element is supplied mainly by the identification of the inner light with the Spirit of the living, glorified, and indwelling Christ. This was the heart of St. Paul’s religion, and it has been the life-blood of personal devotion in all branches of the Christian Church to this day. (pp. 33−34)

Far more could — and ultimately should — be said about how Christianity improves on pagan Platonist spirituality.  Perhaps the very vastness of the topic caused Inge to settle on a very general, summary statement here.  Among the Christian innovations (besides the complex and multidimensional role of Christ in personal salvation), is a stronger view of a personal, loving God in Christianity: in Platonism Man seeks to ascend to God; in Christianity, God’s love is understood as so personal, so fervent, that God reaches out to Man.  It is God’s grace, ultimately, that leads one to liberation and salvation.  Further, in Christianity social charity is integral to spiritual salvation in a way not found (or at least not emphasized) in Platonism.

Future Prospects

Inge closes as follows:

In such a presentation of Christianity lies, I believe, our hope for the future. It cuts us loose from that orthodox materialism which in attempting to build a bridge between the world of facts and the world of values only succeeds in confounding one order and degrading the other. It equally emancipates us from that political secularising of Christianity which is just a characteristic attempt of institutionalism to buttress itself with the help of the secular power. This, as we have seen, has always been the policy of the religion of authority. The religion of Christ, the religion of the Spirit, will not have a chance till it is freed from these entanglements.

It will be a pleasure to me to consider briefly three periods in English History when there was a fruitful return in the Church to ‘her old loving nurse the Platonick philosophy’ … and I hope we are only at the beginning of a new Reformation on these lines. (pp. 34 – 35).

Unfortunately, we’ve seen no such renaissance of Christian Platonism or spiritual Christianity in the nearly 100 years since he wrote. Why?  Surely part of the answer lay in the twin juggernauts of materialism and globalization. Material technological advances will likely continue unabated for the indefinite future.  Will Western society be able to resist ever-more alluring gadgetry?  Or will it be recognized that advanced technology alone is unable to supply a fulfilling, meaningful and happy life?

But while the United States and Europe may by this point be ready for a new spiritual renaissance, developing countries may still find the appeal of materialism irresistible. At the same time, globalization has produced multi-national corporations that rival in wealth and power civil governments, and which are both able and willing to manipulate public tastes and opinions for self-interest.

To the extent that organized Christianity has changed since Inge wrote (as opposed to merely declined), we have seen emerge a fairly radical dominance of the social Gospel — radical in the sense that social justice and human rights are seen as more important than spirituality, prayer and worship.  In part, this is a necessary consequence of globalization, as the conditions of the world’s poor can no longer be ignored.  Yet amidst the clamor for social change we seem to have lost sight of spirituality — including the traditional view that personal love of God (and awareness of God’s personal love for us) is by far the most powerful and productive impetus for social charity.

If we survey the current situation, then, there seems little reason to believe that a new flowering of Christian Platonism will simply happen on its own today.  However if we leave the forces that shape human consciousness to history and economics, we are slaves of blind forces, of chaos.  Plato’s Timaeus suggests that chaos is the default state of matter, and that Form must be imposed upon it from without.  For Christianity to become a genuine religion of the spirit at this time, then, may require the conscious efforts of a dedicated minority.

Bibliography

Inge, William Ralph. Christian Mysticism: Considered in Eight Lectures Delivered Before the University of Oxford. New York: Scribner; London: Methuen, 1899. (Chs. 3 & 4, “Christian Platonism and Speculative Mysticism”, pp. 77−164).

Inge, William Ralph. The Platonic Tradition in English Religious Thought. London: Longmans, 1926.

1st draft: 21 Sep 2020