Liturgy and the Beauty of the Unknown
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Liturgy and the Beauty of the Unknown

Another Place

David Torevell

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eBook - ePub

Liturgy and the Beauty of the Unknown

Another Place

David Torevell

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About This Book

Contemporary culture is rediscovering the importance of beauty for both social transformation and personal happiness. Theologians have sought, in their varied ways, to demonstrate how God's beauty is associated with notions of truth and goodness. This book breaks new ground by suggesting that liturgy is the means par excellence by which an experience of beauty is communicated. Drawing from both secular and religious understandings, in particular the mystical and apophatic tradition, the book demonstrates how liturgy has the potential to achieve the one ultimately reliable form of beauty because its embodied components are able to reflect the disturbing beauty of the One to whom worship is always offered. Such components rely on understanding the aesthetic dynamics upon which liturgy relies. This book draws from a broad range of disciplines concerned with understanding beauty and self-transformation and concludes that while secular utopian forms have much to contribute to ethical transformation, they ultimately fail since they lack the Christological and eschatological framework needed, which liturgy alone provides.

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Publisher
Routledge
Year
2017
ISBN
9781351921824
Subtopic
Religion
Edition
1

Chapter 1
The Movement of Return

In this first chapter I demonstrate how the judicious use of symbolic materiality in liturgy might become a creative and invaluable means of releasing an anagogic ascent to the divine. Indeed, for Denys the Areopagite, St John of Damascus and the Victorines, the liturgical employment of the symbolic and material – what might be more colloquially termed the ‘horizontal’ – became essential for understanding this movement. Denys offers a brilliant exhortation to interpret the symbols of liturgy and the Scriptures so that worshippers might gradually go beyond those things which have a connection to the created order. St John of Damascus, too, is equally concerned to emphasize the use of the material as he defends the employment of icons and images in Christian homage and worship, suggesting they are divine veils revealing to the senses ‘things beyond being’. And the later medieval Victorines, taking their cue from Denys, show how it is inadvisable to let go of the material since its proper use is vital for raising the soul towards God’s unknowability and mystery. Although some of their theology might be problematic for an easy transfer into twenty-first century discourse about liturgy, the thrust of their thinking remains applicable and instructive.

Denys the Areopagite

The writings of Denys the Areopagite (also known as Dionysius) emerged in the early sixth century and are a witness to how the Christian life consists in a ceaseless movement back to the God of Beauty, the source of life from which we came. Through the interpretation of liturgical (and Scriptural) symbolism, humanity achieves most effectively this pre-ordained plan of ‘lifting up’ necessary for a return to the divine. In describing their essential function, Denys points out that their primary purpose is to assist in acknowledging their source and to discern that to which they point and in which they participate. We must move from effects to cause, an endeavour not left to us unaided, since the very Light we seek will assist us on our way as we begin to contemplate the things of God through their symbolic representations and manifestations. The goal is to move and see beyond the veils which surround and hide the mysterious self-giving love of the divine Godhead and to experience something of the Truth, the Light unveiled, as when we move beyond the words used of God, whether affirmative or negative, to discover that which is beyond all language and discursive thinking. Liturgical (and biblical) symbols offer therefore, ‘analogies’ for the hidden things of divine origin and help in relinquishing our personal notions and images of God as we seek the One, simple God of Truth during our temporary, composite existence on earth. As Denys puts it: ‘But as for now, what happens is this. We use whatever appropriate symbols we can for the things of God. With these analogies we are raised upward towards the truth of the mind’s vision, a truth which is simple and one. We leave behind all our own notions of the divine’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 1, 1987: 592C). Denys also argues that a movement towards divine union involves, not only a change in the individual from a pre-fallen state towards one re-formed in the image of God, but also a reconstitution of the community into a unified whole. As Denys writes in The Divine Names, ‘And so all these scriptural utterances celebrate the supreme Deity by describing it as monad or henad, because of its supernatural simplicity and indivisible unity, by which unifying power we are led to unity. We, in the diversity of what we are, are drawn together by it and are led into a godlike oneness, into a unity reflecting God’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 1, 1987: 589D). Union with the divine never entails a loss of personal identity but, akin to the experience of St Paul, a transformed self in Christ becomes possible. Denys comments, ‘This is why the great Paul, swept along by his yearning for God and seized of its ecstatic power had this inspired word to say, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me”’ (Divine Names 4, 1987: 712A).

‘Wrapped in the Sacred Veils of Divine Love’

For Denys, such a movement back to God inevitably entails a worshipping self. In The Divine Names he comments, ‘With our minds made prudent and holy, we offer worship to that which lies hidden beyond thought and beyond being’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 1, 1987: 589B). Wrapped in the ‘sacred veils’ of divine love, liturgical symbolism, in the form of those things derived from the realm of the senses, conveys the various attributes of ‘what is an imageless and supra-natural simplicity’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 1, 1987: 592B). Our natural response to such sacred manifestations is one of reverence and adoration, which reflects a deep desire to return to the source from which we originally came. Our very beings become ‘shaped to songs of praise’ as we yearn for the divine light, that which is ‘wise and beautiful’ (Divine Names 1, 1987: 589B).
Hymns of thanksgiving become appropriate responses to those gifts which have been poured into the human realm by God’s ecstatic love. And since the whole of creation participates in the beauty and goodness of God, humanity’s immediate response becomes one of awe and adoration. It is natural to acclaim with thanksgiving our rightful intimacy with all things which emanate from the divine, acknowledging with praise the gift of participation and community. We ‘look upward as the light of sacred scripture will allow, and, in reverent awe of what is divine, let us be drawn together toward the divine splendour’ (Divine Names 1, 1987: 588A). Through seeing the beauty of creation and by interpreting aright the symbolism of liturgy and Scripture we mould ourselves into a community of worshipping beings, a (super)natural response to the beauty veiled but always present, the nameless One who yet ‘has the names of everything that is’ (Divine Names 1, 1987: 596C). At times this entails falling into silence, as an experience of union is triggered. This is the most fitting response to that light which is ‘a union far beyond mind, when mind turns away from all things, even from itself, and when it is made one with the dazzling rays, being then and there enlightened by the inscrutable depths of Wisdom’ (Divine Names 7, 1987: 872B).
Worship responds to and acknowledges that which is beyond being and beyond words – we do homage, aloud and in silence, to that which is inexpressible and which has been poured forth in creation. In order to praise this beauty we must turn ‘to all of creation’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 1, 1987: 593D). Such praise is proportioned to the beings we are, the flight towards beauty suited to each one, so that we might not be tempted to venture towards ‘an impossibly daring sight of God …’ (Divine Names 1, 1987: 589A). The sacred veils of liturgy and scripture are able to convey the beauty of the divine while we are here on earth (Divine Names 1, 1987: 592B). During this life, we use the most appropriate symbols we can to raise us to ‘the truth of the mind’s vision’ (Divine Names 1, 1987: 592C).
The cosmos is experienced as part of this divine emanation and manifestation and is beautiful because it flows from the source of beauty. Denys, in The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, is astonished that Apollophanes, who is a wise man, does not worship the One who is the cause of everything, the One beyond description. But those who do contemplate the divine are able to give absolute attention to ‘that conceptual and fragrant beauty’ (Pseudo-Dionysius Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 4, 1987: 473B). If they practise the virtues called for by their initiation they will be able to behold those sacred things of the Church disguised in its rites and conveyed by the Scriptures. For example, in the rite of the ointment they will be transformed into images of that divine fragrance and ‘Imitating God, as they do, they can tell the difference between real beauty and real evil’ (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 4, 1987: 476A).

The Liturgical Act in Denys: Praising the Silent Word

Von Balthasar’s comments on Denys’s theology of procession and return are helpful. He suggests that Denys’s understanding of worship centres around a marvelling about ‘the beauty which appears in every manifestation of the unmanifest, and which is therefore the sacredness of everything apparently profane. Everything lies in the circular movement between procession and return, the cataphatic and the apophatic, nothing can find fulfilment except by entering into this movement’ (von Balthasar 1995: 166). Such a movement is dependent upon the relationship between God and the world, the analogia entis with knowledge of God demanding ‘both a deeper penetration into the image and also a more sublime transcendence beyond it, and the two are not separated one from another, but are the more fully integrated, the more perfectly they are achieved’ (1995: 169). The task of theology, according to von Balthasar, is to become exhausted in the ‘act of wondering adoration before the unsearchable beauty in every manifestation’ (1995: 170).
Since God manifests His glory in all things, the appropriate response is invariably one of celebratory festival and dance. Glory holds sway and hymns of praise are to be sung. The whole celestial hierarchy, joined by men and women, celebrates the Word at the centre, echoing, says von Balthasar, images from the Apocalypse: ‘Theology in an all-embracing sense is – as in the pictures of the Apocalypse – the concentric arrangement of heaven and earth, angels and men, in praise around the throne of the Invisible: the Word, that is repeated in ever louder echo, around the silent centre; sounds around the essential stillness, unapproachable, hidden’ (1995: 173). Everything is a sacred veil and in liturgy we ascend the steps of the shrine in order to draw nearer towards the mystery (1995: 173–4). The whole theology of Denys is best regarded as a single, sacred, liturgical act deeply influenced by aesthetic categories:
To the extent that liturgy is a human, ecclesial act, which, as a response of praise and thanksgiving, seeks to echo the form of the divine revelation, the categories of the aesthetic and of art will play a decisive role in it, and there has scarcely been a theology so deeply informed by aesthetics categories as the liturgical theology of the Areopagite. (1995: 154)
Those initiated and ‘kept away from the mockery and laughter of the uninitiated’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 1, 1987: 597C) are introduced and led into the mysteries of God, and are then able to acknowledge both the world and the Church as sacred veils, concealing and revealing the divine: ‘It veils only in order to initiate more perfectly …’ (von Balthasar 1995: 173). The mystery is the silence of God reverberating with glorious sound while remaining simultaneously hidden and revealed. Such, for Denys is the core of a celebratory liturgy: ‘The central silence is for Denys not at all the empty silence of non-Christian mysticism, but rather that unique, primordial Word which transcends all the sounding words’ (von Balthasar 1995: 174). And with celebration comes peace and its sharing, the peace which all beings long for and desire (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 11, 1987: 949A).
Reflecting on one of the central themes in his corpus, Denys beseeches his readers to seek this ‘unifying light’ which entails a ‘lifting up’ from the enigmas and brutality of the variegated material world into a clear light and, as I suggested earlier, it is the images of Scripture as well as the components of the liturgy that are the most reliable means to do this. In The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy Denys appeals to the sacraments to ‘Lift up the symbolic garments of enigmas which surround you. Show yourself clearly to our gaze. Fill the eyes of our mind with a unifying and unveiled light’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 3, 1987: 428C), knowing well that this ecclesial endeavour is the best means we are given on earth towards seeing the Light itself.
For Denys, any such movement is described as a journey from the perceptible to the intelligible. Intelligible here refers to the glorious beauty and goodness of God which the mind’s vision may eventually gaze upon in fullness. It is a spiritual movement from plurality and difference to simplicity and unity, from the spatial plurality of the lower realm to the metaphysical simplicity of the celestial realm (Rorem 1984: 56), and it is through the propensities of religious symbolism that such a transition can be achieved. Such leading upwards is not only an active ascent, but a passive elevation, achieved by God once we put ourselves in the right context (Rorem 1984: 55).
This entails a shift away from the empirical and preoccupied self made possible through and via the symbols. The liturgical features are the means by which we can approach the simplicity of the divine. Sense-based, perceptible things become essential and serve a crucial function. In Letter 9, Denys says that we must never disdain symbols because they ‘bear the mark of the divine stamp’. They are the ‘manifest images of unspeakable and marvellous sights’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Letter 9, 1987: 108C). But more than this – any uplifting is not possible without the symbols, it is the only means we have (Rorem 1984: 105). The point is not to be attracted by such material things for their own sake, but to use them as a means to contemplate higher things. The Celestial Hierarchy uses examples of those liturgical symbols which serve such a function, ‘the beautiful odours which strike the senses’, the lights which are the ‘outpouring of an immaterial gift of light’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Celestial Hierarchy 1, 1987: 121D). A hermeneutical insight is required therefore, achieved through supernatural grace, the gift given to help humanity understand the riches of symbolic meaning.
What is required is the attainment of a careful use and interpretation of the symbolic – the ability to get behind the symbol, (however dissimilar it is to God), so that the soul might be lifted beyond appearances to the higher things which are not of this world. We must never in this process be deterred or afraid of using ‘matter’ to describe the things of God since all things owe their existence to the absolute beauty in which they participate. This is where Denys’s theology of creation combines with his theology of symbolism. All creation ‘keeps, throughout its earthly ranks, some echo of intelligible beauty’ (Celestial Hierarchy 2, 1987: 144C). The whole of creation (Denys explicitly says ‘everything in fact’) rests and participates within the realm of the Good and the Beautiful. And the beauty which Denys speaks about is not a remote, ideal type, but an infinitely beautiful manifestation which gathers everything to itself and which never ceases to satisfy. As Hart comments: ‘It is the beauty of which the psalmist speaks when he exclaims, “I shall be sated, upon awakening, in beholding thy form (temuna)” (17:15) …’ (2003: 177). Using matter, argues Denys, one may be truly lifted up to the immaterial beautiful archetypes.
What are we to make of all this? We might question a too easy emphasis on responsive praise towards the manifestation of divine beauty within the cosmos. Ascending ‘the steps of the shrine’ in a world torn apart by political terrorism and disaster prevent Denys’s theology from being too easily assimilated into twenty-first century ‘reasoning’. Von Balthasar’s ‘unmanifest’ could well refer, for many in the contemporary West, to its secular meaning and definition – the material manifests nothing other than the material and there is no need to postulate a source to that manifestation. For Denys, however, nothing exists outside the beauty of God, nothing lives beyond it; it is the source of all that exists and this echoes St Paul’s idea in his Letter to the Romans (11:36), ‘For from Him and through Him and in Him and to Him are all things’. Denys reiterates his theology of creation as participation in the divine beauty, the source of all that is.
A word of warning, however, comes from Denys as he postulates the gap which always exists between the ‘intelligible and perceptible’, the paradox lying at the heart of Christian revelation – how God both reveals and conceals, is seen and hidden, discloses and retains. He writes: ‘Of course, one must be careful to use the similarities as dissimilarities … to avoid one-to-one correspondence, to make the appropriate adjustments as one remembers the great divide between the intelligible and the perceptible’ (Pseudo-Dionysius, Celestial Hierarchy 2, 1987: 144C). But even imagery to describe God, which Denys refers to as ‘deformed’, is able to reinforce the process of uplifting:
And I myself might not have been stirred from this difficulty to my current inquiry, to an uplifting through a precise explanation of these sacred truths, had I not been troubled by the deformed imagery used by scripture in regard to the angels. My mind was not permitted to dwell on imagery so inadequate, but was provoked to get behind the material show, to get accustomed to the idea of going beyond appearances to those upliftings which are not of this world. (Celestial Hierarchy 2, 1987: 145B)
Symbols, therefore, for Denys, lift us up out of our mundane perceptions into a unity with the divine. ‘Perceptible images’, both liturgical and biblical, perform this role to great effect if interpreted and used appropriately. The soul is then brought into contemplation of the Good and the Beautiful by a movement released by the symbols and activated by God’s self-giving love.

Yearning and Ecstasy

The liturgical movement of return is a yearning for beauty which raises humanity upward into the divine life in which it synthesizes differences, gradually allowing us to become closer and more like those beings who are ‘superior to us’ (by which he means those celestial beings of the angelic hierarchy). The Incarnation enables us to look upon the divine ray of Jesus Himself (Pseudo-Dionysius, Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 1, 198: 372B). It is through the Word made flesh, that God assimilates us to Himself, drawing all differences into a divine unity. Consequently, enlightened by what we have seen in and through Christ, we are able to become agents of God’s work ourselves, perfecting others as we have been perfected by those superior to us. We become consecrated and then in turn are able to be consecrators ourselves of this ‘mysterious understanding’. ‘Formed of light, initiates in God’s work, we shall be perfected and bring about perfection’ writes Denys (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 1, 1987: 372B). This is the Christological core of Denys’s theology.
It is natural and appropriate that all creatures yearn for the Good and the Beautiful since such desire (which in turn creates all goodness in the world) is rooted in God. Not allowing itself to remain dormant, the divine beauty issued forth in loving creation (Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 4, 1987: 708B). Our response to this procession of divine love is yearning, a crucial word for Denys, as powerful as love. God’s desire is the ultimate ground of our desiring: ‘The divine longing is Good seeking good for the sake of the Good’ (Divine Names 4, 1987: 708B). Denys says that there are numerous Scriptural passages which justify this yearning of and for God is a type of erotic...

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