The prophet is a rare phenomenon; the emergence of true individualism in the heart of tradition; one who speaks in the familiar language of the faith, while relating interpretations both old and new for modern ears. If tradition is a thick gathering of clouds, the prophet is a lightning bolt thrown down.
The best part of man is indistinguishable from the least part of God.
In ecstasy, agony, and sanity, the soul is poetic.
Hell is spread out over the surface of the earth, as chaos,
while Heaven is gathered in the center of a heart that is pure.
It seems no stretch to imagine we exist in the unconscious,
the interior, the soul and entrails, of some gargantuan demiurge.
We make our pilgrimage along the path of absurdity,
from horror to horror, -- and only within ourselves
is there an evershowing light of God.
A life of epic proportions is lived in the balance between Heaven and Hell; the imagination, -- and, by extention, the will, -- can have no greater freedom, no wider field of endeavor, than what is marked out between these two infinite extremities.
Flesh is a medal of honor; it weighs heavy on proud-breasted souls.
The humble receive honors but do not wear them.
The cross as Libran scales:
the two thieves on either side of Christ;
their sins are equally balanced, -- yet,
the contrition of the one carries spiritual weight
(gravity, or significance) and tips the scales in his favor.
Christian love is not filial but spiritual.
Hence, the "blood" of Christ is only that love,
consecrated (or concentrated) by meaningful attention,
which we draw into ourselves, and which runs
in the veins of our souls, relating us to one another,
as no genetic likeness or proximity every could.
The cross is no more than this:
A candle set upon a hill, lit to the Most High God, who is Love.
What is the crown of thorns, if not a nimbus on the wick?
See how the knees fold and droop like melting wax,
and flesh, as blood, pools in a circlet below...
Is this not "the light of men", whose flame ignites
innumerable hearts; kindles them with self-consuming love?
Place thyself as an unlit wick in the flame of Holy Presence,
and be still until you have caught the enthusiasm of God's Love;
the light of inspiration which is peace to the agrieved
and joy to the afflicted.
Some illumined souls burn like bushes in the wilderness,
some like torches hidden deep inside a mountainous cavern,
and some like makeshift candles set upon a peasant's table,
while others are housed in glass along chapel walls,
to concentrate and direct their light. All are needed.
Religion is not as obscure as men are obtuse.
A man's assumptions may be numbered
by his willingness to listen, so as to consider
interpretations not readily apparent
to the common ways of seeing.
Christianity, in its entirety, must be born again, reconstellated in every Christian soul. The symbols, to remain potent, fresh, and truthful, must undergo the metamorphosis of resurrection; altering not their outward form, so much as their relation to the shifting seasons, the life and death, of every soul. The man who comes to Christ recreates Christ, even as he recreates himself in the image of Christ; for as he dies and is reborn, the outworn vision of Christ is laid to rest and the new dispensation emerges from the tomb. Christ's life is for the unconverted. His passion and death are the emblems of contrition, and his resurreciton is the establishment of sovereignty within the newly converted soul. For the true convert, the true Christian, in whom Christ reigns unchallenged, the problem of life is no more. "It is accomplished."
There are no logical grounds for the belief that a person who has the direction to order his own life is therefor more fit to direct and order the lives of others. On the contrary, a care for others is seldom consistent with a care for oneself.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
The Honor
The greatness of the gift, and the ease with which it was acquired, ought to have inspired every heart with boundless gratitude for such a God. Instead, mankind was moved to devalue the gift and even to doubt the sincerity of the Giver. So, God, who is ever prepared to make consolations to the weaknesses of his creations, gave men labor, that they might seem to "earn" the good things he wished to give them by the grace of his own goodwill.
This would be contrary to his nature and his purposes, except that it was necessary for the sake of winning souls. For men did not value what they acquired without time and effort, but squandered whatever they themselves had not obtained through considerable toil. The greater the sacrifice, the more they valued whatever was obtained by it. To them, the gifts had no lustre of their own, but shined only on account of the gloss of accomplishment which men, faithful to their own ambitions and not to the wonders of God, had succeeded in giving them.
What other remedy could God find, but to make salvation costly; to require of men the sacrifice of what they esteemed most; namely, their own will? For this is the hidden mystery of grace, which is freely given, yet, is more costly than all other things. So that men might know the value of what they themselves cannot acquire, even through the most strenuous of labors, God has placed the one condition upon his love which men could not abide; -- the condition of unconditionality.
Indeed, the arrogance of men could only be revealed and humbled in this most masterful way. Consider the legendary hero, every nerve and muscle strained, prepared to exert himself to the very maximum of his power. See him in the fray, red-faced, fire in his eyes, teeth flashing like demon. This is what men admire; not the peaceful monk, practicing stillness, allowing every atom of his being to relax and drop effortlessly into the open arms of God. He is no hero to them, and, yet, his heroism is true, since his aim is not to be admired for some difficult undertaking, but to be obliterated by the grace of God.
Now shall men admire what cannot be acquired through the most exacting feats of mortal will, but only through the mortification of that will. They shall perceive the inestimable worth of that gift which no efforts can purchase, but which may only be obtained by the renunciation of personal honors. That merit is incompatible with credit -- that all the greatest virtues a man may exhibit are granted to him solely by the grace of God, and that it is God alone who infuses and sustains the virtues with his power and his love -- this is the great realization which awaits all seekers of the truth. It is the recognition that truth can only be loved and served for its own sake, and never worn as an ornament to the personal will. It is the revelation that nothing a man may do can ever render him worthy of such a treasure. This, the supreme victory, is enjoyed only by those who accept no credit for it, as a free gift of God, The Most High.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Homilies, mostly
No labor is small when the laborer is great. A master builder knows that every stone he places is the cornerstone, if he will treat it as such. It is the spirit in which he receives it, according to the measure of his gratitude, which determines its worth. Therefore, he looks inward, to his own capacity for receptiveness, and not askance, at what is offered outwardly.
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The anxious, the restless, the overworked, the grief-stricken, the wrathful, the stumbling, -- they all do more to advance than to hinder your work, Lord. The more they fuss, the more evident is your peace; for the backwardness of their ways cannot long be hidden. They are a reproach to themselves and a veiled psalm in praise and supplication to you. They prove their ignorance, their lack of experience of your grace, just as surely as the saints prove their knowledge of, and intimacy with, your will. They can do nothing against the truth which is not, ultimately, for it.
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God cannot deny you that which you do not seek. If you train your will to desire only that which is given, that which occurs from moment to moment, then you will live in the fullness of his peace and joy. You will possess all that you desire, for you desire only that which you possess, and cease to desire it the instant you no longer possess it. How is this accomplished? It is not by attaching one's desire to objects or circumstances, but to the will of God as revealed by fate. Abandonment to fate is submission to the will of God, since it is God's will for us that we become receptive to all that is. Not what is done, but what is permitted, lights the way. Fate acts, and whatever resists is of the devil, but the will of God is to allow and, by allowing, to go its own way. It is because we do not rebel against the natural course of events that we are positioned to transcend the world altogether.
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Faith sees more order in chaos than doubt sees in order.
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I am for the idlers, the fantasists. Let them make dreams, and not troubles. Let them make dreams, and not fortunes won at the expense of unfortunates. Let them do nothing and be insensible to all encouragements toward industry. If it is a crime, it is a negligible one, compared to the crimes hard-working men commit daily in a bid to do "their duty". In such a world as we have made, the unemployed sluggards we see may be among the most harmless creatures we know. They take what is given (hardly more than what they need), and put to use those things which have already been amassed and largely neglected. Who deserves less blame than they do, for the collapse of the environment and the exploitation of third-world countries; the enslaving of peoples for the purpose of perpetuating an insane paradigm of blind, materialistic extraction, production, distribution, consumption, and ultimate wasting of untold natural resources? And who is better placed to develop a sensitivity to the divine call, -- to a life of reflection, entirely answerable to, and free to obey, the promptings of an inward spirit? I have always been drawn to these "untouchables", and have found the most priceless treasures drifting in the gutters. I suppose, had they not been discarded like trash, someone would have snatched them up long ago, and I would never have discovered their worth.
Unborn
I am increasingly convinced that poetry predates prose; that the origins of things are perfect, while their ends are hollow, and their mass is nostalgic degeneration.
Only what is imminent acts directly, without intercessors. Only the instant is pure.
And God, who is more than pure, is unborn; whatever comes into being has already begun to die.
Tradition is an attempt, at once ironic and sincere, to reflect the historical moment of divine inspiration which first gave birth to archetypes of supernatural potency.
To the greatest mystics, the founders of religions, these images are windows, signs, words, the purest expressions of language. To us, they are holy relics which resonate with a trillion secret meanings.
The most glorious utterances are charged with insight. Time and again, they have shown a power to catalyze revelations, and to trigger a domino-effect of many distinct points of light, once separate, now united by vast halos, overlapping penumbras of comprehension.
In their brevity, sayings of the wise are more prolific than volumes of the unenlightened.
Silence is still more so, if we know how to listen.
Only what is imminent acts directly, without intercessors. Only the instant is pure.
And God, who is more than pure, is unborn; whatever comes into being has already begun to die.
Tradition is an attempt, at once ironic and sincere, to reflect the historical moment of divine inspiration which first gave birth to archetypes of supernatural potency.
To the greatest mystics, the founders of religions, these images are windows, signs, words, the purest expressions of language. To us, they are holy relics which resonate with a trillion secret meanings.
The most glorious utterances are charged with insight. Time and again, they have shown a power to catalyze revelations, and to trigger a domino-effect of many distinct points of light, once separate, now united by vast halos, overlapping penumbras of comprehension.
In their brevity, sayings of the wise are more prolific than volumes of the unenlightened.
Silence is still more so, if we know how to listen.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
On Being Normal
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."
~ Henry David Thoreau
"Normal" people scare me. Or people who want to be normal. The myth of normalcy. Another one of those sinister entities that governs individuals, nations, ages. Deviation, originality, qualities that surprise and provoke us into reflection; revision -- these things are forced into the margins, but they are never so rare as the myth would have us believe. We are all artists, leaders, philosophers, visionaries, right up until the moment we accept some servile, deflated, milquetoast notion of who we are or who we should be.
But what is the deeper motivation behind the myth?
Are we afraid of the unknown, the uncertain, and all things subtle, mysterious, or tricky? Is that why we as a society cling so tenaciously to concrete answers; absolutes; norms? Is that why we rely on "authority" and hasten to fill every empty space with a firm, well-fitted assumption, or else to deny the emptiness which penetrates and surrounds everything of which we are conscious?
Is it the need to belong? Do we stifle our most creative insights for fear that they will open us to attacks from those who oppose or misread us? Do we equally fear inclusion in groups which we have mocked and relegated to the margins? If we hold a certain idea, does that make us a certain type of person? Must we then identify with that type and adopt all the ideas which are held in common by them?
Ironically, it is more likely to be the larger group, the one to which they do not belong, which identifies and forces them into a subculture, and decides what ideas they supposedly hold in common. As we approach, and as we enter into these subcultures, we come to see how internally fragmented they are. We see how precarious, tentative, conditional, and barely convenient are all the designations, definitions, and memes intended to contain or connect them. Often, they are too preoccupied with their own internal differences to bother much with the outside world. Most Catholics want to reform Catholicism, and change the minds of other Catholics, far more than they want to convert non-Catholics to their cause, though this is considerably less apparent from outside the Church. Paradigms seem clearly defined, set in stone, held together by the solidarity of unquestioning conformity. It is only their internal and epidermal organs which reveal the extent to which they are at odds with themselves and in sympathy with others.
And what man cannot see the evidence of this truth clearly enough in the case of his own strange condition? Who is not everywhere at odds with himself? And, if he is not, why is he not? It would appear that man's natural and healthiest state is to be continuously provoking and vigorously reconciling new and old conflicts within himself. Every motion in the direction of peace should bring him face to face with a greater and deeper conflict within. How can it be otherwise; when true peace is found only in God, and man is left forever wrestling, or negotiating ignoble compromises, with himself?
The conflict does not end before we give ourselves; mind, body, and soul.
We first develop a taste for self-denial, as though it were a taste for blood. And when we go to peace, we go to war. We go in the direction of our conflict, and we sit with it, and we allow it to insult and decapitate us. We do this. Or else, we are just as conflicted, and all the more unconscious, as we cling like spiders to tenuous, paradigmatic webs, without the grip or agility that spiders have.
Is it simply that man is afraid of himself and, ultimately, afraid of God?
Why else would we institute an economy which affords us every luxury but the one required to pursue a sincere relationship with our deepest selves, and with God, to whom we are united at the very deepest levels?* Why else would we encourage one another to mindless action, while discouraging the most profound efforts of reflection? Why would we exhaust ourselves inventing, mass-producing, distributing, and consuming increasingly abundant sources of vanity; novelty without beauty, simplicity, grace, nor function? Nearly every one of us is forced to "earn our living"** by contributing more mindless, superficial, frequently toxic or otherwise pernicious junk. The culture, wealth, and natural resources of entire countries are raped and exploited for the sake of this obsessive gluttony; this endless cycle of production, distraction, and waste. Scarcely a word is written or spoken, and hardly an action is undertaken, which does not serve some vain, unnecessary, unholy purpose. Our labors are tragic precisely because our recreations are so dull, or meaningless, or both. Need it also be said that they are costly? No doubt, we would value them more highly, and not rate them so costly, were they better capable of gratifying the appetites which govern us.
"In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you."
~ Leo Tolstoy
Is it still, in this age, a revolutionary idea, that we should endeavor to develop our sight, rather than to produce and procure endless objects agreeable to the eye -- the eye as it is, and not as it might be? Do we still imagine that it is the demand for objects difficult to procure, and not the indifference to objects close at hand, which must be met? That, rather than hastening off to manifest every fancy when it occurs, we ought to be dreaming more deliberate dreams? And, if we must work, that it should be in the service of the most glorious of all dreams? Something intensely sacred and uniquely capable of evoking the sense of sacredness within.
Or what are we here for? Is it simply to sweat like beasts of burden, to rack our brains for less than brilliant ends, to fuck and breed without reverence, to gorge ourselves on the richest or the daintiest foods (the ones best able to stifle our potential and choke our spirit), to drink and make merry at the expense of one another, to boast, to gossip, to spread the most common opinions and untruths which we have not honestly considered and arrived at through consideration? In short, to be normal?
Surely, we were made for something more.
*I am speaking of freedom,
or what we like to call "free time"
(though, in our time, nothing is more costly).
** A perfectly horrendous phrase, spiritually speaking.
~ Henry David Thoreau
"Normal" people scare me. Or people who want to be normal. The myth of normalcy. Another one of those sinister entities that governs individuals, nations, ages. Deviation, originality, qualities that surprise and provoke us into reflection; revision -- these things are forced into the margins, but they are never so rare as the myth would have us believe. We are all artists, leaders, philosophers, visionaries, right up until the moment we accept some servile, deflated, milquetoast notion of who we are or who we should be.
But what is the deeper motivation behind the myth?
Are we afraid of the unknown, the uncertain, and all things subtle, mysterious, or tricky? Is that why we as a society cling so tenaciously to concrete answers; absolutes; norms? Is that why we rely on "authority" and hasten to fill every empty space with a firm, well-fitted assumption, or else to deny the emptiness which penetrates and surrounds everything of which we are conscious?
Is it the need to belong? Do we stifle our most creative insights for fear that they will open us to attacks from those who oppose or misread us? Do we equally fear inclusion in groups which we have mocked and relegated to the margins? If we hold a certain idea, does that make us a certain type of person? Must we then identify with that type and adopt all the ideas which are held in common by them?
Ironically, it is more likely to be the larger group, the one to which they do not belong, which identifies and forces them into a subculture, and decides what ideas they supposedly hold in common. As we approach, and as we enter into these subcultures, we come to see how internally fragmented they are. We see how precarious, tentative, conditional, and barely convenient are all the designations, definitions, and memes intended to contain or connect them. Often, they are too preoccupied with their own internal differences to bother much with the outside world. Most Catholics want to reform Catholicism, and change the minds of other Catholics, far more than they want to convert non-Catholics to their cause, though this is considerably less apparent from outside the Church. Paradigms seem clearly defined, set in stone, held together by the solidarity of unquestioning conformity. It is only their internal and epidermal organs which reveal the extent to which they are at odds with themselves and in sympathy with others.
And what man cannot see the evidence of this truth clearly enough in the case of his own strange condition? Who is not everywhere at odds with himself? And, if he is not, why is he not? It would appear that man's natural and healthiest state is to be continuously provoking and vigorously reconciling new and old conflicts within himself. Every motion in the direction of peace should bring him face to face with a greater and deeper conflict within. How can it be otherwise; when true peace is found only in God, and man is left forever wrestling, or negotiating ignoble compromises, with himself?
The conflict does not end before we give ourselves; mind, body, and soul.
We first develop a taste for self-denial, as though it were a taste for blood. And when we go to peace, we go to war. We go in the direction of our conflict, and we sit with it, and we allow it to insult and decapitate us. We do this. Or else, we are just as conflicted, and all the more unconscious, as we cling like spiders to tenuous, paradigmatic webs, without the grip or agility that spiders have.
Is it simply that man is afraid of himself and, ultimately, afraid of God?
Why else would we institute an economy which affords us every luxury but the one required to pursue a sincere relationship with our deepest selves, and with God, to whom we are united at the very deepest levels?* Why else would we encourage one another to mindless action, while discouraging the most profound efforts of reflection? Why would we exhaust ourselves inventing, mass-producing, distributing, and consuming increasingly abundant sources of vanity; novelty without beauty, simplicity, grace, nor function? Nearly every one of us is forced to "earn our living"** by contributing more mindless, superficial, frequently toxic or otherwise pernicious junk. The culture, wealth, and natural resources of entire countries are raped and exploited for the sake of this obsessive gluttony; this endless cycle of production, distraction, and waste. Scarcely a word is written or spoken, and hardly an action is undertaken, which does not serve some vain, unnecessary, unholy purpose. Our labors are tragic precisely because our recreations are so dull, or meaningless, or both. Need it also be said that they are costly? No doubt, we would value them more highly, and not rate them so costly, were they better capable of gratifying the appetites which govern us.
"In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you."
~ Leo Tolstoy
Is it still, in this age, a revolutionary idea, that we should endeavor to develop our sight, rather than to produce and procure endless objects agreeable to the eye -- the eye as it is, and not as it might be? Do we still imagine that it is the demand for objects difficult to procure, and not the indifference to objects close at hand, which must be met? That, rather than hastening off to manifest every fancy when it occurs, we ought to be dreaming more deliberate dreams? And, if we must work, that it should be in the service of the most glorious of all dreams? Something intensely sacred and uniquely capable of evoking the sense of sacredness within.
Or what are we here for? Is it simply to sweat like beasts of burden, to rack our brains for less than brilliant ends, to fuck and breed without reverence, to gorge ourselves on the richest or the daintiest foods (the ones best able to stifle our potential and choke our spirit), to drink and make merry at the expense of one another, to boast, to gossip, to spread the most common opinions and untruths which we have not honestly considered and arrived at through consideration? In short, to be normal?
Surely, we were made for something more.
*I am speaking of freedom,
or what we like to call "free time"
(though, in our time, nothing is more costly).
** A perfectly horrendous phrase, spiritually speaking.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
A Note On The Trinity
God The Father = Source of Virtue
God The Son = Life of Virtue
God The Spirit = Love of Virtue
Wherever God is the virtue, Christ is the virtue made visible, intelligible, effable, even tangible, and Spirit is the perfume which the virtue exudes.
Lovers, by this sweet, suggestive scent, are drawn to pursue the unseen object of a more than ancient affection.
Before the world was created, the Beloved was wedded to the Soul.
The world came into being with the death of the Soul.
The Soul, dying, shattered into many fragments.
The world appeared in the spaces between the fragments.
Hell appeared in the larger space between the fragments and the Beloved.
Our task is to rejoin the pieces of the Soul, that the world may be transcended.
Also, to rejoin the Soul with the Beloved Spirit, that hell may be abolished.
All this is accomplished through Love, which is not limited by death.
Souls who deeply honor the prenatal memory of the Beloved dwell in Love.
Dwelling in Love, they are united to one another below and to the Spirit above.
This union, which transcends death, is greater than the original union,
for a paradise regained is infinitely sweeter than a paradise never lost;
while it is admirable to remain upright, and not to lose our footing,
there is surely something truly noble in getting up after a fall.
Is this not why God made the world the way He did?
Faith and The Problem of Evil
In our attempts to conceptualize the Godhead, we frequently resolve upon three primary attributes: goodness, omniscience, and omnipotence. Leaving aside, for the moment, the crucial question of God's power, let us first consider the two attributes of goodness and omniscience, and let us inquire as to how it may be conceivable for God, who is infinitely good, to harbor a knowledge, -- which is to say, an acquaintance, -- with evil.
Before we can answer this, we will have to examine the nature of knowledge with respect to the nature of evil. In other words, we must ask what it means to know, and, specifically, what it means to know something which is, by its nature, rooted in ignorance; the very absence of knowledge. To know a lie, or to understand an illusion, is to know it as a lie, or as an illusion. Only an intimate experience of what is good can prepare us for a clear-eyed perception of evil. Though we might expect the ones who practice evil to be most intimately acquainted with its workings, reason suggests to us, with even greater assurance, that this acquaintance must somehow be uncertain or incomplete; for the man who has been thoroughly and effectively schooled in the nature of evil must know it as evil, and he therefor can abide no sentiment which might endear and involve him in something so anathema to the purposes of God.
God knows things as they are in reality, and according to the loftiest, most comprehensive vantage point. At no time, and by no means, does He deny, nor downplay, the existence and significance of suffering. He gives the devil his due, but no more. He sees that no matter how terrible the forces of wickedness, no matter how formidable their power appears, they are as nothing in proportion to the forces of good. Before the presence of the Lord, whom they cannot so much as think of in order to approach, all the powers of wickedness are spiritualized, transformed, resolved. They are ignorance itself; ignorance of light. Hence, the very mention of light significantly alters and dispels them. Formerly, the spirits of darkness drove us to question ourselves and our direction. Suddenly, they are beneath the light of interrogation, and no additional form of punishment, nor rehabilitation, need be applied. They wither at once. The name of "Mary" scatters them like crows.
It is the privilege of God to know things, not by reflection, as one who stands outside of an object or situation might reflect upon it, but by entering into them, through a process of illumination from within. While God has a most intimate acquaintance with evil, He can only know it as Himself; that is, as the Divine Light which, as it illumines, converts all things to good. The whole of creation, to the extent that it is illumined by God, is converted to the service of righteous purposes, and the greater illumination we receive, the more clearly will we begin to perceive the conversion taking place, at all times, in all things. The most horrific manifestations of evil are not so delighted with themselves as we might guess, but are continuously involved in an epic struggle against themselves. It is the nature of evil to undermine, and not to give life; hence, evil cannot so much as promote its own existence, but destroys itself quickest when it most seems to gather force. The flame catches, and may flash more threateningly for a while, but it is only to more rapidly consume the very objects upon which it depends for subsistence. And what does evil consume? Only those parts of ourselves which ought to be relinquished, and which the saints have always encouraged us to leave behind. With or against our will, the forces of good and evil work in mysterious harmony for the liberation of souls. Where the angel cannot entreat you, the devil can whip you.
The heart falters, and so begins to seek a more enduring love; something upon which to fix her affections, once and for all; something eternal and ever-present. By and by, she comes to learn the secret of secrets: That Love itself is the only worthy and truly compatible object to which her own love might seek a permanent attachment. Moreover, that the love which seeks an object, already being composed of the very substance it seeks, discovers the germ of the Beloved within itself; one substance with itself. The first is soul, the second spirit. And both are love.
Evil, in being known by God, must also know itself in the light of God, which is effectively to undermine its own existence; for it is an illusion founded on ignorance, and ignorance, once unmasked, has no recourse but to surrender its illusions. The legions of darkness, when they gather, are less like storm clouds threatening the land, than like sheep being gathered into a fold for the purpose of sheering. The ends of evil are always good, and the more speedily its plots are brought to completion, the more plainly are its flaws made manifest. Demons are nothing if not good for a laugh. Even in numbers, they are like armies of lemmings, knowing only how to march dimly over precipices, - and when they fall, it is with eyes cast open into the abyss. Where they come to fruition, they come to die. And by their entrails you shall know them.
It is a spiritual law, most firm and fast, that the beginnings of things are subtle and steeped in mystery, while the ends are bold and manifest in light. If we, therefor, consider the evil that is seen, we should soon progress to an awareness of that evil which is unseen. Receptive to the subtle origins of evil, we shall be positioned to redirect its course while it is still small and susceptible to manipulation. This is the method of saints and righteous persons. However thick the evil outgrowths they encounter in the world may be, in themselves even the merest seeds of evil cannot take root, for they well know that what is grown is soon to perish. Indeed, it is the fear of full-grown evil (evil as it confronts us in the world), which moistens the dry seeds of evil within, and allows each new crop to take root. The pure ones are quick to banish fear, and to burn up the seeds of evil, having recourse to the fires of faith. What they see in the world is sufficient to catalyze their faith in the unseen. Where the trail of reason goes cold, the path of faith begins. For every faithful pursuit of truth becomes transcendent; transformed into the truthful pursuit of faith.
Now all that has been said must sound idyllic to those who have not yet grasped the essential point to which this meditation leads. The specter of evil is not easily dismissed, -- not unless it is confronted with a supernatural knowledge; a gnosis which belongs strictly to God, but which man may potentially act upon through the miracle of faith. While knowledge is generally a prerequisite for right action, a properly directed faith is capable of intuitively glimpsing and acting upon knowledge which it does not technically possess. Faith, understood in this way, might be called rational; or super-rational, since it transcends rational argument, and even transcends argument altogether. According to this view, the only truly irrational responses would be discouragement, apathy, disillusionment, and despair. It is not difficult to see that, in the face of overwhelming odds (i.e. wherever faith is lacking), such cowardice might take on the appearance of a rational response. We have only to converse with the common man in one of his more desperate moods to see how easily he is swayed and persuaded by the most cynical, jaded, and disheartening "logic". Yet, when no exhibition of reason, however eloquent, however authoritative, however infused with the most compelling moral passion, -- in short, when no argument whatsoever is sufficient to prevail upon his darkened mind, a mighty show of faith can do much to ignite his heart and inflame his courage.
Courage, I say, and not hope. For hope, like reason, depends on many things. It is answerable to specific conditions, and its present action relies upon some eagerly anticipated outcome. Too often, faith has been confounded with hope. People speak of faith in heaven, when what they really mean is hope. It is hope which looks for a heaven beyond this world. It is faith which finds it, here and now. Courage is most secure when it is founded on faith, for then it is not inspired by the hope of victory (which is uncertain, as all outcomes depend upon a fortunate or unfortunate wind), nor of glory (which may not come, for one's heroics are often unnoticed), but by the will to charge forward, come what may.
In the cosmic conflict between good and evil, the real tragedy is not that the war cannot be won, but, that it cannot be ended. Not by us, at any rate, and not by any means apart from divine intervention. The only way to bring eternity to completion, paradoxically, is to embrace the fact that it will never end. Perpetual war is a horror to which no momentary defeat may be compared. Unflinching fidelity to faith, inspired by the grace of God, is the only thing capable of surmounting the eternal existential conflict. Faith is nothing more nor less than the power which inspires us, regardless of every conceivable objection or consideration, to declare a categorical rejection of despair, and of whatever entices to despair. It is the power to affirm for no reason whatsoever, -- none but the self-evident righteousness of affirmation itself.
Again, this is not deny the very real question posed by the existence of evil, but, rather, to answer it unequivocally with the vital affirmation of faith. If evil is truly given its due proportion, then good will be found to be greater still.
History has provided numerous examples of lives transfigured by faith, and of the power of such faith to inspire supernatural endurance, even ecstasy, in the midst of the most gruesome afflictions the devil can devise. Faith, in its essence, is affirmation of the most obstinate, inexplicable kind. There is no argument one can level which is even remotely capable of reaching this target; for it is the unique distinction and felicity of faith to disregard dispiriting claims, as though deaf to all but the promises, encouragements, and consolations of grace.
So long as faith is preserved, no argument nor evidence is fit to prevail upon it. Nor is there any exhibition more eloquent than its own endurance. The more horrendous the forces arrayed against it, the more definitively does its mere existence proclaim its validity and worth. It has no other defense, and none is needed, for the simple reason that fault is not to be found in the faith, -- but in the finding. Only a poisoned mind would take issue with this ennobling, emboldening spirit, and seek to poison the minds in which it dwells.
Faith is fidelity to the most rudimentary laws of being. It is the soul intently, devoutly rapt in perfect attendance upon the music of the spheres, and calling out to the Conductor, and to all the choruses of angels, "Play on! Play on!" In contrast, the attitudes of doubt, despondency, and despair are intrinsically rebellious the breath of creation. They would like to place a gag in the very mouth from which the Divine Word emerges, and put a stop to what His utterance has set in motion. With logic, they propose to critique and to revise the natural order of the cosmos, as if they could alter one single jot or tittle of what is written, or scrap the whole business, as they see fit. Faith, on the other hand, affirms what the Lord has made. No more and no less. It has no criteria, no conditions to consult, apart from the plainly revealed will of God. Has it occurred? Is it occurring? Will it occur? Then it is manifestly the will of God, and the duty of faith, -- faith's very nature and reason for being, -- is to affirm it without question or complaint, without hesitation or equivocation, and without restraint. Yes, the universe itself must be passionately, vigorously affirmed, and not for any reason other than the simple fact that there is no moment but the present, and no world but the one we now inhabit. Not, at any rate, until we radically affirm it; for the world, in order to be transcended, must be affirmed with such force that the affirmation itself exalts and carries us well beyond the objects we affirm.
"Your enjoyment of the world is never right, till every morning you awake in Heaven; see yourself in your Father's Palace; and look upon the skies, the earth, and the air as Celestial Joys: having such a reverend esteem of all, as if you were among the Angels."
~ Thomas Traherne (Centuries of Meditations)
In the service of incredible, rageful angst, doubt gathers objections with which to corrupt the childlike confidence of devout souls, and cannot succeed. Doubt seeks reasons for despondency, while faith dispenses with rhetoric altogether, in order to glorify the simple eloquence of affirmation. A doubting soul is a flagging soul, which lacks courage, but the wings of a faithful soul are strength-infused; they beat rapidly, without interruption, fanning the flames of spirit, and every moment raising the soul to new, unimagined heights of bravery and brilliancy.
The truest thing, the purest, most authentic expression of which we are capable, arises independent of all argument. It has recourse to none, requires none, and is answerable to none. How could faith defend itself with logic? Can a righteous man be justified by the rantings of a fool?
The faithful maintain calm and assurance in spite of all external provocations to the contrary, while the faithless grow anxious in spite of all encouragements to peace. Faith is the consolation which appears most hollow, yet it is precisely because it is founded on nothing that it possesses the unique virtue of depending on nothing. A castle in the sky is impervious to attack; the children of imagination are safely lifted above the tumult of earthly dispute. Who can strike out the heart of a disembodied king? Who can bury a spirit, as though it were a body, and would not rise? When faith is lost, all is lost. The body is devoid of life. But where faith is strongest, there the body can scarcely be said to exist.
Before we can answer this, we will have to examine the nature of knowledge with respect to the nature of evil. In other words, we must ask what it means to know, and, specifically, what it means to know something which is, by its nature, rooted in ignorance; the very absence of knowledge. To know a lie, or to understand an illusion, is to know it as a lie, or as an illusion. Only an intimate experience of what is good can prepare us for a clear-eyed perception of evil. Though we might expect the ones who practice evil to be most intimately acquainted with its workings, reason suggests to us, with even greater assurance, that this acquaintance must somehow be uncertain or incomplete; for the man who has been thoroughly and effectively schooled in the nature of evil must know it as evil, and he therefor can abide no sentiment which might endear and involve him in something so anathema to the purposes of God.
God knows things as they are in reality, and according to the loftiest, most comprehensive vantage point. At no time, and by no means, does He deny, nor downplay, the existence and significance of suffering. He gives the devil his due, but no more. He sees that no matter how terrible the forces of wickedness, no matter how formidable their power appears, they are as nothing in proportion to the forces of good. Before the presence of the Lord, whom they cannot so much as think of in order to approach, all the powers of wickedness are spiritualized, transformed, resolved. They are ignorance itself; ignorance of light. Hence, the very mention of light significantly alters and dispels them. Formerly, the spirits of darkness drove us to question ourselves and our direction. Suddenly, they are beneath the light of interrogation, and no additional form of punishment, nor rehabilitation, need be applied. They wither at once. The name of "Mary" scatters them like crows.
It is the privilege of God to know things, not by reflection, as one who stands outside of an object or situation might reflect upon it, but by entering into them, through a process of illumination from within. While God has a most intimate acquaintance with evil, He can only know it as Himself; that is, as the Divine Light which, as it illumines, converts all things to good. The whole of creation, to the extent that it is illumined by God, is converted to the service of righteous purposes, and the greater illumination we receive, the more clearly will we begin to perceive the conversion taking place, at all times, in all things. The most horrific manifestations of evil are not so delighted with themselves as we might guess, but are continuously involved in an epic struggle against themselves. It is the nature of evil to undermine, and not to give life; hence, evil cannot so much as promote its own existence, but destroys itself quickest when it most seems to gather force. The flame catches, and may flash more threateningly for a while, but it is only to more rapidly consume the very objects upon which it depends for subsistence. And what does evil consume? Only those parts of ourselves which ought to be relinquished, and which the saints have always encouraged us to leave behind. With or against our will, the forces of good and evil work in mysterious harmony for the liberation of souls. Where the angel cannot entreat you, the devil can whip you.
The heart falters, and so begins to seek a more enduring love; something upon which to fix her affections, once and for all; something eternal and ever-present. By and by, she comes to learn the secret of secrets: That Love itself is the only worthy and truly compatible object to which her own love might seek a permanent attachment. Moreover, that the love which seeks an object, already being composed of the very substance it seeks, discovers the germ of the Beloved within itself; one substance with itself. The first is soul, the second spirit. And both are love.
Evil, in being known by God, must also know itself in the light of God, which is effectively to undermine its own existence; for it is an illusion founded on ignorance, and ignorance, once unmasked, has no recourse but to surrender its illusions. The legions of darkness, when they gather, are less like storm clouds threatening the land, than like sheep being gathered into a fold for the purpose of sheering. The ends of evil are always good, and the more speedily its plots are brought to completion, the more plainly are its flaws made manifest. Demons are nothing if not good for a laugh. Even in numbers, they are like armies of lemmings, knowing only how to march dimly over precipices, - and when they fall, it is with eyes cast open into the abyss. Where they come to fruition, they come to die. And by their entrails you shall know them.
It is a spiritual law, most firm and fast, that the beginnings of things are subtle and steeped in mystery, while the ends are bold and manifest in light. If we, therefor, consider the evil that is seen, we should soon progress to an awareness of that evil which is unseen. Receptive to the subtle origins of evil, we shall be positioned to redirect its course while it is still small and susceptible to manipulation. This is the method of saints and righteous persons. However thick the evil outgrowths they encounter in the world may be, in themselves even the merest seeds of evil cannot take root, for they well know that what is grown is soon to perish. Indeed, it is the fear of full-grown evil (evil as it confronts us in the world), which moistens the dry seeds of evil within, and allows each new crop to take root. The pure ones are quick to banish fear, and to burn up the seeds of evil, having recourse to the fires of faith. What they see in the world is sufficient to catalyze their faith in the unseen. Where the trail of reason goes cold, the path of faith begins. For every faithful pursuit of truth becomes transcendent; transformed into the truthful pursuit of faith.
Now all that has been said must sound idyllic to those who have not yet grasped the essential point to which this meditation leads. The specter of evil is not easily dismissed, -- not unless it is confronted with a supernatural knowledge; a gnosis which belongs strictly to God, but which man may potentially act upon through the miracle of faith. While knowledge is generally a prerequisite for right action, a properly directed faith is capable of intuitively glimpsing and acting upon knowledge which it does not technically possess. Faith, understood in this way, might be called rational; or super-rational, since it transcends rational argument, and even transcends argument altogether. According to this view, the only truly irrational responses would be discouragement, apathy, disillusionment, and despair. It is not difficult to see that, in the face of overwhelming odds (i.e. wherever faith is lacking), such cowardice might take on the appearance of a rational response. We have only to converse with the common man in one of his more desperate moods to see how easily he is swayed and persuaded by the most cynical, jaded, and disheartening "logic". Yet, when no exhibition of reason, however eloquent, however authoritative, however infused with the most compelling moral passion, -- in short, when no argument whatsoever is sufficient to prevail upon his darkened mind, a mighty show of faith can do much to ignite his heart and inflame his courage.
Courage, I say, and not hope. For hope, like reason, depends on many things. It is answerable to specific conditions, and its present action relies upon some eagerly anticipated outcome. Too often, faith has been confounded with hope. People speak of faith in heaven, when what they really mean is hope. It is hope which looks for a heaven beyond this world. It is faith which finds it, here and now. Courage is most secure when it is founded on faith, for then it is not inspired by the hope of victory (which is uncertain, as all outcomes depend upon a fortunate or unfortunate wind), nor of glory (which may not come, for one's heroics are often unnoticed), but by the will to charge forward, come what may.
In the cosmic conflict between good and evil, the real tragedy is not that the war cannot be won, but, that it cannot be ended. Not by us, at any rate, and not by any means apart from divine intervention. The only way to bring eternity to completion, paradoxically, is to embrace the fact that it will never end. Perpetual war is a horror to which no momentary defeat may be compared. Unflinching fidelity to faith, inspired by the grace of God, is the only thing capable of surmounting the eternal existential conflict. Faith is nothing more nor less than the power which inspires us, regardless of every conceivable objection or consideration, to declare a categorical rejection of despair, and of whatever entices to despair. It is the power to affirm for no reason whatsoever, -- none but the self-evident righteousness of affirmation itself.
Again, this is not deny the very real question posed by the existence of evil, but, rather, to answer it unequivocally with the vital affirmation of faith. If evil is truly given its due proportion, then good will be found to be greater still.
History has provided numerous examples of lives transfigured by faith, and of the power of such faith to inspire supernatural endurance, even ecstasy, in the midst of the most gruesome afflictions the devil can devise. Faith, in its essence, is affirmation of the most obstinate, inexplicable kind. There is no argument one can level which is even remotely capable of reaching this target; for it is the unique distinction and felicity of faith to disregard dispiriting claims, as though deaf to all but the promises, encouragements, and consolations of grace.
So long as faith is preserved, no argument nor evidence is fit to prevail upon it. Nor is there any exhibition more eloquent than its own endurance. The more horrendous the forces arrayed against it, the more definitively does its mere existence proclaim its validity and worth. It has no other defense, and none is needed, for the simple reason that fault is not to be found in the faith, -- but in the finding. Only a poisoned mind would take issue with this ennobling, emboldening spirit, and seek to poison the minds in which it dwells.
Faith is fidelity to the most rudimentary laws of being. It is the soul intently, devoutly rapt in perfect attendance upon the music of the spheres, and calling out to the Conductor, and to all the choruses of angels, "Play on! Play on!" In contrast, the attitudes of doubt, despondency, and despair are intrinsically rebellious the breath of creation. They would like to place a gag in the very mouth from which the Divine Word emerges, and put a stop to what His utterance has set in motion. With logic, they propose to critique and to revise the natural order of the cosmos, as if they could alter one single jot or tittle of what is written, or scrap the whole business, as they see fit. Faith, on the other hand, affirms what the Lord has made. No more and no less. It has no criteria, no conditions to consult, apart from the plainly revealed will of God. Has it occurred? Is it occurring? Will it occur? Then it is manifestly the will of God, and the duty of faith, -- faith's very nature and reason for being, -- is to affirm it without question or complaint, without hesitation or equivocation, and without restraint. Yes, the universe itself must be passionately, vigorously affirmed, and not for any reason other than the simple fact that there is no moment but the present, and no world but the one we now inhabit. Not, at any rate, until we radically affirm it; for the world, in order to be transcended, must be affirmed with such force that the affirmation itself exalts and carries us well beyond the objects we affirm.
"Your enjoyment of the world is never right, till every morning you awake in Heaven; see yourself in your Father's Palace; and look upon the skies, the earth, and the air as Celestial Joys: having such a reverend esteem of all, as if you were among the Angels."
~ Thomas Traherne (Centuries of Meditations)
In the service of incredible, rageful angst, doubt gathers objections with which to corrupt the childlike confidence of devout souls, and cannot succeed. Doubt seeks reasons for despondency, while faith dispenses with rhetoric altogether, in order to glorify the simple eloquence of affirmation. A doubting soul is a flagging soul, which lacks courage, but the wings of a faithful soul are strength-infused; they beat rapidly, without interruption, fanning the flames of spirit, and every moment raising the soul to new, unimagined heights of bravery and brilliancy.
The truest thing, the purest, most authentic expression of which we are capable, arises independent of all argument. It has recourse to none, requires none, and is answerable to none. How could faith defend itself with logic? Can a righteous man be justified by the rantings of a fool?
The faithful maintain calm and assurance in spite of all external provocations to the contrary, while the faithless grow anxious in spite of all encouragements to peace. Faith is the consolation which appears most hollow, yet it is precisely because it is founded on nothing that it possesses the unique virtue of depending on nothing. A castle in the sky is impervious to attack; the children of imagination are safely lifted above the tumult of earthly dispute. Who can strike out the heart of a disembodied king? Who can bury a spirit, as though it were a body, and would not rise? When faith is lost, all is lost. The body is devoid of life. But where faith is strongest, there the body can scarcely be said to exist.
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