Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Sacral Kingship: Two Traditions (part 2)


Here is the second installment of my 2005 senior thesis on Catholic kingship that I began posting last week. Thanks for the feedback so far! (Click here for part 1).

I do know that all of these chapters will suffer from being too broad; being that I was somewhat limited by time and length, and I was not able to develop them as much as I would have wanted. This is perhaps most true in today's post, which is the most speculative and theoretical chapter of the work and probably the easiest to find gaps and holes in the argument. I basically make the case that the east had its own tradition of authority and the west its own distinct way of viewing authority. In the antique world, these traditions were opposed to each other. But in Christianity, which was born of Asia but became European, the eastern and western traditions are fused together successfully - the result is the Catholic monarch, who is certainly not an eastern despot but is also far removed from the republican-democratic traditions of Greece and Rome.

I look forward to your feedback. Footnotes can be found at the end of the post, which I recommend you browse also because they have some interesting supplemental information.

Chapter One: Two Traditions of Power

In the European political tradition, two ideologies of power have been predominant; namely, that of the west (the Greco-Roman, and later Germanic, traditions) and those influenced by the east (the Mesopotamian-Egyptian model). In the western tradition, power comes up from below, from the people. In the Greco-Roman civilizations, this power is vested in any number of assemblies or magistrates; in the Germanic cultures, it is vested in the tribal assembly or warrior band. By contrast, power in the eastern model is seen as descending from above, coming down from the gods and being bestowed on a single individual, be he a pharaoh, Persian king or just some local priest-king of a city-state. This conception of power held true even in the Far East, where the Emperor of China was also the “Son of Heaven.” In Christianity, a unique union of these two ideals of authority arises. Coming out of the Middle East as it did, it possessed by its nature an eastern and autocratic ideal of kingship. However, when it took hold in the Roman west and amongst the German tribes, the classical and Germanic tribal ideals of kingship entered as well, blending with the eastern ideas. The result was the Christian monarchy of the Middle Ages. The following sections may seem like a digression, but an understanding of them is essential in order to understand where the Christian monarch of the Middle Ages got his ideas of kingship.


Eastern Models

In the civilizations of the Fertile Crescent, the prevailing view of authority was that it was a divine right that was given from above. The ruling monarch was chosen by the gods for the task of kingship; if he was part of a dynastic government, then he was chosen even from birth for lordship. The authority was vested in the very person of the king, not just in his office. An example of this is the Egyptian Pharaoh. In the Old Kingdom, the very person of the Pharaoh was believed to be the incarnation of Horus on earth (later in the Middle Kingdom, it was modified and the Pharaoh became the son of Re and mediator between men and the sun god).1

This idea of authority being vested in the person and not just the office is a crucial distinction between the eastern and western models. The fact that the authority was vested in the person himself meant that it gave divine sanction to the ruling monarch’s whims, which tended to give authority in the Middle East a very arbitrary character. A king might command anything, no matter how cruel or mad, and expect the submission of his subjects. Mesopotamian scholar Jean Bottero comments on the relationship between the king and subjects in the ancient Near East:

"Subjects had no other purpose in life than to obey their king and his representatives, and to provide those rulers, through their constant labor, with what they needed to lead an opulent and leisurely life, free of all worries and thus free to govern their people with a view to their prosperity."2

The structure was that of a social pyramid, with the monarch at the top vested with supreme authority sanctioned by the divinities of the city-state (Mesopotamia) or centralized nation (Egypt). Everybody else existed in the pyramid to obey and serve him. Given this view, it is not surprising that pyramids and ziggurats, which seemed to typify this social system, were first devised in such cultures.

This arbitrary nature of authority in the eastern model is evident in many examples from antiquity. A well known story from Persia is the account of King Xerxes ordering his men to give the Hellespont three hundred lashes as punishment for a storm which destroyed his bridge across the channel. “You bitter water,” he cursed the strait, “your lord lays on you this punishment because you have wronged him without a cause…for you are of a truth a treacherous and unsavory river.”3 Evidently, this Persian monarch considered himself not only King of Perisa, but lord over nature as well. The Median King Astyages is said to have killed and cooked the son of one of his officers, Harpagus, and served the stewed boy to his own father for dinner. When Harpagus realized what the king had done, he merely bowed and said, “Whatever the king did must be right.”4 The Biblical stories of the Babylonian and Persian periods further attest to the arbitrary nature of authority as well as the exalted idea of the ruler in the ancient Middle East. King Nebuchadnezzar ordering all his subjects to worship a golden image on pain of death, Darius’ interdict forbidding prayer to any god but himself, and King Ahasuerus of Persia’s law punishing with death anybody who entered his court unbidden are all examples.5 “The king,” says Bottero, “was…all powerful in the land…he was capable, on a whim, of reducing them [his subjects] to nothing, or of heaping good things upon them, provided he was moved enough through offerings, ostentation, and requests.”6

This divine authority wielded by the Middle Eastern monarch should not be conceived as being some kind of tyranny imposed on an unwilling populace from above, though the ancient Middle Eastern monarch certainly had the power to tyrannize his people if he wanted; rather, it was a system that the people themselves assented to and adhered to rigorously. The response of Harpagus to King Astyages of Media is a telling example of how the average person viewed royal authority. On the sadistic murder of his son, he only responds, “Whatever the king did must be right.” The Middle Eastern monarch did not have to impose his authority on the people tyrannically as someone like Caligula or Commodus did, because the cultural mentality of Middle Eastern culture rendered the populace more than willing to accede to his authority voluntarily. There was very little dividing the gods from the king, and a king who won renown by performing great deeds could be assured not only of the homage of his subjects, but of their adoration and worship.7

While looking at eastern models, the ideology of kingship in ancient Israel is worth studying in some depth since it contributes so much to later Christian views of kingship and authority. The system of kingship takes on a peculiar form in ancient Israel because of its monotheistic faith. The ancient Israelites would never make the mistake of equating their temporal king with a god, for there was only one God who was so far beyond mere mortals that any equation of Him with even the greatest of kings was a terrible blasphemy. Nor would the Israelites, with their strict moral code, approve of the idea that “whatever the king did must be right.” Israelite kings were expected to fulfill strict moral obligations; if they did not, they were censured by the scribes and prophets.8

That is not to say, however, that the Israelite conception of kingship was fundamentally different from the Persian, Mesopotamian or Egyptian views. Royal authority was still something supernatural that descended upon the king from above. The Scriptures are replete with such examples of this ideal of sacral kingship. Right from the first time Israelite kings are mentioned, in the Mosaic code, the king is presented as someone “whom the Lord your God will choose.”9 The exemplar of biblical kingship is found in the stories of David and Solomon in the books of Samuel and I Kings. These exemplars can be contrasted with the biblical type of the wicked king, Saul, who reigns just prior to David.

In all cases, kingship is conferred upon the would-be monarch by the act of anointing with oil. This symbolizes that the king has been chosen by God; the oil, administered by a prophet (later a priest) is a type of sacramental sign that symbolizes the Spirit of God resting upon the king. This is a mixed blessing: it at the same time gives the king sacral-royal power to rule with authority given from God and also binds the king to strictly obey the precepts of kingship set down by God. Blessings follow if the king is pious and obedient to the Lord; if not, curses befall the kingdom and it is torn from the hand of the rebellious monarch.

The biblical perspective on kingship is clearly in line with the other prevailing models of the ancient Middle East in its emphasis on the king being chosen from above. Consider the stories of Saul and David. Saul is the king who is tall, strong and handsome, the natural choice of the people. Thus when the people clamor for a king in I Samuel 8, Saul is a natural choice. Yet the Scriptures seem to condemn the selection of this first king of Israel. The motion of the people for a king is presented as a rejection of God’s lordship. God tells Samuel, “Hearken to the voice of the people in all that they say to you; for they have not rejected you, but have rejected me from being king over them.”10 Nevertheless, God accepts the “democratic” will of the people and gives them Saul to be their first king.

By contrast, David, the man after God’s own heart, is the complete opposite of Saul. Unlike Saul, he is small, weak and unimpressive. He is not at all a king that would be chosen by popular vote; even Samuel fails to recognize David and instead believes that one of his older, larger brothers is the Lord’s chosen.11 David is in every way a man chosen not by human wisdom but by God and receives a different kind of authority than Saul. While Saul is rejected by God as soon as he sins ( I Sam. 15), David is promised by God that He will establish his house forever and will never cease to provide an heir from David’s line ( II Sam. 7), even though David committed a greater sin in the Uriah affair than Saul had by not destroying some Amalekite cattle! The nature of their kingships is different. A close inspection of the anointing narrative of each king reveals this. Saul is anointed with a vial, a man-made object, while David is anointed with a horn.12 This seems to indicate that Saul’s authority, symbolically portrayed by his anointing, was given him by man; hence, the vial, a man-made object. This is born out by Saul’s own testimony. When he sins and is confronted by Samuel, his excuse is that “I have transgressed the commandment of the Lord and your words, because I feared the people and obeyed their voice.”13 On the other hand, David is anointed by a ram’s horn, something not man-made, which seems to indicate that his kingship is entirely from God and not due in any part to human consensus.

One theme that is constant throughout the chronicles of the Israelite kings is the idea of rewards and punishments. If a king is pious and obedient, like David, he can expect temporal blessings from God: security at home, influence abroad, wealth, healthy heirs and the destruction of enemies. However, if the king is faithless, like Saul, then he can expect curses: internal rebellions, defeats at the hands of foreigners and the premature death of his heirs, leading subsequently to the end of his house. When Samuel confronts Saul for his disobedience, he tells him, “Because you have rejected the word of the Lord, he has rejected you from being king…The Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this day.” 14 This connection between sin and the collapse of the kingdom is reiterated again and again throughout the Scriptures. Later, in the book of I Kings, God tells Solomon, “Since …you have not kept my covenant and my statutes which I have commanded you, I will surely tear the kingdom from you…”15 It is in the person of Solomon that the blessings and curses of sacral kingship are seen most clearly, for he is both extraordinarily faithful and very wicked during his long reign. On the one hand, his virtues set the bar for all future Christian kings from Constantine to Charlemagne and Alfred. He excels in wisdom, is well versed in God’s word, builds the holy Temple of Jerusalem and receives honor and tribute from foreign nations. On the other hand, he burdens his people with harsh taxes, sacrifices to foreign gods and greatly multiplies both his wealth and his harem.16 In these vices he is the type of the good king gone bad and receives from God the punishment due to an unfaithful king: the “tearing” of the kingdom out of his hand.

The king receives a mighty grace from God. The Book of Proverbs goes so far as to say that the decisions of the king are “inspired” by God.17 The Book of Ecclesiastes warns that it is wrong to wish the king harm, “even in your thought.”18 Because the king receives such great graces from God, it is especially heinous when he turns to wickedness, like Solomon. Essential to Israelite (and all ancient Middle Eastern) political thought is that the fate of the nation is bound up with the person of the king. If the king is very wicked, he curses not only himself but brings his curse upon the entire nation. When Manasseh sacrificed his children to the pagan god Moloch, God was so outraged that even the righteous reforms of King Josiah were unable to dissuade the Lord from punishing Israel, and the Babylonian Captivity resulted, which the Scriptures explicitly affirm was the punishment for the sins of Manasseh.19

So, to sum up the eastern models of kingship: First, the authority to reign comes from the gods/God, down from heaven and rests upon the monarch. This ideal is sacramentalized in several cultures by the act of anointing, whereby the king is symbolically chosen by the gods and given their authority to rule in their name. Secondly, this authority rests with the person of the king (not just his office), which authorizes and potentially “divinizes” every act of his will as a sacred and royal command.20 Thirdly, because of this emphasis on sacred kingship, any authority coming from popular consensus is suspect. The people are simply an “undifferentiated mass”21 who cannot be trusted. King Saul explains his sin by saying, “I feared the people and obeyed their voice.” The prevalent social structure was that of a pyramid with the king supreme at the top supported by an “inchoate mass of subjects”22 whose job it was to support him and his bureaucracy. This is not an active act of tyranny on the part of the monarch, but a system found in the east from time immemorial and bound up with Middle Eastern cultural tradition. Finally, a just and pious king can be expected to receive temporal blessings of the gods upon his realm and (in some cultures) deification after death. The wicked king can expect his kingdom to suffer. This is the idea of rewards and punishments, in which the fate of the nation is inextricably bound up with the king. In Babylon, Egypt and Persia, a king’s “goodness” is his legal equity and his piety to the state gods; in ancient Israel, it is his morality and adherence to Mosaic law.

Christian kings, seeing themselves in light of Old Testament kings like David and Solomon, will pick up several of these ideas. There will be a particular emphasis towards the eastern model in the reigns of the earliest Christian monarchs, the Emperors of Byzantium. Later, western kings will adopt a version of kingship that was more of a mixture between the eastern models and the Greco-Roman model, which will be examined in the next section.


Western Models

Ideas about government and authority were drastically different in the west, in those lands lying west of the Bosphorus. In antiquity this region was shaped by Greco-Roman civilization and it is to the governments of Greece and Rome that we must now turn.

The Greco-Roman ideology of power sees authority not as something that primarily comes down from heaven as a gift of the gods to the person of the monarch, but as something that comes up from the consensus of the people and is vested in an office, not a person. An example of this is the Roman legend of the patriot Cincinnatus. Called from his farm to help save a beleaguered Roman army, he accepted the authority of the dictatorship, saved the army and routed the enemy, then promptly resigned his dictatorship to return to his plow. This popular, though legendary, example demonstrates how the power was vested in the office of the dictator, never in the individual person.

This power is given by the assent of the state and the gods are called upon by the people to bear witness to the authority wielded by the magistrate. In the previous section, the model of the pyramid or ziggurat was proposed as an analogy to the Mesopotamian/Egyptian style of government. In the west, a more fitting model is the Greek temple. The structure is composed of several columns, each equally bearing the weight of the roof. Again, it is fitting that a structure such as the Greek temple should have emerged amongst a people who viewed authority as something coming up from below, granted to the magistrate by the public.

The Greeks and Romans alike found a distaste for kingship early on. Many of the Greek city-states were ruled by tyrants, such as Pisistratus of Athens or Pheidon of Argos who were different from kings only in name, until the 6th century BC when they began to be overthrown and driven out by a series of popular revolutions. After this, the Greek city-states began to adopt the democratic governments that the classical age is remembered for. This advent of democracy was especially powerful in Athens. In Rome, according to tradition and some scant archaeological evidence, a dynasty of Etruscan kings was overthrown sometime around 509 B.C. and replaced by the Republican form of government that Rome operated under successfully for almost five hundred years. The experience of Greece under the tyrants and Rome under the Etruscans bred a hearty dislike of the idea of power being vested solely in one individual.

The very names that the Greeks and Romans chose for their governments emphasizes how different their view of the state was from those views in the east. In Greek, demokratia means “power of the people.” Likewise, the Latin phrase for Republic, res publica, can be literally translated to mean “the public thing” or the “thing of the public.” In both cases, it the people who are seen to be the foundation of the authority of the state.

On some levels, it is uncertain how the Greeks and Romans came to these forms of government. The historical acts and political drama behind their developments is clearly visible, but where these peoples got their political ideology from is uncertain. It is easy to see the laws of Solon, the administration of Pericles, the Sexto-Licinian Compromise and the publishing of the Twelve Tables and to attribute the development of Greco-Roman popular governments to such acts, but it is difficult to say where the Greeks and Romans first developed their penchant for representative government was behind these acts of legislation and assumed by them. The easiest answer, but also the most dissatisfying from a historic viewpoint, is that the Greeks and Romans had an innate sense of justice and law that they manifested in their social and political structures. Historian of antiquity Michael Grant seems to adopt this view and says of the early Romans:

"It is impressive that a people at such a relatively early stage of development were so clearly able to disentangle law from religion, deriving the sanction of their legal pronouncements not from any divine or wholly or partly legendary lawgiver, as so many of their predecessors in other places had done, but from a sense of justice and equality, still narrow, yet already strong."23

Both cultures placed high value in social justice and in the moral quality of the individual, especially of the magistrate. The Greeks prized a virtue they called arête, which originally meant “warrior prowess” but came to be understood in terms of diplomatic excellence exercised in any of the many public assemblies that dotted ancient Greece. Likewise, the Romans valued virtus. Like arête, virtus was originally a war term and meant “manliness.” But in time it came to have a broader application and can be rendered accurately as “virtue” by middle-Republican times and denoted excellence in both war and government. These characteristics were seen by the Greeks and Romans as essential to any magistrate. If a government was to be by the people, then the people had to be good people.24

With such ideas, acts of the Greeks and Romans were always viewed communally. It was never an individual alone who acted, but the community who acted out its will through the agency of the individual. Herodotus and Thucydides recount in their writings the very public nature of Greek government. In the Persian War (Herodotus) and the Peloponnesian War (Thucydides), whether or not to go to war or make an alliance was decided by furious debate in the assembly hall, after which a vote was taken. Even military matters, such as where to move a fleet or when to attack were put to a vote amongst military commanders. Any act of authority had to be sanctioned by the citizenry. Thus, “acts of state were attributed not to a personified polis but to the community-for example, not to Thera but to “the Thereans,” not to Sybaris but to “the Sybarites,” The emphasis is on the plurality.”25 In Rome, likewise, official acts are and monuments are sanctioned by the Senatus Populusque Romanus, “The Senate and the Roman People.”

The will of the people was expressed in any number of assemblies in the Greco-Roman world. Athens had its Council of 500 and its older Areopagus Council, while Rome had the Curial Assembly, the Centurial Assembly, the Council of the Plebs and of course, the Senate. Though membership in these councils was restricted to citizens (which usually meant free male landowners who possessed over a certain amount of wealth) to the exclusion of many other members of society, these assemblies provided the creative outlet for the development of politics and law. By being a citizen, a man was seen as possessing a kind of common interest in the good of the state. Unlike the modern man, who believes in communal responsibilities and individual rights, the Greeks and Romans believed in communal rights and individual responsibilities. Because it was a communion of citizens who formed the state, the citizen was entitled to certain benefits from the state, mainly through its legal advantages. The making of laws, judgment of courts and matters of war were all left up to the discretion of the citizen body. When the citizens came together in the assembly, their authority was supreme and their word was law.

Unlike in the east, the assembly did not receive this authority from the gods, but from the people. But the gods did have a role to play as a kind of supernatural legal “witness” to the laws enacted by the assemblies. New legislation was often proclaimed in the local temple (such as the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus in Rome) and accompanied by sacrifices. This represented a kind of oath between the gods and the state; the state promised that its legislation would be fair and equitable to the citizens and the gods promised to uphold the state so long as they were propitiated by the appropriate rites and the practice of pietas-devotion to the gods, family and the state. This ensured the good faith (fides) of the magistrate and the pax deorum, which was the peace and blessing of the gods upon the state.26

Essentially, like much in the Greco-Roman world, the relationship between the gods and the state was like a legal contract, akin to a Roman patron-client agreement.

To sum up the western model: First, the authority to rule came not from the gods but from the collective consensus of the people, not understood in terms of the masses but in terms of the land owning male citizenry. Secondly, the authority and will of the people was vested in any number of elected citizen assemblies who undertook the task of governing the state. Levying taxes, making laws, regulating trade and waging war were all public matters decided by the assemblies. Third, magistrates were chosen from out of these assemblies, in whom was vested authority by virtue of their office, not their person, as in the east. The Greeks and Romans possessed an innate valuation of certain virtues that they believed made for good magistrates, such as arête and virtus. Finally, the proper governing of the state under worthy magistrates ensured peace at home, good will between the state and its people (fides) and the blessings of the gods (pax deorum).


The Problem of Integration

Christian Europe would work hard to integrate its rich Greco-Roman past into its culture. While Biblical heroes such as David and Solomon were the exemplars for medieval Christian kings, classical role models of virtue like Leonidas of Sparta, Marcus Atilius Regulus, Cato the Censor and Augustus were never far from the memory of those who were educated enough to read the Greek and Latin classics.27 Christian monarchs tried, intentionally and unintentionally, to successfully blend the eastern Biblical ideology of kingship with the classical western models they had inherited from Greece and Rome. Thus Charlemagne was seen not only as a new David, but also as a new Augustus.

It took the creative impulse of Christianity to unite these two ideologies of power into one system. The ancients were never able to do it effectively. The ancient Greeks, though warring incessantly against themselves, united and battled furiously what they considered to be the threat of Persian despotism under Xerxes. Alexander, though he succeeded to unite Greece and Persia where Xerxes had failed, faced a considerably greater struggle in his attempts to jointly rule the Greeks and Persians. As ruler of Persia, court protocol demanded the prostration, proskynesis, of all who approached him. But as King of Macedonia, court protocol forbid such acts of flattery as the worst form of syncophancy and there was always tension between the Macedonian and Persian elements of Alexander’s entourage.28

In the Roman world, Marc Antony fancied a union between Rome and Egypt in the person of Cleopatra, but was despised at home for it. Anti-Antony propaganda of the time condemns him as an effeminate Egyptianizer of the manly Roman state.29 Later Roman rulers like Diocletian attempted to introduce eastern ritual into the Imperial court protocol, but at the expense of thoroughly destroying any remnants of Republican modesty that earlier emperors like Augustus, Vespasian and Trajan had exhibited. Throughout the ancient world, all attempts to find a way to implement both eastern and western ideas of power and government failed until the advent of the Catholic kings of the Middle Ages. How Christianity revolutionized the ideologies of power in the ancient world, harmonized them and formed them into the institution of the Christian monarchy will be taken up in the next chapter.



Footnotes

1 Jan Assman, The Mind of Egypt, Translated by Andrew Jenkins (Metropolitan Books: New York, 1996), 184

2 Jean Bottero, Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia, Translated by Teresa Lavander Fagan (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 2001), 103

3 M.I. Finley, The Portable Greek Historians (Viking Penguin: New York, 1959), 97

4 Stuart & Doris Flexner, The Pessimist’s Guide to History (Avon Books: New York, 1992), 7

5Dan. 3:1-6, 6:6-9; Esther 4:11

6 Bottero, 114

7“Superior abilities, functions, prowess, and merits could, without affecting their true nature, place…humans rather close to the edge so that they were induced, more or less consciously, to cross over it, thus becoming ‘divinized.’” Ibid., 64

8 The Israelite “Law of the King” appears in Deuteronomy, where the king is forbidden three things: the multiplication of wives, gold, and chariots (Deut. 17:14-20). Solomon will violate all three precepts.

9 Deut. 17:15

10 I Sam. 8:7

11 Ibid., 16:1-13

12 Ibid., 10:1, 16:3

13 Ibid., 15:24

14 Ibid., 23,28

15 I Kings 11:11

16 Ibid. 3:1-15,26; 6:1-38; 10:1-29; 11:1-8

17 Prov. 16:10

18 Ecc. 10:20

19 II Kings 21:10-15; 23:26; 24:1-4

20 This is still true in ancient Israel, even though the kings had a stricter ethical code than say Assyria or Babylon. The value placed on the person of the king is revealed in the accounts of how David refused to strike down Saul, even when he had lost God’s favor, because he was “the Lord’s anointed” ( II Sam. 1:14). He even has the man who killed Saul executed (v. 15). This is similar to the accounts of Alexander executing the men who had assassinated Darius III, though the latter was his enemy. Since sacred authority rested with the king, it was a sacrilege to strike him down, even if he deserved it.

21Assman, 51

22 Ibid.

23 Michael Grant, History of Rome (Michael Grant Publications: London, 1979), 66

24 Thomas F.X. Noble, Barry S. Strauss, Duane J. Osheim, Kristen B. Neuschel, William B. Cohen, David D. Roberts, Western Civilization: The Continuing Experiment, 3rd Edition, vol. A (Houghton Mifflin Company: Boston, 2002), 73, 149

25 Ibid., 75

26 Grant, 19

27 St. Augustine spends a considerable amount of space in Book I of the Dei Civitas praising the virtues of M. Atilius Regulus, a hero of the Punic Wars, though grudgingly admitting that his virtue came from the worship of the pagan gods. He says of him, “Among all their heroes, men worthy of honor and renowned for virtue, the Romans have none greater to produce.” St. Augustine, Dei Civitas, 1.15,24

28 For the hostility of the Macedonians when Alexander attempted to introduce proskynesis amongst them, see Mary Renault, The Nature of Alexander (Pantheon Books: New York, 1975), 172-178: “The image of the Oriental was linked in [the Macedonians’] minds…to the cruel caprices of despotic power slavishly endured, of which the prostration [proskynesis] was a symbol.”pp 177-178

29Grant, 200-201

Monday, May 17, 2010

Christ's Ascent into Heaven


A question from a reader on the literal understanding of Christ's Ascension:

How would you respond to someone who argued like the following. "To ancient people, God lived in the sky above the clouds, and therefore, the story of Christ's Ascension depends on this pre-scientific view of the heavens." If we were to say that heaven is some kind of alternative dimension, why did the disciples see our Lord moving physically up?

This is a common question posed by skeptics who attempt to cast our Lord's Ascension in mythic terms. It seems daunting until we realize that it actually confounds two separate factors; once we distinguish these two from each other, there is really no difficulty answering this challenge.

To begin with we must admit two points right off that the orthodox Catholic must adhere to: First, that Christ truly, literally and physically rose into heaven in the sight of His disciples. Second, that heaven is not a physical place within the confines of this universe; i.e., you can't get to heaven by moving far enough in a certain direction, just like you can't get to hell by digging under the earth. 

These two truths seem to be in opposition, however. We must admit that Christ physically ascended, but we also must admit that one cannot get to heaven by ascending. What is the answer?

The answer of the skeptics is that the Ascension didn't really happen, because to say Christ "ascended" into "heaven" is to canonize a pre-scientific and unture view of the world - heaven as "up in the clouds" and hell as under the earth. These skeptics will usually say the Ascension is the final hallucination to the farce they call the "Easter Event" which is nothing other than mass delusion on the part of the disciples.

Obviously this cannot be so; but, if we admit that one cannot just literally fly up into heaven, then why did the disciples see Christ going up?

We have to disentangle two things here: the physical lifting up from the earth and the going "into heaven" to sit down at the right hand of the Father. It is true that, in the ancient world, most persons viewed the heavens in the sky as the abode of the gods. Even though the Jews of the Old Testament would not have had a theology that viewed God as literally living in any one place (if they did, it would have been in the Temple, not in the sky), nevertheless there is a strong association in the Old Testament of the sky with God's dwelling, inasmuch as the all the good things God sends (rain, snow, sunlight, etc.) come from the sky, and so the sky, but also the mountaintop, are seen to be "closer" to God than the ground or the depths. In fact, in the Old Testament the "depths" signify distance from God (Psalm 130: De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine..)

So, yes, we can admit that for the Israelites at least, God-heaven would have been associated with the sky, even if they knew He did not "live" there - just as the depths or the deep places of the earth were associated with distance from Him. And it's not unthinkable that persons would associate the sky with heaven; this is a common assumption that we still make today, even if only in a symbolic manner.

What about Christ's "going into heaven"? All of the pivotal moments of Christs's earthly life are hidden, and this is no exception. His Incarnation, hidden from the eyes of men and so mysterious and profound that we cannot fathom what it "looked like" for Him to suddenly be there in the womb of the Virgin with no act of fertilization by a sperm. Think of His Resurrection - returning to life alone in the tomb; what did it look like? Certainly more than just Him getting up, for it was also a glorification and a transformation, something witnessed by nobody. Likewise, His Ascension is secret and hidden. C.S. Lewis says the Transfiguration is an "anticipatory glance" at what will occur with the Resurrection and Ascension. We could also think of the mystery of Mary's Assumption.

How can I say this when it was very publicly done in front of the disciples? Christ's physical lifting off of the ground and going up into the air was witnessed by many, but this lifting up was not in itself the fundamental act of the Ascension; the Ascension properly is what happened after Christ was parted from them by a cloud, when He "entered heaven" and sat down at the right hand of the Father. The first part of the Ascension was witnessed by many, but fundamental act Ascension itself was hidden from their sight.

And why was it hidden? Because just as His birth, Resurrection or other things like the creation of the world out of nothing, we cannot fathom what it would have looked like. It is not a movement from one place to another or a simple qualitative change but something miraculous, wonderful and mysterious: the translation of Christ from this world and its laws and restrictions to the state of glory that is rightfully His.

So we must not confuse the lifting of Christ off the ground with totality of the Ascension itself - it is part of the Ascension, but not the essence of the Ascension, just as the essence of Christ's sacrifice is not the nails or the scourge but the unblemished offering of Himself to the Father.

When Christ physically ascended into the air, He did it because He knew that His disciples (and all persons who would later hear their preaching) would understood what He meant by this act. He knew that all people would understand that this act meant that He was leaving the world and returning to the Father - but we must not confuse the physical act of rising with the act if returning to the Father. This second act occurred hidden from human eyes, after He was taken from sight by a cloud - and we can have no inkling of what this looked like. He Ascended bodily into the air before men to manifest His power and demonstrate that He was leaving the world, but how He actually left the confines of this world is something mysterious and hidden that we cannot understand.

What sort of confusion could there have been had Christ said, "I am returning to my Father now" and then disappeared into a cave, walked down into a river or vanished into a forest? When He Ascended, He knew that this was a undeniable sign of His exaltation - and that all men would know what He meant by this act.

This really is no different than Elijah's being taken into heaven. Every Christian believes Elijah was assumed into heaven; no Christian really believes one needs a physical vehicle like a chariot in order to get there. Of course, nobody brings this up as much with Elijah since there is more of a predisposition against historical-literal interpretation when it comes to the Old Testament.

So, as long as we don't think the essence of the Ascension is restricted to the physical lifting off the ground, but understand that the rising, like Christ's walking on water, was a sign that pointed to a more profound truth (Christ "sitting down at the right hand of the Father") then we should have no problem affirming the literal truth of the Ascension without having to make it dependent upon a pre-scientific view of the world. Certainly Christ took this pre-scientific view into account when He ascended, but the Ascension does not depend upon a pre-scientific view, nor does a modern, scientific cosmology preclude us from believing in the literal Ascension.

I hope this helps. But in case it doesn't, here is what C.S. Lewis said about it:

All the accounts suggest that the appearances of the Risen Body came to an end; some describe an abrupt end about six weeks after the death. And they present this abrupt end in a way which presents greater difficulties to the modern mind than any other part of Scripture...it is true that if we wish to get rid of these embarrassing passages we have the means to do so...Can we simply drop the Ascension story? The answer is that we can only do so if we regard the Resurrection appearances as those of a ghost or hallucination. For a phantom can just fade away, but an objective entity must go somewhere - something must happen to it.

"The records represent Christ as passing after death (as no man had ever passed before) neither into a purely, that is negatively, 'spiritual' mode of existence nor into a 'natural' life such as we now know, but into a life which has its own new Nature. It represents Him as withdrawing six weeks later, into some different mode of existence. It says - He says - that He goes 'to prepare a place for us.' This presumably means that He is about to create that whole new Nature which will provide the environment or conditions for His glorified humanity and, in Him, for ours. The picture is not what we expected - though whether it is less or more probable and philosophical on that account is another question. It is not the picture of an escape from any and every kind of Nature into some unconditioned and utterly transcendent life. It is the picture of a new human nature, and a new Nature in general, being brought into existence. We must, indeed, believe the risen body to be extremely different from the mortal body: but the existence, in the new state, of anything that could in any sense be described as 'body' at all, involves some sort of spatial relations and in the long run a whole new universe. That is the picture - not of unmaking but of remaking. The old field of space, time, matter and the sense is to be weeded, dug and sown for a new crop. We may be tired of that old field: God is not.

If you click here, you read the rest of this important chapter from Miracles in Google Books; it's actually better than the stuff I quoted above. Or, if you have a copy of Miracles, check out Chapter 16 ("Miracles of the New Creation", pgs. 253-260 in the Harper Collins edition.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

St. Thomas on the Ascension of Christ

Unless you live in the dioceses of Boston, Hartford, New York, Newark or Philadelphia, today is the liturgical celebration of the Feast of the Ascension of our Lord Jesus into heaven. What could I say about this most glorious and mysterious conclusion to the earthly ministry of our Lord? Rather than attempt any words on this mystery, I give you the exposition the Angelic Doctor, who reminds us that Christ's Ascension was the second part of His exaltation, the first being the Resurrection (just as Christ's death and burial are two parts of His humiliation):

According to the Apostle, the exaltation of Christ was the reward for His humiliation. Therefore a twofold exaltation of Christ had to correspond to His twofold humiliation.

Christ had humbled Himself, first, by suffering death in the passible flesh He had assumed; secondly, He had undergone humiliation with reference to place, when His body was layed in the sepulcher and His soul descended into hell. The exaltation of the Resurrection, in which He returned from death to immortal life, corresponds to the first humiliation. And the exaltation of the Ascension corresponds to the second humiliation. Hence the Apostle says, in Ephesians, 4:10, "He that descended is the same that ascended above all the heavens."

However, as it is narrated of the Son of God that He was born, suffered, and was buried, and rose again, not in His divine nature but in His human nature, so also, we are told, He ascended into heaven, not in His divine nature but in His human nature. In His divine nature He had never left heaven, as He is always present everywhere. He indicates this Himself when He says: “No man has ascended into heaven but He who descended from heaven, the Son of man who is in heaven” (John 3:13). By this we are given to understand that He came down from heaven by assuming an earthly nature, yet in such a way that He continued to remain in heaven. The same consideration leads us to conclude that Christ alone has gone up to heaven by His own power. By reason of His origin, that abode belonged by right to Him who had come down from heaven. Other men cannot ascend of themselves, but are taken up by the power of Christ, whose members they have been made.
As ascent into heaven befits the Son of God according to His human nature, so something else is added that becomes Him according to His divine nature, namely, that He should sit at the right hand of His Father. In this connection we are not to think of a literal right hand or a bodily sitting. Since the right side of an animal is the stronger, this expression gives us to understand that the Son is seated with the Father as being in no way inferior to Him according to the divine nature, but on a par with Him in all things. Yet this same prerogative may be ascribed to the Son of God in His human nature, thus enabling us to perceive that in His divine nature the Son is in the Father Himself according to unity of essence, and that together with the Father He possesses a single kingly throne, that is, an identical power. Since other persons ordinarily sit near kings, namely, ministers to whom kings assign a share in governing power, and since the one whom the king places at his right hand is judged to be the most powerful man in the kingdom, the Son of God is rightly said to sit at the Father’s right hand even according to His human nature, as being exalted in rank above every creature of the heavenly kingdom.
In both senses, therefore, Christ properly sits at the right hand of God. And so the Apostle asks, in Hebrew 1: 13: “To which of the angels said He at any time: Sit on My right hand?”
We profess our faith in this ascension of Christ when we say in the Creed: “He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father" (St. Thomas Aquinas, Compendium of Theology, 240).

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Sacral Kingship: Introduction (part 1)

I hope you all can help me out with something. I've decided to go through my 2005 thesis on sacral kingship that I wrote at Ave and clean it up a bit, perhaps make it more scholarly and worthy of publication at some point in the future.

To this end, I have decided to post the whole 95 page thesis on this blog, but only piece by piece. Every now and then I'm going to throw up a chapter for your perusal. Please let me know if you think anything could be added, certain points made stronger, certain arguments that are too weak, etc. Basically, I'm just looking for feedback.

Below is the introduction, explaining the concept of the paper and setting out the scope of the project. It was written in the Spring of 2005, so I hope it doesn't sound to juvenile. But that is the sort of thing I am wanting to tweak. Citations can be found at the bottom of the post. Enjoy.


Power from on High
Theocratic Kingship from Constantine to the Reformation


Introduction: Medieval Integration of Faith and Life

From the victory of Constantine as sole ruler of the Roman Empire in AD 324 to the Peace of Augsburg in 1555, the Christian world was united firmly under the rule of a succession of Catholic monarchies. This is an incredibly long period of time. Consider that the European world was only under the aegis of Roman power for 700 years at the most, from Rome’s rise as a Mediterranean power around 202 BC after the Second Punic War to the demise of the western empire in AD 476. Except for a brief period of overlap in the years between AD 324 and AD 476, Europe was ruled by Catholic monarchs for almost 1200 years, five centuries longer than it had been ruled by Rome. For century after century, Europeans of all walks of life conceived of society and the power of the state in Christian terms. Authority came from God and was personified in the king to whom they swore fealty. By swearing fealty to the king, they were swearing fealty at the same time to God and affirming their place in the political institution that came from Him.

The institution of Christian monarchy developed slowly, emerging from the scattered pieces of the Western Roman Empire and giving order to a world that, by all exterior considerations, had completely broken down. This Christian monarchy proved to be one of the most dynamic social creations of the Catholic Church. The concept of the Christian monarch endured firmly throughout the tumults of the Middle Ages, but also allowed itself to be modified over time, all the while preserving its integral character. It was only with the tragic division of the Reformation that the nature of Christian kingship was drastically altered and began to decline; 1789, 1848 and 1917 were the final blows that put Christian monarchy decisively in the history books for good.

Where did the Christian monarchy come from? How did the vision of the Christian monarch change over time? These are the questions that this study will deal with. This is not meant to be a narration of the political deeds of individual monarchs, or of the social development of the institution as a whole (although elements of each will be touched on). Rather, this study is meant to be an inquiry into the specific ideology behind the concept of the Christian monarch. This inquiry will necessarily employ political and social elements, but it is first and foremost a study of the image of power on the theoretical level and how that image changed over the centuries. But anyone who is familiar with medieval history will know that issues on the theoretical level could very easily erupt violently into the arena of royal and ecclesiastical politics, as they often did.

It is difficult today, in light of two hundred plus years of secular materialism and the expunging of God from the political sphere, to understand how ideology and power interacted in the Middle Ages. Images such as those of Constantine calling and presiding over an ecumenical council, Emperor Henry IV kneeling in the snow at Canossa to obtain absolution from the Pope, or Henry VIII debating passages of Deuteronomy with his government ministers seem alien and foolish to the modern mind. Any 21st century President or Prime Minister who engaged in such enterprises would be mocked, ridiculed and told to keep his faith “private.” But the medieval man knew of no such thing as a private faith, and had he heard of such a notion he would have regarded it as the worst hypocrisy. Modern man might praise a political leader that managed to keep his private religious views distinct from his legislation, but Dante, that medieval poet par excellence, submerged such people in the eighth circle of Nether-Hell, wearing forever the leaden cloak of the hypocrites.1

The point is that there is a divergence in the modern world between faith and life that did not exist in the Middle Ages. This is due mostly to the dynamic nature of the Christian religion. It would not be much of an overstatement to say that post-Roman European civilization was a creation of the Catholic Church. Besides revolutionizing religious thought with its doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation, it completely reorganized and revitalized European civilization as a secondary effect. Wherever Catholicism went, it structured society around its principles; whenever it came into contact with barbarian tribes where civilization had not yet reached, such as among the Irish and the Franks, the result was a wholly unique Christian culture. Because of the revolutionary nature of Christianity, it could not help but transforming civilization. Christ’s commands to spread the good news to the ends of the earth and to do good to men ensured this transformation. Things such as hospitals, universities, Gothic architecture, charities for the poor, the chivalric ideal and the art of the Renaissance were all creations of the Catholic Church, directly or indirectly. The contributions of the Church to civilization become even greater if one were to count all the advances made by Catholic monks throughout the ages, from Dionysius Exiguus (500-560) who developed the anno domini method of dating, to Gregor Mendel (1822-1884) who pioneered the science of genetics. When all the innovations that arose as a result of monasticism are figured into the equation, the contributions of the Church to society become truly immense and unfathomable.

The intellectual position that made all these achievements possible was a thoroughgoing integration of faith and common life. Since faith was actually taken seriously, its practice had ramifications in secular life. Therefore not only strictly religious functions, like weddings and funerals, but also secular occasions like the construction of a bridge or building, the harvesting of the crops or the christening of a ship also became religious functions, complete with ceremonial blessings. It only followed that this integration should take place also at the highest level of the state. This is the ideological foundation of Christian monarchy.

What exactly is Christian monarchy? It has taken several forms throughout the centuries. This paper will focus on the period from Constantine up to the Reformation. The Christian monarch of this period was the head of a complex social hierarchy, which went down from him though the nobles, merchants and finally to the serfs. The image of power was somewhat similar to the political arrangement. The authority to rule came from God, who vested it in the king. The king ruled by God’s power and by His grace. As the personification of the kingdom, the king’s relationship to God was especially important. The belief of the time was that a godly king would bring blessing to his people while a sinful one would incur judgment. An example of this can be taken from Asser’s Life of King Alfred, which dates from around the 894. There, Alfred’s exile in the swamps of Somerset is attributed to a sin he committed against hospitality in refusing to aid some friends in need. By contrast, Asser attributes the victory of the English over the Danes at the Battle of Ashdown to the pious prayers of King Ethelred at Mass. Asser aptly sums up the entire theology of the Christian monarch with one statement: “The faith of this Christian king availed much with the Lord.”2

The grace of God to the nation was mediated through the king, much as the grace of God given to the individual was mediated through the Church. The identification of the king with divine authority went so far that disobedience to the king was usually seen as ipso facto disobedience to God as well. This system seemed to work fairly well, but problems arose when the two chief instruments of grace for the individual and the kingdom, Church and King, were at odds with each other. Who was the believer to have primary allegiance to, and where did the jurisdiction of each come to an end? These struggles dominate the history of Church and state in the Middle Ages and account for much of the development that took place within these two institutions during that time.

Finally, a distinction must be drawn between the Christian kingship of the Middle Ages and that of the early modern era. Christian kingship endured past 1555 and had several centuries of vitality left before it finally got thrown out for good after World War I. Even Queen Elizabeth II, at her coronation in 1952, swore to uphold the Christian (albeit Protestant) religion. But there are several important differences between the Christian monarchies of the Middle Ages and those from the 16th century onward.

Medieval monarchy was theocratic monarchy in the truest sense. The kingship and the church were the two authorities that God had established in the world, the latter to reign over the spiritual sphere, the former over the temporal. Oftentimes the distinct spheres of influence of each authority were blurred, but a few common points can be established. First, all authority came from God and all in authority were responsible to God for the just exercise of it. Secondly, the Church and the King (or in the high medieval period, the Emperor) were the supreme authorities on the earth. Finally, the authority of each was mediated to the common people by a complex hierarchy. In the case of the Church, it was the institutional hierarchy and religious orders coupled with the Catholic economy of sacraments, penance and good works. In the order of kingship, it was through dizzying mixture of nobles, lords, dukes, earls, ealdormen, thegns, reeves, barons, counts, knights, vassals, peasants and all men of means who bound themselves ultimately to the king through the system of fealty, which secured the bond of a man to his lord by sacred oath. The two orders of Church and Kingship functioned, in theory at least, harmoniously. The good king was also the pious king who served the Church, and the faithful Churchman was the one who humbly obeyed the God-ordained sovereign. By the cooperation of the two, the faithful were provided with all the means, both temporal and spiritual, they needed to live happy lives and attain to their final end. Life in the Middle Ages is rife with such examples of Church-State cooperation. To use the example of Alfred again, the King decreed in his law that disputes over the ownership of property were to be heard in the presence of a bishop and that any man who violated his oath, as part of his punishment, was to do whatever penance was prescribed by the local ordinary.3

A decisive change takes place in the nature of Christian kingship following the Reformation.4 Though they used different models, Henry VIII of England and the German princes who broke with the Church both inaugurated a new era of Church-State relations: that of state dominance over the Church and of the insistence that the first loyalty of a person ought to go to the state. This was the germ of what would grow into the idea of absolutism, as personified in the 17th century by Louis XIV.

The differences between absolutism and theocratic monarchy at first seem minuscule, but are very fundamental. While in the theocratic model it is authority that descends to the king from God, in the absolutist model it is not authority but power that is given to the monarch. Authority is connected with the idea of responsibility, to God first, then to the Church and the nation as a whole. A theocratic monarch, by the very nature of his authority, was also bound to Christian morality and piety. An absolutist ruler felt constrained by no such demand and envisioned his authority in terms of raw power.

Another essential difference is the systematic way in which the absolute monarchs did away with the mediating bodies that had played so crucial a role in the Middle Ages. The practice of subsidiarity, which had been taken for granted in the Middle Ages, was phased out in favor of state centralization under the absolutist monarch. Guilds, state funded or privately backed ecclesiastical charities and all such independent bodies were dissolved, transformed, or reigned in under the authority of the monarch. The traditionally quasi-independent noble landowners became agents of the state, in the case of the Prussian Junkers quite literally.5 In its political theory, the absolutist model is almost a kind of Christianized reversion back to the Pharonic idea of kingship and absolute power. However, much of this power existed in theory and not in practice; no absolutist monarch, except perhaps the Russian Czars, exerted the kind of arbitrary power over life and death that a figure like Rameses III or Xerxes did. Nevertheless, absolutism represents at least an ideological, if not practical, regression back to this pre-Christian notion of kingship.

To sum it up: the dynamic institution of Christian monarchy arose from the rubble of the western Roman Empire and proved to be the dominant political model in the west for the next 1200 years. Behind it was an ideology that integrated faith and life, insisting that good kings be good Christians and that good Christians be loyal to the king. Disputes over where the authority of King and Church ended characterize the major political and ecclesiastical issues of the Middle Ages, but the stability of the Christian monarchy and the dynamism of the Catholic religion ensured that the institution of monarchy survived intact, though altered somewhat. By the 1600’s, however,  latent nationalism and emerging ideas about the absolute authority of the state rendered the institution crippled irreparably. Traditional “theocratic” Christian monarchies declined in favor of newer “absolutist” models, which did away with the principles of subsidiarity and of responsibility to the Church in favor of state domination of the Church. The nature of these monarchies ultimately proved inadequate in dealing with the rising tides of liberalism and they all crumbled finally, in 1789, 1848 and 1917.

This work will focus on the formative period of Christian monarchy, the “theocratic” period, from the ascent of Constantine to the Peace of Augsburg in 1555. However, it is first necessary to take a brief look at how several seemingly contradictory ideas of power in pre-Christian times were fused by Christianity in person of the Catholic King.


Footnotes
1 Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy: Inferno, Canto 23 (Penguin Books Edition, translated by Dorothy L. Sayers. London: 1949)
2 Asser, Life of King Alfred, Translated by L.C. Jane, M.A. (Cooper Square Publishers: New York, 1966) 27, 39
3 Richard Abels, Alfred the Great: War, Kingship and Culture in Anglo-Saxon England ( Longman: London & New York, 1998), 268
4Secular rulers exercising disproportionate influence over Church affairs did not start with the Reformation; it had a healthy tradition going back to Edward I of England, Frederick II and Henry IV of Germany and even to Justinian. The difference is that after the Reformation era, what had previously been the personal actions of a few rulers became a dogmatically defined doctrine of state (cuius regio eius religio) and many secular lords tried to do away with Church mediation entirely, insisting that the King ruled by God’s grace alone and was not responsible to any earthly Church or ecclesiastical official.
5 The full-scale conversion of Junkers into the Prussian officer corps began in with King Frederick William I around 1717. (Anthony F. Upton, Europe: 1600-1789. Oxford University Press: New York, 2001), 254

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

The "complexities" of the episcopacy

I am currently watching the drama unfold around the alleged comments made by Cardinal Schönborn yesterday on the need of the Church to grant lasting gay relationships "more respect", to "reconsider" its position on re-married divorcees and on his uncertainty as to whether celibacy leads to sexual deviance in the priesthood. I am not going to comment on Schönborn's remarks now, since I am allowing some time to elapse for the possibility that he may have been misquoted, or wants to clarify his statements. I will get back to this in a few days when everything has had time to come to the surface and when we can verify that the Cardinal did in fact say these things (see here).

In the meantime I do want to address a certain attitude I see pop up occasionally when any bishop or high ranking ecclesiastic, who otherwise has a conservative reputation, says something stupid. Whenever a Cardinal, like Schönborn (who seems to be the gaffe-prone Joe Biden of the hierarchy), says something incomprehensible, reckless, offensive to the faith or just plain dumb, many Catholics will step forward and say, "Now, now, we can't be too hasty in judging these comments by bishop so-and-so; after all, we don't know what its like shouldering the weight of the magnitude and complexity of the office of our Bishops. We ought to just trust them and assume they didn't mean exactly what they seem to be saying." According to this excuse, the episcopacy is such a complex, delicate and elaborate office that a degree of tact and spin is always required when bishops speak; this has the downside of sometimes making their words unintelligible to us. Nevertheless, because we can't imagine the "strain" they must be under, we should just trust that they know what they are talking about even when it is obvious nonsense.

Well, I agree that I have no idea what it is like to be a bishop. I don't know the strain they are under, nor do I grasp the subtleties necessary in formulating episcopal statements.

But just because I have no personally experienced the "strain" of the episcopacy doesn't mean that a Catholic has no right to be puzzled or have an opinion when a bishop says something stupid. Are we to be blamed if we connect the obvious dots? If Bishop X says something completely wacky, liberal or outlandish, are we going out a limb for assuming that Bishop X must be a wacky, liberal or outlandish bishop? "Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks" says our Lord (Luke 6:45). But some would have us believe that there is no connection between what the mouth speaks and what the heart believes - that if  an ecclesiastic says something liberal or incompetent, we should not therefore question their competence or their orthodoxy but should rather assume the opposite.

To make this more clear, let us draw a parallel to the way people once viewed the United States government. When the Iraq War broke out, President Bush said that he had incontrovertible evidence that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. This "evidence" was not presented to the American public. Nevertheless, patriotic Americans were called upon to support their president and their country. Many Americans did just that, reasoning that although they didn't have the evidence in front of them, the president and the military must know what they are doing. Americans were asked to go along with the war on the assumption that the intelligence was really there and that the information was so complex, delicate and sensitive that it could not be revealed to the public. We were asked to go along in blind faith, and many did.

Of course, what actually happened was the opposite of what we were told: instead of the information being so complex and secretive that it couldn't be revealed, it was found to be so flawed, scanty and obtuse so as to be unreliable. The men we trusted because they "knew what was going on" were revealed to actually have no clue what was going on. The alleged "evidence" that we were supposed to have faith in never materialized, and many Americans realized only too late that the whole thing was sham, but a sham that they went along with under the pretext that the intelligence was too sensitive to  be revealed and we just had to trust the powers that be in making the big decisions.

Is this not how some would have us respond to questionable comments from cardinals and bishops? "Don't worry; I'm sure he's orthodox. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have become a cardinal! We can trust him, even if what he is saying makes absolutely no sense." We grant the same measure of trust to these ecclesiastics on the premise that they are inherently trustworthy, that they are looking out for orthodoxy and want to preserve tradition. And if their words fly in the face of all those assumptions, or if by their actions they show that they don't mind flagrantly discarding Catholic tradition - then instead of calling it like it is, we convince ourselves that their office is so complex and their responsibilities so weighty that we, the ignorant laity, cannot possibly understand where they are coming from. Therefore, the best thing we can do is just passively sit back and watch bishops and cardinals run amok in their dioceses all while singing their praises and lamenting about the great strain they must be under.

I don't deny that bishops are under strain, but let's be perfectly clear about one thing: while the bureaucracies and structures of the modern episcopate may be complex, the office of a bishop is very simple. Preach the Gospel! Be a sign of unity for the local church. If someone asks you if celibacy leads to sexual perversion, you don't huff and puff and say psychiatrists are debating the issue; you give a firm and resounding "NO." If someone asks how one gets to heaven, you don't speculate about "elements of truth" in other religions and "invincible ignorance" and the theories of von Balthasar; you say, "Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ alone is the way to heaven." If somebody asks you if homosexual relations are sinful, you say "YES"; what you don't do is amend your answer with dozens of qualifications about a committed relationship being better than promiscuity, about how homosexuals can love each other too, etc. These sorts of qualifications and distinctions, even though they may have some validity to them, only serve to confuse the faithful, especially after the media gets through picking out their select soundbites.

I think the real problem here isn't with orthodoxy (especially among the otherwise "conservative" bishops) but rather with fortitude; i.e., spinelessness and duplicity when it comes to speaking the plain truth. Bishops and cardinals, among all people, should speak the most plainly and unreservedly. How will the flock learn the faith if it is not preached to them? "Woe to me if I do not preach!" says St. Paul of the bishop's duty to preach the Gospel (1 Cor. 9:16); thus he lays a malediction upon bishops who fail in this fundamental duty of preaching.  Failing to communicate the Gospel is a serious thing for a bishop. If so, then why do they sometimes fail to preach? We have been told that it is because they are under a lot of strain, but could it be because many are spineless?

Like the case with the Iraq War, Catholics need to realize that a lot of bishops who we thought were so intellectual and complex could really just be cowards who have no clue what they are doing or what they ought to be doing. If they repeatedly say or do incompetent things, could we infer they may be incompetent?  You know the old saying about "If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck..." We ought to face up to this possibility. I'm not calling out anybody by name, nor am I standing in judgment here. I'm condemning nobody; but I am making the simple observation that any bishop who refuses to state the plain truth when he has the opportunity and the duty is a coward and I don't think there is anything wrong with pointing this out.

Do I believe this about Cardinal Schönborn? As I said in the beginning, I am not making any statement on Cardinal Schönborn's words until more information comes out, and nothing I have said in this post is with reference to any specific bishop or cardinal. But I do believe there are quite a few cardinals and bishops who fit this mold; men who would abandon the clear teaching of the Faith as soon as it becomes socially unacceptable to profess it anymore, as soon as the "strain" gets to them. But if they are the type of people who do indeed buckle or disseminate under strain, why are they in the episcopacy? And why do we make excuses for them?

I truly hope that Cardinal Schönborn was misquoted, taken out of context, or that this whole thing is a lie. We'll see, but judging from what I've seen of the Cardinal in the past few years, I would not be surprised if this whole thing is completely true.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Peter Steele - 1962-2010

Most of you have probably never heard of Peter Steele, (left) who passed away last month at the age of 48 from heart failure. Steele was the bassist and lead singer from the band Type O Negative, a popular group in the 1990's that was at the cutting edge of the emerging "gothic" music scene and culture - you know, all those whiny, self-pitying teens who dye their hair black and try to look like vampires? Though Type O Negative, as a niche band, never attained a real popular mass market appeal, they did sustain a strong underground following throughout the 90's and into the new millennium. Steele set the group apart by his haunting, baritone vocals in an age when most goth/metal bands looked for male singers who could do alto or soprano. Attempting to sound as "gothic" as possible, the band's music often featured church organs and choirs, as well as slow, creepy rhythms (think of the Addam's Family theme song).

Steele had a typical rock-star lifestyle - struggles with depression, drug abuse and alcoholism that eventually derailed his music career and made him a has-been by the mid 2000's. Last month he passed away of a sudden heart attack at the age of 48.

So why is this news? A rock-star dies before his age? Is this surprising for someone who dallied in the occult (and professed atheism), exulted vampires as role models and sung about sacrilege, fornication and demonology? I recall listening to Type O Negative when I was 14, and this music definitely got me interested and involved in occult spirituality (I even had a brief vampire phase that thankfully proved very temporary). How many other young people were lured into the occult through this sort of music that exalts vampires and everything dark? And why am I bringing this up on my blog?

Because shortly before his death, Peter Steele converted to Christianity and even claimed to be a Roman Catholic. He went on talk shows speaking about how God has a plan for everybody and stated that one thing that helped bring him to Christianity was the conviction that there had to be some justice in life beyond this world; in his own words, that "someone like Stalin or Hitler just couldn't wind up in the same place as Mother Teresa." This sudden change appalled his fans (who thought he had sold out) and amazed Christians, who were once again reminded that nobody is beyond God's grace. His was definitely the most unexpected conversion since the 2005 conversion of Korn guitarist Brian "Head" Welch. Unfortunately, unlike Welch, Steele died very soon after announcing his conversion.

I do not know whether or not Peter Steele ever got himself baptized, nor how true was his union with the Church when he claimed to be a Roman Catholic. Perhaps he was in the process of formal membership, perhaps he had not yet reached that stage. I do not know.But it is not surprising to me that someone into the "gothic" scene should have converted to Catholicism rather than Calvinism or some non-denominational Protestantism.

One thing interesting about the "gothic", vampiric culture among the youth is the degree to which it makes use of Catholic religious symbols and sacramentals. Obviously this use is in a sacrilegious or illicit way, but it is still present. When one makes role models out of vampires, there is a kind of negative sacramental economy that comes into play - Holy Water, for the vampire, as something that is harmful rather than blessed; a cross, which serves the same function (though goth kids will sometimes wear decorative "gothic" crosses); even a perverted form of the Lord's Supper, in which the feasting on God's Body and Blood for supernatural life is substituted for the sucking of human blood for physical life. Some even exhibit a predilection for Latin; one of Type O Negative's most popular hits was entitled "Corpus Christi." All these are of course used out of their proper place, but they are nonetheless part of the vampire/goth lore.

As was the case with Type O Negative and Peter Steele's lyrics, there was almost an obsession with Christianity and themes from Christian theology that can be equated to Flannery O' Connor's "Christ-haunted" character of Hazel Motes in Wise Blood: even as Christianity is rejected, the vehemence of the rejection still ensures that, in a negative way, Christianity is still the driving force of the story. Similarly, Type O Negative, and a lot of "goth" music, keeps Christianity in the fore of its symbolism and content even as it inverts this symbolism.

But at some point I wonder whether the dallying around with the symbols of Christianity leads one on to discover the substance - it is odd that Steele should go from goth right to Roman Catholicism, but it makes sense sort of if perhaps through the gothic cultural symbolism he was acquainted (in a perverse way) with Catholic concepts (sacramentals, etc). Unlike rationalist atheists, many goths are very interested in spiritual matters and even in Christianity in a perverted sort of way. I remember this from my own teenage years - listening to dark metal but being very interested in spirituality, occult and Christian. I doodled pictures of demons and devils, which of course eventually got me thinking about the real devil and brought me into the realm of Christianity. When I first started reading the Bible at age 14, it was as "the enemy's book;" by the time I finished I was a believer. At least in my own personal case, the gothic scene (though I was never that involved in it) served as a kind of preparatio evangelica insofar as it got me familiar with certain concepts that I later learned were native to the Church.

I have mentioned before that there is an obsession with inverted forms of Christian worship in occult rites (see here), which are obviously meant to insult or blaspheme our Lord. We warn people about fooling around with occultism, but I wonder if occultists warn their members against "fooling" around with Catholicism. After all, the Faith is like a lion; if you let it out, even in its aesthetic or purely cultural incarnations, it is possible that one will be drawn by the inherent beauty to reject to seek the Truth.The Lion that is Catholicism has eaten many who set out to disprove or discredit it. I myself am one. Steele is another.

Am I saying that gothic metal or the gothic scene is good and will lead people to Christ? Absolutely, positively one-hundred percent not. I am remarking on the marvelous grace of God that He can take people, like myself or Peter Steele, who were completely immersed in darkness and even in the midst of that darkness draw us out ever so slowly by miniscule rays of truth that grow broader and more powerful the further one follows them, leading eventually into Catholic fullness. I don't know to what degree Peter Steele was able to partake of this fullness before his death last month, but I thank God for His grace in my life that I was brought from darkness into His glorious light.

Monday, May 03, 2010

Church renovations in the 11th century and today


One of the truly lamentable signs of the times that we live in is the notable lack of beautiful Catholic churches in the western world. Other than the great edifices of the medieval and baroque eras that have somehow managed to escape dismantling and remain standing, there are precious few examples of beautiful modern Catholic church architecture. This is especially true in the United States, where modernist architecture is the norm and where there are no medieval cathedrals or baroque basilicas to offset the disturbing truth that, for a Church whose philosophical tradition has equated Beauty as interchangeable with Goodness and Being itself, there is a woeful dearth of beauty in Catholic church buildings.

The truly tragic thing is that the absence of beautiful church architecture in America is a part of an agenda perpetrated by an ideologically driven minority, as Michael S. Rose has aptly documented in his indispensable book The Renovation Manipulation: The Church Counter-Renovation Handbook. Rose shows in his book how this small cadre of modernist intelligensia, mainly operating under the guise of upholding the 1978 non-binding and non-obligatory document Environment and Art in Catholic Worship put out by the US Bishop's Committee on the Liturgy, have constructed a systematic plan for the destruction of traditional Catholic architecture in order to replace it with architecturally minimalist styles that are thought to better convey (you guessed it) the 'Spirit of Vatican II.'

Interestingly enough, those who promote the architectural "wreckovation" will attempt to mask the blatant destruction of Catholic tradition by appealing to history - one architectural form has always given way to another, they say. Did not Gothic give way to Baroque? Furthermore, there is always this kind of change after an ecumenical council - look at the great changes in painting and architecture that we associate with the Counter-Reformation, which was the fruit of the Council of Trent. As the Church develops and Vatican II puts our theological emphasis in a new place (community over sacrifice), our buildings need to reflect this change.

On the one hand, these arguments are correct - it is true that in history, massive renovations have happened to Catholic church buildings. It is certainly true that even the most well constructed cathedral or solid basilica is still a structure made of ultimately temporary materials that will in time erode and fall apart. Though we ought to do everything we can to preserve the great Catholic monuments of our tradition, we do need to recognize that sometimes it is necessary to take down or deconstruct a church whose physical life has come to an end. Also, there is a legitimate variation in style as one architectural style organically gives way to another. There is a very clear line of development from the classical, secular structures of the late Roman Empire into the Romanesque, the Gothic and then the Baroque and neo-Classical. Certainly styles change and nobody denies this. Ecclesiastical events and ecumenical councils can even prompt some of these changes.

But where this weak analogy breaks down is in trying to draw an equation from the fact of change in the past to the type of change that we are currently experiencing. The architectural changes of the Church's tradition have always been organic changes, changes based on existing custom and tradition, and most importantly, changes that were thought to better reflect the theological and liturgical life of the Church. The changes being implemented in the past four decades are completely artificial, inspired not by Catholic tradition but by modern art, deconstructionism and minimalism. They are also being imposed authoritatively from above, by committees and bureaucracies not in line with the tastes of the people, most of whom prefer the beautiful designs from tradition, which are more easily understandable.

To further demonstrate this difference between current renovations and other advancements in church architecture from our past, let us compare everything we know about the current "wreckovation" to a famous passage from the chronice of Rodulfus Glaber, a Burgundian chronicler writing around the turn of the first millennium of the growth in new church buildings in France:

"When the third year after the millennium dawned, churches were to be seen being rebuilt all over the earth, but especially in Italy and Gaul; although most of them were very well constructed and had no need of rebuilding, each Christian community was driven by a true rivalry to have a finer church than that of its neighbors. It looked as though the very world was shaking itself to take off its old age and to reclothe itself in all areas in a white cloak of churches. Thus, almost all the churches of episcopal sees, the churches of monasteries dedicated to different saints, and even the little chapels in villages were rebuilt more beautifully by the faithful (Rodulfi Glabri Historiarum Libri Quinque; Rodulfus Glaber, The Five Books of the Histories).

New churches were being constructed, it is true, but why? Because communities had a true rivalry to have a "finer church" than its neighbor; now dicoeses seem to compete to have the ugliest buildings. Glaber clearly states that the new churches were "rebuilt more beautifully" than the old churches. True architectural progression in church design aims to take new methods and technological advancements and put them at the service of beauty and the mystery of the faith. Hence, the Gothic is more complex and beautiful than the Romanesque, and the Baroque takes the artistic and scuptural advances of the Renaissance and puts them at the service of beauty - and yet, each style need not be in competition, for since they are all the best efforts of the men of that age to put art at the service of beauty, they each have their own sort of beauty proper to that style.

Nowadays, unlike what Glaber describes as a charitable rivalry in outdoing one another in beauty, parish wreckovators are intentionally dismantling and destroying every vestige of beauty. See this post on one priest who sees the Novus Ordo Mass as practically demanding a total demolition of churches built in the traditional style, that the new mass may be celebrated in its "fullness."

Finally, Glaber says that these new, beautiful churches were built "by the faithful." The new churches of old were built in keeping with the piety and desires of the faithful, who many times carried out the physical construction of the buildings. Modern church renovations are seldom carried out at the will of the people. Michael Rose says in his book that usually a parish considering renovation makes the fatal mistake of inviting some committee or group of "specialists" out to look at the facility and make recommendations - before the priest knows whats going on, a total renovation is underway, designed and implemented by an outside agent working from a flawed interpretation of USCCB documents with an aim of uglifying the church as much as possible. From start to finish it is a top-down affair that barely engages the faithful at all. This is not always the case, of course, but according to Rose it is the norm.

To sum it up, we ought not to be silenced by arguments that architectural change and progression of styles have always been a part of the Church's history. This is true - but it is also true that these legitimate, organic modifications in style over time have nothing in common with the minimalist, modernist, authoritarian nonsense that passes for renovation in the modern church.
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