A LION AMONG SCHOLARS

I was going to compose a post on St Jerome, whose feast it is today; then I received my weekly e-mail from St Matthias' Church in Somerset, New Jersey, with an excellent piece on Jerome. So I will reproduce that rather than add any clumsy compilation of my own, with thanks to St Matthias. I will also, however, replace their Bellini painting by my favourite Rembrandt sketch of the holy man, where he is shown reading with spectacles and wearing a gardener's hat, while his attendant lion looks out over the landscape, doubtless to spy out critics of the Vulgate. He may have been waspish by nature, but he is the patron saint of scholars and deserves our affection and respect.

Most of the saints are remembered for some outstanding virtue or devotion which they practiced, but Jerome is frequently remembered for his bad temper! It is true that he had a very bad temper and could use a vitriolic pen, but his love for God and his Son Jesus Christ was extraordinarily intense; anyone who taught error was an enemy of God and truth, and St. Jerome went after him or her with his mighty and sometimes sarcastic pen. 

He was above all a Scripture scholar, translating most of the Old Testament from the Hebrew. He also wrote commentaries which are a great source of scriptural inspiration for us today. He was an avid student, a thorough scholar, a prodigious letter-writer and a consultant to monk, bishop and pope. St. Augustine (August 28) said of him, "What Jerome is ignorant of, no mortal has ever known." 

St. Jerome is particularly important for having made a translation of the Bible which came to be called the Vulgate. It is not the most critical edition of the Bible, but its acceptance by the Church was fortunate. As a modern scholar says, "No man before Jerome or among his contemporaries and very few men for many centuries afterwards were so well qualified to do the work." The Council of Trent called for a new and corrected edition of the Vulgate, and declared it the authentic text to be used in the Church. 

In order to be able to do such work, Jerome prepared himself well. He was a master of Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Chaldaic. He began his studies at his birthplace, Stridon in Dalmatia (in the former Yugoslavia). After his preliminary education he went to Rome, the center of learning at that time, and thence to Trier, Germany, where the scholar was very much in evidence. He spent several years in each place, always trying to find the very best teachers. He once served as private secretary of Pope Damasus (December 11). 

After these preparatory studies he traveled extensively in Palestine, marking each spot of Christ's life with an outpouring of devotion. Mystic that he was, he spent five years in the desert of Chalcis so that he might give himself up to prayer, penance and study. Finally he settled in Bethlehem, where he lived in the cave believed to have been the birthplace of Christ. On September 30 in the year 420, Jerome died in Bethlehem. The remains of his body now lie buried in the Basilica of St. Mary Major in Rome. 

CREATION'S CHORD

Samuel Palmer, Cornfield by Moonlight, ca. 1830

Today, the Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity, the Psalm for Evening Prayer turns out to be one of my all-time favourites, Psalm 104. I can't think of anything more joyful and glorious to post for today than simply its text, in the Coverdale translation used in the Book of Common Prayer. Lift up your hearts, and enjoy.

Psalm 104. Benedic, anima mea

PRAISE the Lord, O my soul : O Lord my God, thou art become exceeding glorious; thou art clothed with majesty and honour.
2. Thou deckest thyself with light as it were with a garment : and spreadest out the heavens like a curtain.
3. Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters : and maketh the clouds his chariot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind.
4. He maketh his angels spirits : and his ministers a flaming fire.
5. He laid the foundations of the earth : that it never should move at any time.
6. Thou coveredst it with the deep like as with a garment : the waters stand in the hills.
7. At thy rebuke they flee : at the voice of thy thunder they are afraid.
8. They go up as high as the hills, and down to the valleys beneath : even unto the place which thou hast appointed for them.
9. Thou hast set them their bounds which they shall not pass : neither turn again to cover the earth.
10. He sendeth the springs into the rivers : which run among the hills.
11. All beasts of the field drink thereof : and the wild asses quench their thirst.
12. Beside them shall the fowls of the air have their habitation : and sing among the branches.
13. He watereth the hills from above : the earth is filled with the fruit of thy works.
14. He bringeth forth grass for the cattle : and green herb for the service of men;
15. That he may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man : and oil to make him a cheerful countenance, and bread to strengthen man's heart.
16. The trees of the Lord also are full of sap : even the cedars of Libanus which he hath planted;
17. Wherein the birds make their nests : and the fir-trees are a dwelling for the stork.
18. The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats : and so are the stony rocks for the conies.
19. He appointed the moon for certain seasons : and the sun knoweth his going down.
20. Thou makest darkness that it may be night : wherein all the beasts of the forest do move.
21. The lions roaring after their prey : do seek their meat from God.
22. The sun ariseth, and they get them away together : and lay them down in their dens.
23. Man goeth forth to his work, and to his labour : until the evening.
24. O Lord, how manifold are thy works : in wisdom hast thou made them all; the earth is full of thy riches.
25. So is the great and wide sea also : wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.
26. There go the ships, and there is that Leviathan : whom thou hast made to take his pastime therein.
27. These wait all upon thee : that thou mayest give them meat in due season.
28. When thou givest it them they gather it : and when thou openest thy hand they are filled with good.
29. When thou hidest thy face they are troubled : when thou takest away their breath they die, and are turned again to their dust.
30. When thou lettest thy breath go forth they shall be made : and thou shalt renew the face of the earth.
31. The glorious majesty of the Lord shall endure for ever : the Lord shall rejoice in his works.
32. The earth shall tremble at the look of him : if he do but touch the hills, they shall smoke.
33. I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live : I will praise my God while I have my being.
34. And so shall my words please him : my joy shall be in the Lord.
35. As for sinners, they shall be consumed out of the earth, and the ungodly shall come to an end : praise thou the Lord, O my soul, praise the Lord. 

UNCERTAINTY

After my previous post on “Schrödinger’s Cross,” a friend suggested, half in fun, that I should turn to Heisenberg and the Uncertainty Principle. This was a challenge not to be resisted, even for as un-mathematical a mind as mine. I’m not sure that it is possible to apply it in any way but vague, fuzzy and inaccurate analogy. But we can try.

    The Uncertainty Principle relates to atomic-sized situations because in normal life situations it is too tiny to observe. Things are simply too big, too massy and too slow (like an automobile moving along a road). But what about spiritual situations? Factors like Sin and Grace?

    Simply speaking, the Uncertainty Principle says that you cannot measure a particle's position and its momentum simultaneously: as you try to narrow down position, momentum gets fuzzier; as you try to narrow down momentum, position gets fuzzier. Moreover, the element may not have had a definite position before you started measuring it.

    As you try to narrow down your measurement of Sin’s position, what happens? Possibilities:

         1.     you end up with Law, as in Mosaic/Rabbinic, Sharia, or Christian Puritan. You apply ‘Sin’ to more and more specific little actions (eating pork, shellfish, having more than 3 wives, turning on a light switch – or reading Elmore Leonard -- on the Sabbath).

         2.     If and as you do so, your vision of Sin’s momentum, its mass x velocity, gets fuzzier. You cannot measure both at the same time.

         3.     If your vision of Sin’s momentum gets fuzzier, you are in danger. Sin’s direction may not be at all times clear, but it has one constant: away from God. If you are deep in the minutiæ of its position, you are vulnerable to its momentum which may carry you surprisingly far from God in a surprisingly short time.

    Now let’s see what happens if instead you try to narrow down your measurement of Sin’s momentum.

Possibilities:

         1.     you get too interested in, & therefore too close to, its mass/velocity and you simply get sucked into its black hole.

         2.     even if not, your vision of its position gets fuzzier, and specific actions are harder and harder to characterise as Sin. You cannot measure both at the same time.

         3.     This is particularly true of your vision of their (the actions’) consequences. These are not what makes Sin Sin, but they are as it were indications of its (and your) future position.

    This makes a certain amount of sense, so far. Now let’s try it with something other than Sin. How about the Trinity? One’s first reaction would be to say that there are simply not enough data for measurement. However, that hasn’t stopped generations of theologians from trying. It’s now an unfashionable topic for investigation, but that shouldn’t deter us.

    Let us see what happens when we try to narrow down our measurement of the Trinity’s position.
Possibilities:

         1.     Externally, its position is in Heaven. But the more we try to narrow down the position of Heaven, the fuzzier our measurement of gets of its momentum, i.e. its impact on our soul. You end up counting angels on pinheads instead of responding to Glory.

         2.     Internally, the Three Persons relate to one another. But the more we try to narrow down our measurement of that relation as position – to measure the exact role of each Person, for instance – the fuzzier gets our measurement of its momentum. We will not, as one Church Father did, get tears in our eyes merely thinking of the Trinity.

    On the other hand, we might try to narrow down our measurement of the Trinity’s momentum.

Possibilities:

         1.     Paralysis: physical, intellectual, moral, and spiritual. The mass x velocity of the Trinity are so immense, so awe-inspiring – and the immensity and the awe it inspires are not collateral elements to be eliminated by the observer, but part of the Trinity’s very essence – that as we get closer to trying to measure it, we are overwhelmed entirely.

         2.     Our measurement of its position, whether external or internal, gets fuzzier. Internally, we may lose sight altogether of the difference between the Three Persons and confuse them or, worse, conflate them. We may lose interest in, and respect for, any sort of systematic theology. Externally, we may end up thinking that Heaven (and/or, by extension, Hell) is everywhere, or nowhere. “Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it,” said Mephistopheles. (Who, of course, lies.)

    What all this seems to show me is that yes, it’s an analogy in this context, and can never be precise, even with the limited precision of the UP in mathematics and quantum physics. But as an analogy it can be very valuable. Which in turn raises the question of the value of analogy in any intellectual endeavour. Paracelsian medicine upheld the ancient theory that nature was composed of meaningful and intentional signatures, which man must learn to read and interpret. (Walnuts were good for the brain.) Subsequent science has demoted analogy in favour of cause and effect. But in the intellectual endeavour that is theology – not just professional theology but the theology that is the necessary intellectual part of every believer’s faith – the signature concept may well still hold: an analogy may lead us to a valuable insight, in which case the analogy forms one term of a relationship. And there is every likelihood of that relationship’s being intentional.

SCHRODINGER'S CROSS

   Last night I emerged from a dream of an utterly confusing party in Oxford, full of lean intelligent women talking loudly, into its opposite, which presented itself as the Carthusian motto STAT CRUX DUM VOLVITUR ORBIS. The Cross stands – remains, stands still – while the world turns (lit. is turned). It’s a marvellous motto, and in my mind I saw the Nazareth Village cross, surprisingly small, maybe 7’ high, of unsquared logs, very crude, and on the other hand the Universe as we now know it via Hubble, immense, crowded with heavenly bodies, most of which turn. And the centre of that immensity is that little crude cross, which alone does not move – like Vladimir and Estragon.

      

     As I moved gradually from dreaming to thinking, all this came together with Benedict XVI’s passages, in Jesus of Nazareth, on the Cross as the centre of our faith, Christ the King who reigns from the Cross, etc. Yet then something in my mind asked, ‘But which Cross? The crucifix, the cross with a man on it? Or the empty cross of the Resurrection?’ This, I remembered, was one of the controversies I grew up with, between Catholics and Protestants: the latter refused the crucifix, saying that after the Resurrection any cross imaging our faith should be an empty one.

     The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this is a true aporia. On the one hand the Protestants are right: the Resurrection empties the Cross. On the other, the Catholics are right: Christ reigns from the Cross. One needs to imagine the Cross as both occupied and empty at the same time. Schrödinger’s Cross.

     Stat crux dum volvitur orbis. The Cross is central. And yet, was it planned? Only a rigid predestinationist could assert that. When Jesus walked in Galilee, when he taught and healed, was the Cross already inevitable? So many were converted, among them some of the religious ruling class, like Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. And he spoke ‘with authority’. It would have taken only a few more converts, like Caiphas and Annas, for his message to have succeeded.

     Uh, oh. That sends us straight back to Peter saying stoutly that no, that horror was damn well not going to happen, implying that he wouldn’t let it. And what did Jesus answer? “Get thee behind me, Satan!” So yes, it did have to happen. In the first place, it was really inevitable – which tells us something about Jesus’ message. As someone Benedict XVI quotes put it, a man merely proclaiming that people should love one another would not have been crucified. It was his clear announcement that he was God that made the Cross inevitable.

     So the Cross was necessary. Was it also sufficient? No: it had to be completed by the Resurrection. It had to happen for the New Covenenant to be activated. For only the Cross could lead to the Resurrection; and the Resurrection is the very basis of the New Alliance. ‘If Christ did not rise from the dead, all we preach is stuff and nonsense,’ said St Paul unambiguously (I Cor. 15:14; the whole passage is salutary).

     So the Cross that stands while the world turns is Schrödinger’s Cross. It is to that the Carthusians have turned. It is Eliot’s ‘still point of the turning world’. So what about that turning world? Have they turned their back upon it? Yes, because a Carthusian lives in cell, having died to the world. No, because his whole life is spent in unimaginably intense prayer for that world – which, after all, is the orbis for love of which God Himself took flesh and offered Himself as the sacrifice for sin.

     We are not Carthusians; yet we might usefully carry Schrödinger’s Cross in our hearts, to remind us of both that immense love that was, and is, given to and for us, and of the victory over Death that has made us free, free to love, for ever.

     The text at my baptism was “Stand then in the freedom wherewith Christ has made you free.”  (Gal. 5:1)