In Thy Light We See Light

There is a beautiful passage in the Psalms which says "In thy light do we see light" (Ps. 36:9).

Light is one of the richest metaphors in the Scriptures, possessing multiple layers of meaning. On the one hand, it is  a powerful symbol for the incomprehensible splendor of God's essence. "God is light," St. John tells us (1 John 1:5), and Paul says "God dwells in unapproachable light" (1 Tim. 6:16). "The Lord God is a sun and shield," says the Psalmist (Ps. 84:11). 

But light also signifies the illumination of the intellect through the faculty of reason—it is the cognitive act that makes recognition of truth possible, enabling us to live and walk in the truth. Many great theologians like Augustine and Bonaventure saw the creaton of light in Genesis as the creation of the intellectual order, the rational framework to existence that mankind discerns through his intellect. The Proverbs say the man who understands God's laws is "like the morning sun shining ever brighter till the full lght of day" (Prov. 4:18). The illumination of the intellect with the truth of the Gospel allows us to "walk in the light" (Eph. 5:8). 

Because "light" can be predicated both of God's essence and man's capacity to know, light becomes a kind of mediative property connecting man to God. In making us in His image, God allows us to participate in the light of His rationality, giving us, in effect, a light of our own, the spark of reason. Christ Himself is "the true light that enlightens every man coming into the world" (John 1:9).  And we, in turn, by virtue of that light, are enabled to perceive God and assent to the truths of faith, which give us an ever greater share in His light. There is thus a beautiful circular movement of light between the divine and human which elevates mankind and facilitates the divine communion God wishes to have with us.

This "sharing" of light is often experienced as the hand of Providence, lighting our path as we move onward. Hence St. John Henry Newman, in 1833 while sick at sea and trusting in God's providence to guide him home, wrote, "Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, / Lead Thou me on!" This light is not only a companion on our journey but is also our destination. Upon reaching the heights of heaven, Dante writes that the fulfillment of delight is "light intellectual full of love, love of true good filled with joy, joy which transcends every sweetness" (Paradiso, Canto XXX). In Tolkien's Silmarillion, Erū Ilúvatar, the One, alone possesses the Flame Imperishable, the Secret Fire, the endowment of which alone can give true life to created beings, imparting true freedom and rationality unto them.

This meditation reinforces the profound connection between the truths we perceive through reason and the God who is Truth. Back in Benedict XVI's pontificate, there was a lot of discussion about "doing theology on one's knees." Though cliche, this saying does accurately reflect how a rich spiritual life is integral to doing good theology. As avid USC readers know, for about two years I have been plodding away at a series at New Liturgical Movement on the attempts of the Concilium progressives of the 1970s to undermine the sacrament of confession (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.1, Part 4.2). It goes without saying that their theology is terrible, but what strikes me about the progressive writings in the context of this discussion is how spiritually dry they are. Of course, there's only so much one can know about a person's inner life from their writings, so we have to take these kinds of assessments with a grain of salt. But, on the other hand, Christ says, "My sheep hear my voice," (John 10:27). When someone speaks from an abundance of spiritual experience, there is a recognition of the voice of the Shepherd, a sense that one is not just speaking abstractly, but from the depths of a rich spiritual light. Whether I am reading progressive Concilium theologians from the 1970s or synodality claptrap in the 2020s, I have always noticed this spiritual richness is lacking. It feels devoid of any lived spiritual experience. I remember when I was researching my latest article for New Liturgical Movement and plowing through the truly awful writings of the Dominican Jean-Marie Tillard (1927-2000), at one point I put the text down in frustration and said to myself, "Did this man ever pray?"

As I said, we must be careful with such assertions, but at the same time, it is not surprising that those whose theology is so putrid should also produce writings devoid of spiritual insight. How can you give what you do not have? The Psalmist says "In thy light do we see light." If we are not beholding the light, how can we see the light? This is why Christ calls the Pharisees "blind guides" and says, "If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the pit" (Matt. 15:14). It is worth noting that the Pharisees had full access to the entire literary corpus of ancient Judaism, not just the Sacred Scriptures but all the rabbinic commentaries on them as well. Yet without the person of Christ, it availed them nothing. Thus Paul says of the Jews, "to this day whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their minds; but when a man turns to the Lord the veil is removed" (2 Cor. 3:15-16).

Similarly we may say, when a progressive theologian attempts to do theology without any reference to the vivifying liturgical and spiritual traditions of the Church which gave rise that theology in the first place, he is working under a veil. He becomes a blind guide. He has ceased to contemplate the divine light, and therefore even the light of his natural reason becomes compromised. His writings are dry and unconvincing, notable only for their lack of any spiritual fruit. The difference between writers like Augustine or Newman and those such as Schillebeeckx, Jean-Marie Tillard, and their brood is not just a disparity of intellect, but of the spiritual life. 

This principle could certainly be extended to matters beyond writing: I think it also explains, for example, why horizontalism in worship is so moribund—if you turn away from the light, you can no longer communicate the light.

Finally, this holds relevance for whatever good work we hope to accomplish in our own lives as well. If we wish to be compelling in our witness, if we wish to truly understand, if we wish our words to carry weight, if we wish our own lives to be impactful, if we wish to influence others for good in the spirit of Christ, then we need to behold the light. The more time we spend contemplating the light, the more that light will flood our intellects and enrich every corner of our being, ennobling us, elevating us, transfiguring us into the likeness of Christ, so that those who encounter us will sense the Shepherd.

In other words, a rich spiritual life is essential if we wish to accomplish anything for the Kingdom. We don't all need to be spiritual masters, but all need to at least be spiritual. We need to recognize that this aspect of things is important—integral, even—and that without it, we become just another blustering windbag, another yapping voice in a cacophony of noise.

"In thy light do we see light." Lord, show us Thy light, and it will be sufficient for us. Amen.