I will rally to the cry "Pass away, refuge of abstractions." How fitting that you quote Bonhoeffer here, the rare theologian who was willing to give his life away for the truth. I wonder if one of the reasons the romantic poets (Shelly, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge) were all political and social activists as well as writers was because, unlike philosophy and theology, poetry does not allow one to dwell in the clouds of abstraction but forces one into the imminent. And in the imminent, one must act. Musings.
Also—T.S. Eliot, Kierkegaard, Bonhoeffer, Calvin, Chesterton, and Augustine. All in one short essay. Wonderful curation of thinkers!
Glad the essay gave you rallies and musings, thanks! Bonhoeffer wouldn't accept only contemplation (I think) because he was a pastor, as well as a theologian. Pastors must serve actively — I'm thinking of the apostles specifically, who were teachers and doers at once because they were called to both roles. Calvin (a civil magistrate as well as a teacher) could slot into this description too.
As to the Romantics, I think their poetry (and philosophies) best envisioned what they felt they had to do for their societies: abstractions that prepared the way of the imminent, maybe?
Yes, the Romantics probably had more bark than bite. But they did demonstrate some effort trying to live their beliefs out. I recently discovered that Coleridge was on the verge of buying land in Pennsylvania to start a commune called Pantisocracy with radical friends. Byron died fighting in the Greek war for independence against the Ottomans.
It’s a shame Pantisocracy never happened, though I wonder if the Quaker utopia of Pennsylvania approximated it. Poor Byron (died of disease before reaching the battlefield). I guess I don’t mean to ding the poets’ action - I’d meant that they envisioned what they lived, in their verse.
In my continuous effort of engaging with contrasting ideas for the sake of enlightenment, understood purely rational [mystical enlightenment takes other ways, like prayer], I am also preoccupied with the question of the relation between rational understanding and the paradoxical. In your article, you have made use of many great teachers, especially Bonhoeffer, which has pleased me, being my landsman from a more recent past. However, I still adhere to a more mechanical worldview than the one spoken of in your article it seems to me.
As an Orthodox Christian, but even before that in my ecumenist efforts, I hold that one ought to have definite or good reason to reject what most of the Fathers said: something you may agree with. Although the Fathers may err on certain matters—especially in instances of doctrinal discordance where the Church has yet to reconcile differences—when it concerns matters of the unseen realm, where the faculties of the mind can only venture hypotheses, it appears prudent to cover the most ground of those people that were most close to God, as it seems, the Saints, provided no new data need be introduced to do so. This, it seems, is the essence of spiritual insight—to safeguard against error. It would be folly, it seems to me, to entrust this endeavor solely to the operations of one's own mind or even heart, when the venerable men and women of holiness stand ready to guide, given She—the Church—is believed to have the justifications to be a spiritual authority.
Now, where do I think we might disagree with each other? I am aware of the attractiveness of paradoxes, yet I incline toward a stance of cautious skepticism. The rule I set for myself being to accept paradoxes only when dogmatically declaired, for otherwise I could be fooled in suspecting a pardox [in a realist sense] just where my own mental faculties reach their limit, and thus having false premises of faith. I suspect a danger for a great deal of security if one is doing away with this. And, of course, one is to know the difference between a paradox and a contradiction as philosophical terms, for the second I accept never, the first being things just un-intuitive without obvious logical error, or open-ended questions "How could it be?". In reality we all have constantly to do with paradoxes [in a nominal sense] if we look close enough to be are aware of them, that's for sure. It's just that I don't decide on their solution to be really outside of the mind.
And though it also delights me to paint a picture of a completely mechanical world, in which through axioms, and what they are analogous to, as well as transformation rules, formation rules, and building blocks—combinatorics, principles, and grounding—the world runs perfectly harmoniously akin to the precision of a clockwork, not distanced from God as the Deists believe, but in God, yet still distinct, as the Pan*en*theists believe, there are nevertheless paradoxes (like Benardete's type of paradoxes) that lead me to say that our understanding must be either far from recognizing such a picture fully based on our models, in a way where we can establish it completely without the influence of ignorance, or simply that the world does not function like a clockwork when considering in the extremes of its "apparent mechanisms" after all.
If, however, you only speak of paradoxes in a nominal sense, that is, that there are difficulties in our reason to combine certain ideas or truths within a system or a comprehencive understaning of the world, I concur wholeheartedly that trust in our Lord Allmighty supersedes such tribulations. However, you see, I don't think of questioning as inherently negative; rather, it's a source of joy for me (as it appears to be for you too). Even when I trust something or someone, I continue to question it—it's a sign of security. Ultimately, it comes down to whom or what to trust, and when that trust is shown to be rational, it becomes easier.
But how is trust shown to be rational? Not only by mental means, but by practical as well, indeed. The point being now, I suppose, that abstractions seem to be a joyful activity, though still a work, that, if in the backdrop of trust and optimism instead of suspicion and anxiety, appear to me to be appropiate even to be attributed to heaven, and nothing that ever needs to be disregarded even in a single moment in ones relationship with God.
Thank you for replying with so much depth and scope. To be fully honest with you, I'm not sure exactly where to begin replying to your comments here. Primarily, I'm aware that a lengthy exchange like what we're beginning here, an exchange over definitions, potential points of stasis, and fine-grained differences between our respective Christian traditions, is almost exactly what I mistrust in the essay: "perfectly drawn abstractions." In the opening lines, I went to the face of the penitent thief because he was embodied in his sin, not abstract, and desperately faithful because of it. I focused on mystery (not only paradox, by the end of the essay) because it is external to us in God's presence, and because God as a mysterious Creator and Father claims our lives through Christ. The scholarly blindness of the Pharisees helped them deny the claim God had placed on them also.
In light of these points found in the essay, I appreciate your thoughts but won't give them what you seem to want. I see you've written them up more fully in your own newsletter, which is great: hopefully someone engages you there on these points, better than I can. Thanks again, and God bless.
Your words have indeed inspired me to elaborate further, for which I am deeply grateful. However, I did not intend to necessarily discuss these things, while interesting there are more ways to learn. I perceive a profound wisdom in your writings, one that I find challenging to fully grasp yet, simply for the difficulty resulting from the different ways we write, or how our brains work per se.
Practically speaking, there is only one thing I further dare to ask of you, if you allow me. I struggle to conceptualize the relationship between reason and the mysterious that you seek to outline. I ask, is it of your concern to say that the basis of one's faith ougth to be not the mere rational, is it to say that the rational leads necessary to falsehood if applied in too much detail or is it to underpin that a simple trust in Christ shall go beyond all mental consideration? I hope, I am still not mistaking.
With great respect and gratitude for your patience,
Thank you for saying so (and subscribing), you're very kind.
Per your question, my hope is to establish both clauses of your question: to establish that faith in God cannot only be based in our reason alone (while allowing for its place as one of His gifts), and to reiterate that simple trust in Christ does go beyond the mental considerations we often like to overlay onto that trust. The mystery of grace-filled love explains both. I hope that helps!
Peace to you and yours, Kevin, through the darkness and light of this sacred journey.
Thank you! Peace and light are already mine, thank God (and yours this Holy Week).
I will rally to the cry "Pass away, refuge of abstractions." How fitting that you quote Bonhoeffer here, the rare theologian who was willing to give his life away for the truth. I wonder if one of the reasons the romantic poets (Shelly, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge) were all political and social activists as well as writers was because, unlike philosophy and theology, poetry does not allow one to dwell in the clouds of abstraction but forces one into the imminent. And in the imminent, one must act. Musings.
Also—T.S. Eliot, Kierkegaard, Bonhoeffer, Calvin, Chesterton, and Augustine. All in one short essay. Wonderful curation of thinkers!
Glad the essay gave you rallies and musings, thanks! Bonhoeffer wouldn't accept only contemplation (I think) because he was a pastor, as well as a theologian. Pastors must serve actively — I'm thinking of the apostles specifically, who were teachers and doers at once because they were called to both roles. Calvin (a civil magistrate as well as a teacher) could slot into this description too.
As to the Romantics, I think their poetry (and philosophies) best envisioned what they felt they had to do for their societies: abstractions that prepared the way of the imminent, maybe?
Yes, the Romantics probably had more bark than bite. But they did demonstrate some effort trying to live their beliefs out. I recently discovered that Coleridge was on the verge of buying land in Pennsylvania to start a commune called Pantisocracy with radical friends. Byron died fighting in the Greek war for independence against the Ottomans.
It’s a shame Pantisocracy never happened, though I wonder if the Quaker utopia of Pennsylvania approximated it. Poor Byron (died of disease before reaching the battlefield). I guess I don’t mean to ding the poets’ action - I’d meant that they envisioned what they lived, in their verse.
Dear Kevin,
I am grateful to have come across your article.
In my continuous effort of engaging with contrasting ideas for the sake of enlightenment, understood purely rational [mystical enlightenment takes other ways, like prayer], I am also preoccupied with the question of the relation between rational understanding and the paradoxical. In your article, you have made use of many great teachers, especially Bonhoeffer, which has pleased me, being my landsman from a more recent past. However, I still adhere to a more mechanical worldview than the one spoken of in your article it seems to me.
As an Orthodox Christian, but even before that in my ecumenist efforts, I hold that one ought to have definite or good reason to reject what most of the Fathers said: something you may agree with. Although the Fathers may err on certain matters—especially in instances of doctrinal discordance where the Church has yet to reconcile differences—when it concerns matters of the unseen realm, where the faculties of the mind can only venture hypotheses, it appears prudent to cover the most ground of those people that were most close to God, as it seems, the Saints, provided no new data need be introduced to do so. This, it seems, is the essence of spiritual insight—to safeguard against error. It would be folly, it seems to me, to entrust this endeavor solely to the operations of one's own mind or even heart, when the venerable men and women of holiness stand ready to guide, given She—the Church—is believed to have the justifications to be a spiritual authority.
Now, where do I think we might disagree with each other? I am aware of the attractiveness of paradoxes, yet I incline toward a stance of cautious skepticism. The rule I set for myself being to accept paradoxes only when dogmatically declaired, for otherwise I could be fooled in suspecting a pardox [in a realist sense] just where my own mental faculties reach their limit, and thus having false premises of faith. I suspect a danger for a great deal of security if one is doing away with this. And, of course, one is to know the difference between a paradox and a contradiction as philosophical terms, for the second I accept never, the first being things just un-intuitive without obvious logical error, or open-ended questions "How could it be?". In reality we all have constantly to do with paradoxes [in a nominal sense] if we look close enough to be are aware of them, that's for sure. It's just that I don't decide on their solution to be really outside of the mind.
And though it also delights me to paint a picture of a completely mechanical world, in which through axioms, and what they are analogous to, as well as transformation rules, formation rules, and building blocks—combinatorics, principles, and grounding—the world runs perfectly harmoniously akin to the precision of a clockwork, not distanced from God as the Deists believe, but in God, yet still distinct, as the Pan*en*theists believe, there are nevertheless paradoxes (like Benardete's type of paradoxes) that lead me to say that our understanding must be either far from recognizing such a picture fully based on our models, in a way where we can establish it completely without the influence of ignorance, or simply that the world does not function like a clockwork when considering in the extremes of its "apparent mechanisms" after all.
If, however, you only speak of paradoxes in a nominal sense, that is, that there are difficulties in our reason to combine certain ideas or truths within a system or a comprehencive understaning of the world, I concur wholeheartedly that trust in our Lord Allmighty supersedes such tribulations. However, you see, I don't think of questioning as inherently negative; rather, it's a source of joy for me (as it appears to be for you too). Even when I trust something or someone, I continue to question it—it's a sign of security. Ultimately, it comes down to whom or what to trust, and when that trust is shown to be rational, it becomes easier.
But how is trust shown to be rational? Not only by mental means, but by practical as well, indeed. The point being now, I suppose, that abstractions seem to be a joyful activity, though still a work, that, if in the backdrop of trust and optimism instead of suspicion and anxiety, appear to me to be appropiate even to be attributed to heaven, and nothing that ever needs to be disregarded even in a single moment in ones relationship with God.
With utmost regard,
Justus
Hello Justus,
Thank you for replying with so much depth and scope. To be fully honest with you, I'm not sure exactly where to begin replying to your comments here. Primarily, I'm aware that a lengthy exchange like what we're beginning here, an exchange over definitions, potential points of stasis, and fine-grained differences between our respective Christian traditions, is almost exactly what I mistrust in the essay: "perfectly drawn abstractions." In the opening lines, I went to the face of the penitent thief because he was embodied in his sin, not abstract, and desperately faithful because of it. I focused on mystery (not only paradox, by the end of the essay) because it is external to us in God's presence, and because God as a mysterious Creator and Father claims our lives through Christ. The scholarly blindness of the Pharisees helped them deny the claim God had placed on them also.
In light of these points found in the essay, I appreciate your thoughts but won't give them what you seem to want. I see you've written them up more fully in your own newsletter, which is great: hopefully someone engages you there on these points, better than I can. Thanks again, and God bless.
Thank you for your honest reply!
Your words have indeed inspired me to elaborate further, for which I am deeply grateful. However, I did not intend to necessarily discuss these things, while interesting there are more ways to learn. I perceive a profound wisdom in your writings, one that I find challenging to fully grasp yet, simply for the difficulty resulting from the different ways we write, or how our brains work per se.
Practically speaking, there is only one thing I further dare to ask of you, if you allow me. I struggle to conceptualize the relationship between reason and the mysterious that you seek to outline. I ask, is it of your concern to say that the basis of one's faith ougth to be not the mere rational, is it to say that the rational leads necessary to falsehood if applied in too much detail or is it to underpin that a simple trust in Christ shall go beyond all mental consideration? I hope, I am still not mistaking.
With great respect and gratitude for your patience,
Justus
Thank you for saying so (and subscribing), you're very kind.
Per your question, my hope is to establish both clauses of your question: to establish that faith in God cannot only be based in our reason alone (while allowing for its place as one of His gifts), and to reiterate that simple trust in Christ does go beyond the mental considerations we often like to overlay onto that trust. The mystery of grace-filled love explains both. I hope that helps!