La plus ca change…

Earlier today, I picked up “Orthodoxy” by G. K. Chesterton, which I started reading months ago and put aside. My eyes immediately fell on the following passage:

So again, we have almost up to the last instant trusted newspapers as organs of public opinion. Just recently, some of us have seen (not slowly, but with a start) that they are obviously nothing of the kind. They are, by the nature of the case, the hobbies of a few rich men. We have not any need to rebel against antiquity; we have to rebel against novelty. It is the new rulers, the capitalist or the editor, who really hold up the modern world. There is no fear that a modern king will attempt to override the constitution; it is more likely that he will ignore the constitution and work behind its back; he will take no advantage of his kingly power; it is more likely that he will take advantage of his kingly powerlessness, of the fact that he is free from criticism and publicity. For the king is the most private person of our time. It will not be necessary for anyone to fight against the proposal of a censorship of the press. We do not need a censorship of the press. We have a censorship by the press.

The startling swiftness by which popular systems turn oppressive is the third fact for which we will allow our perfect system of progress to allow. It will always be on the lookout for every privilege being abused, for every working right becoming a wrong. In this matter I am entirely on the side of the revolutionists. They are really right to be always suspecting human institutions; they are right not to put their trust in princes nor in any child of man. The chieftain chosen to be the friend of the people becomes the enemy of the people; the newspaper started to tell the truth now exists to prevent the truth being told. Here, I say, I felt that I was really at last on the side of the revolutionary. And then I caught my breath again; for I remembered that I was once again on the side of the orthodox.

Christianity spoke again and said: “I have always maintained that men were naturally backsliders; that human virtue tended of its own nature to rust or rot; I have always said that human beings as such go wrong, especially happy human beings, especially proud and prosperous human beings. This eternal revolution, this suspicion sustained through centuries, you (being a vague modern) call the doctrine of progress. If you were a philosopher you would call it, as I do, the doctrine of original sin. You may call it the cosmic advance as much as you like; I call it what it is – the Fall.

I have spoken of orthodoxy coming in like a sword; here I confess it came in like a battle-axe.

I’d better stop there, although it’s tempting to quote the entire book (this passage is about two-thirds of the way through Chapter VII, page 71 in my copy). Chesterton is arguing, in effect, that the rich and powerful will always be with us, and to misquote Lord Acton slightly, they will always be corrupt. Although he was writing in 1908, when Socialism was still a nascent force, he was aware that it would one day bring forth its own rotten overlords.

The problem is not in a particular political system, but in human nature itself. Given a position of power, it’s “natural” to abuse it, like an ape sitting at the top of a tree defecating on the ones beneath him. The only solution is to transcend our fallen nature and become fully human, to become what we should be.

Ostrov (The Island)

Ostrov, which means the island, is a Russian film made in 2006.

It opens in 1942. A young Russian sailor has been captured by the Nazis; disgusted by his cowardice, they give him a gun and order him to shoot either himself or his captain. He shoots his commanding officer…

The main part of the film is set several decades later. The sailor took refuge in a monastery; literally driven mad by his sins, he became a yurodvyi, a fool in Christ.

He ignores the rules of the monastery; he deliberately makes mistakes while performing the monastic offices and is disrespectful to the Abbot; he sleeps in the boiler room instead of a cell; he often goes off to the island when he should be performing his duties; he frequently says bizarre things and he behaves unpredictably; yet he is given great gifts by the Holy Spirit.

This may seem very odd to Westerners, but this “foolishness” is a well-established feature of Russian Christianity. In fact, it is seen as an extension of the concept of martyrdom. Instead of giving his life as an act of witness to Christ, the yurodivyi gives his sanity.

Prince Myshkin in Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” is a yurodivyi; his foolishness takes the form of extreme meekness, reckless generosity and a complete lack of concern for himself. Other yurodivye were more confrontational, openly criticizing tyrannical rulers such as Ivan the Terrible; instead of being punished, they were treated with honour.

The acting and photography in Ostrov are superb; in every respect, the film can stand comparison with those of Tarkovsky or Bergmann. There may not appear to be a great deal happening, but there is plenty of food for thought.

The director presents a Christian message, which is allowed to speak for itself; “action” shots and dramatic music are used very sparingly, and the antagonistic monks are portrayed sympathetically. There is no attempt to subvert the Christian faith, which seems to be considered mandatory these days. There are no “unexpected twists” in which the monk incongruously announces that he is homosexual, or an intrepid female investigator arrives and uncovers a dark secret.

Ostrov also avoids the trap of being obviously propagandistic; anyone who appreciates a well-told, atmospheric story will find themselves examining many of their assumptions, perhaps even their soul!

Unfortunately, non-Russian versions of Ostrov are very difficult to find. The version with English subtitles is unavailable on Amazon; my copy has French subtitles. The film has been extremely successful in Russia, so we can only hope that a version with an English soundtrack will be released. Strongly recommended.

Original sin according to St Paul

There are a number of differences between Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy. Many of them are innovations introduced by West after the formal schism between Rome and Constantinople in 1054 – clerical celibacy, scholastic theology, indulgences, transubstantiation, papal infallibility and so on. These have no basis in Scripture and are inconsistent with the traditions of the Church.

Others are different interpretations of essential doctrines. During the Dark Ages, knowledge of Greek almost died out. The Eastern Fathers who wrote in Greek were often misunderstood and too much emphasis was placed on the Western Fathers who wrote in Latin, especially St Augustine. This was extremely unfortunate; although St Augustine was a brilliant Christian thinker, much of his theology was speculative and frequently unsound. (In fairness to St Augustine, he had never intended that his work should be used as the basis for the Church’s dogmas).

This post looks at the Orthodox interpretation of original sin, which has no concept notion of an inherited personal guilt. Rather, the fall of Adam and Eve introduced death into the world, both physical death and spiritual death (separation from God). By His death and resurrection, Our Lord Jesus Christ defeated death and gives us the possibility of eternal life. In the words of the Paschal Troparion, sung during the Orthodox celebration of Easter:

Christ is risen from the dead,
Trampling down death by death,
And upon those in the tombs
Bestowing life!

The Greek theologian Dr Ramonides shows here that this is fully consistent with St Paul’s theology. Since this article is rather lengthy and the thread of the argument is sometimes hard to follow, I will quote a few extracts here.

Undoubtedly, one of the most important causes of heresy is the failure to understand the exact nature of the human situation described by the Old and New Testaments, to which the historical events of the birth, teachings, death, resurrection and second coming of Christ are the only remedy. The failure to understand this automatically implies a perverted understanding of what it is that Christ did and continues to do for us, and what our subsequent relation is to Christ and neighbor within the realm of salvation. The importance of a correct definition of original sin and its consequences can never be exaggerated. Any attempt to minimize its importance or alter its significance automatically entails either a weakening or even a complete misunderstanding of the nature of the Church, sacraments and human destiny…

The devil holds the reins of death and corruption. Unity with God in the Spirit, through the body of Christ in the life of love, is life and brings salvation and perfection. Separation of man’s spirit from the divine life in the body of Christ is slavery to the powers of death and corruption used by the devil to destroy the works of God. The life of the spirit is unity and love. The life according to the flesh is disunity and dissolution in death and corruption…

The theory of the transmission of original sin and guilt is certainly not found in St. Paul, who can be interpreted neither in terms of juridicism nor in terms of any dualism which distinguishes between the material and the allegedly pure, spiritual, and intellectual parts of man. It is no wonder that some Biblical scholars are at a loss when they cannot find in the Old testament any clear-cut support for what they take to be the Pauline doctrine of original sin in terms of moral guilt and punishment. The same perplexity is met by many moralistic Western scholars when they study the Eastern Fathers. Consequently, St. Augustine is popularly supposed to be the first and only of the early Fathers who understood the theology of St. Paul. This is clearly a myth, from which both Protestants and Romans need liberation…

It is only when one understands the meaning of death and its consequences that one can understand the life of the ancient Church, and especially its attitude toward martyrdom. Being already dead to the world in baptism, and having their life hidden with Christ in God, [Col 3:3] Christians could not falter in the face of death. They were already dead, and yet living in Christ. To be afraid of death was to be still under the power of the devil–II Timothy 1:7: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of sound mind…”

The greatest power of the devil is death, which is destroyed only within the body of Christ, where the faithful are continuously engaged in the struggle against Satan by striving for selfless love. This combat against the devil and striving for selfless love is centered in the corporate Eucharistic life of the local community…

The world outside of the corporate life of love, in the sacraments, is still under the power of the consequences of death and therefore a slave to the devil. The devil is already defeated only because his power has been destroyed by the birth, life, death and resurrection of Christ; and this defeat is perpetuated only in the remnant of those saved before Christ and after Christ. Both those saved before Christ and after Him are saved by His death and resurrection, and make up the New Jerusalem. Against this Church the devil cannot prevail, and by this fact he is already defeated. But his power outside of those who are saved remains the same. [Eph. 2:12; 6:11-12; II Thes. 2:8-12] Satan is still “the god of this world,” [II Cor 4:4] and it is for this reason that Christians must live as if not living in this world… [Col 2:20-23]

It is clear that for St. Paul the bodily resurrection of Christ is the destruction of the devil, death, and corruption. Christ is the first fruits from the dead. [I Cor 15:23] If there is no resurrection there can be no salvation. [I Cor 15:12-19] Since death is a consequence of the discontinuation of communion with the life and love of God, and thereby a captivity of man and creation by the devil, then only a real resurrection can destroy the power of the devil…

Both Roman scholastics and Protestants are undeniably heretical in their doctrines of grace and ecclesiology simply because they do not see any longer that salvation is only the union of man with the life of God in the body of Christ, where the devil is being ontologically and really destroyed in the life of love. Outside of the life of unity with each other and Christ in the sacramental life of corporate love there is no salvation, because the devil is still ruling the world through the consequences of death and corruption…

The enemy of life and love can be destroyed only when Christians can confidently say, “we are not ignorant of his thoughts.” [II Cor 2:11] Any theology which cannot define with exactitude the methods and deceptions of the devil is clearly heretical, because such a theology is already deceived by the devil. It is for this reason that the Fathers could assert that heresy is the work of the devil…

The role of the theologian

Reading this very interesting post and its sequel on Ora et labora reminded me of the role that theologians play in Orthodoxy. “Theology” is derived from the Greek words “theos”, meaning God, and “logos”, meaning word. It literally means “talking about God”, or “talking about divine things”. A slightly different interpretation is “speaking the words of God” – in the Orthodox Church, St John the Evangelist is known as “St John the Theologian”  for his authorship of the fourth Gospel and the Revelations.

However, in the modern West, theology has become a purely academic discipline, with a strong emphasis on secular philosophies. Many theologians, far from speaking the words of God, are often openly agnostic or even atheistic. Even those who claim to be practicising the Christian faith often seem more interested in undermining it than supporting it. I intend to describe in a later post how and why this situation arose, but for now I will just quote this marvellous, tragic sentence from the first link:

Academic theologians perform a vivisection on Christian belief, gaining much knowledge, while killing it all the while.

Orthodoxy is quite different. Theologians are expected to be devout, although this does not necessarily mean that they are always saintly!  Being a theologian is a vocation in itself and there is no requirement to be ordained (or even male) – many eminent theologians have been laymen. The greatest Orthodox theologians have also been profoundly spiritual men, who could speak with authority about divine things based on personal experience, rather than dessicated intellectual reasoning. They wrote primarily for pastoral reasons, to expound the Church’s teachings. Orthodox theology continues the tradition of the Patristic Fathers, trying to solve the Trinitarian and Christological controversies of the first few centuries; in fact, this tradition goes all the way back to St Paul, trying to resolve the squabbles that broke out in his flock.

All true Orthodox theology is mystical; just as mysticism divorced from theology becomes subjective and heretical, theology, when it is not mystical, degenerates into an arid scholasticism, ‘academic’ in the bad sense of the word.

The Orthodox Church, Timothy Ware, p.213 (1983 edition)

A theologian is one who prays, and one who prays is a theologian.

Evagrius of Pontus, 4th century

The first part of the second link relates some anecdotes about St Nikolai Velimirovic, a Serbian theologian in the first half of the 20th century. A biography is available here.

A Bosphorus Paddler

In the mid-19th century, a number of prominent Anglicans, including J. H. Newman, went over to the Church of Rome. Since the City of Rome was founded on the East banks of the River Tiber (i.e., on the opposite side of the river from England), the expression “swimming the Tiber” was coined to describe this phenomenon.

By analogy, the term “swimming the Bosphorus” could be used to describe conversion from Anglicanism to Eastern Orthodoxy;  the River Bosphorus flows through Constantinople, the most significant city in Eastern Orthodoxy (although this significance is very different from the significance which Rome has in Roman Catholicism).

So what is a Bosphorus Paddler?

The collapse of the Church of England has caused your author considerable distress and disillusionment, and he has spent many years looking at the alternatives, including a lengthy youthful flirtation with Rome, followed by an even longer flirtation with atheism. However, thanks to the Internet, he has recently gained an appreciation of the Anglicanism of the 16th and 17th centuries; he has also learned a great deal about Eastern Orthodoxy, which has cleared up many things that had puzzled him for a long time (without introducing too many new ones).

The way forward, therefore, seems to him to be not to storm out petulantly, contemptuously shaking the Anglican dust from his feet, before plunging into the raging torrent, but to paddle into the Bosphorus to a safe depth, letting the waters lap around his feet as he contemplates the ancient, uncompromising strength and solidity of Agia Sofia (while trying not to notice the minarets that dominate it). This allows him the luxury of a foot in both camps, if he may mix his podiatric metaphors, without having to make any real commitment, all while fondly imagining that he has at last found the real Church of the Apostles. And what could be more Anglican than that?

Be that as it may, the need to put his reflections into the open, to engage in dialogue, became irresistible. Easter seems an appropriate time for a new beginning (no that’s Lent – ed) and for this modest blog to see the light of day.

A happy and holy Easter to all.