Preventing the Metropolis

"Mittler zwischen Hirn und Händen muss das herz sein!" 

("The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart!")

 Original 1927 theatrical release poster for Metropolis

Fritz Lang's 1927 film Metropolis is a classic of world cinema, famous for its technical breakthroughs in film-making (for instance, the Maschinenmensch, the Machine-Man, was the first robot to ever appear in a film) and its political message, which led to heavy censorship at its release (only in the past few years has almost the entire original 2-1/2 hour film been reconstructed).  The main message is summed up in its epigram, quoted above: "The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart!"  This refers to the political/economic division of society in Metropolis between the city of the owners, with its "Eternal Gardens," and the city of the workers, with its "Heart Machine."  I think the main theme of the film fits into Catholic social teaching (as explained in the Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church (CSDC)) on the rights of workers and the employer-employee relationship.

First of all, men and women are meant to be seem primarily as persons, for "'far from being the object of passive element of social life,' the human person 'is rather, and must always remain, its subject, foundation and goal'" (CSDC 106).  While the social division at the opening of the film treats workers as mere cogs in a machine, this view is challenged quickly when a woman (Maria) appears with a group of worker children in the city of the owners and declares, "These are your brothers!"  The protagonist of the film, Freder, the son of the city's designer and ruler, takes this concept to heart and travels to the worker's city to search for this engimatic woman.  By the end of the film, this "personalist principle" (as the CSDC refers to it) is recognized by all, though not stated explicitly.

 "These are your brothers!"

Maria and the workers' children

Deriving from this personalist principle is the necessity of truly human work.  The following clip, in which Freder has a vision of the Heart Machine operated by the workers as the Canaanite god Moloch, to whom followers sacrificed their children, portrays the horror experienced upon recognition of the inhumanity of the workers' working conditions.

The horror of turning humans into mere objects for labor has been expressed in many papal encyclicals throughout the past century and a half, and the CSDC distills the teaching well:

"Work is an essential expression of the person, it is an 'actus personae.'  Any form of materialism or economic tenet that tries to reduce the worker to being a mere instrument of production, a simple labor force with an exclusively material value, would end up hopelessly distorting the essence of work and stripping it of its most noble and basic human finality.  The human person is the measure of the dignity of work" (CSDC 271).

Freder, at least implicitly, realizes that these men and women, who are his brothers and sisters because they are human persons, are being sacrificed as persons for the sake of becoming instruments in the machines that run the city.  Men are turned into mere fuel for the Moloch-Machine that runs the city.

 The Heart Machine in the workers' city

Much of the film deals with technology being used as an "enemy of human dignity" (cf. CSDC 271).  The Heart Machine acts as Moloch, the Machine-Man is used to deceive and control the workers, and the infrastructure of the city keeps the workers hidden away from the upper classes and their hedonistic pursuits.  While technology can obviously be an incredibly useful tool for the progress of humanity, it can also be used as a weapon to keep men abused and degraded.

The strong class division is also a central element of the film.  Though "the different components of society are called to build a unified and harmonious whole," in the Metropolis, they are so separate that they do not ever see each other, and many of the upper class do not even know of the existence of the workers' city (CSDC 151)!  Just because one class has countless riches does not make the Metropolis a paradise.  One single class cannot be used to judge the effectiveness and greatness of an entire society: all classes and persons must be taken into account.  As the CSDC puts it, "The economic well-being of a country is not measured exclusively by the quantity of goods it produces but also by taking into account the manner in which they are produced and the level of equity in the distribution of income" (303). 

In the end, the main point of the film is summed up in its epigram, and it is this: owners and workers must cooperate in order to make their community truly great and truly human.  The CSDC describes this division as between "capital" (the owners) and "labor" (the workers).  In some systems, like in Metropolis, these really represented "two concrete social classes," but they cannot remain separate: instead, they must work together, for "there must exist between work and capital a relationship of complementarities" (CSDC 277).  This also connects to the principle of subsidiarity, a key theme in Catholic social teaching.  The main principle is this: "all societies of a superior order must adopt attitudes of help ('subsidium') -- therefore of support, promotion, development -- with respect to lower-order societies" (CSDC 186).  What this means in the case of labor is that the owners of a company must help, not abuse, their workers: there must be an attitude of help between the two.  What is more helpful than love and Christian charity, which is represented so powerfully in the Sacred Heart of Christ?  Therefore, it is the heart which must characterize the relationship between the head (owners) and the hands (workers).

 The joining of the hands (workers' foreman) and the head (Freder's father) by the heart (Freder)

To summarize this post in one sentence, the epigram of Metropolis is an endorsement of the Catholic principle of subsidiarity (vid. CSDC 185-8).

I am sorry if I rambled far too much in this post or if it is too much of an incoherent jumble of quotes on Catholic social teaching.  At the very least, I hope you come to realize some of the truth that can be gleaned from the film Metropolis, and I hope you now have at least heard of the Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church.  Thank you for reading, and God Bless.

Nota Bene: The epigram from Metropolis is found in German in this video and in English on this site.  Information on Metropolis came from Wikipedia.  The quotes from the Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church, written by the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace (Iustitia et Pax) and translated by the Libreria Editrice Vaticana, are taken from the edition released by the USCCB in 2007; the numbers refer to paragraph numbers, not page numbers.  For more information on Catholic social teaching, see my links to Church documents on social doctrine and to documents from Pontifical Councils and Commissions, specifically the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace (Iustitia et Pax), among others.

Reparation for Blasphemy

 "Jesus Christ Conquers" in Greek

[IC and XC are monograms for Ιεσους and Χριστος, respectively]

Blasphemy is a sin that seems mostly ignored today, which is odd, considering that it is the Second Commandment (depending on your numbering): "You shall not take the name of the Lord in vain."  The Israelites had a keen respect for God's Holy Name, the Sacred Tetragrammaton (Four Letters): יהוה.  This name, revealed to Moses at the Burning Bush (or somehow learned by Enosh, son of Seth, for Genesis (4:26b) says, "At that time men began to call upon the name of the Lord," that is, יהוה), was so revered that it was only spoken by the High Priest during the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), and the Mishnah expresses the people's reverence:

"When the priests and the people which stood in the Temple Court heard the Expressed Name come forth from the mouth of the High Priest, they used to kneel and bow themselves and fall down on their faces and say, 'Blessed be the name of the glory of His kingdom for ever and ever!" (Yoma 6:2)

Though the Name appears countless times throughout Scripture (often marked in English translations by the word "Lord" in either all capitals or small capitals), it was (and still is by pious Jews) never pronounced: instead, when the Scriptures are read, readers replaced the Tetragrammaton with the word "Adonai."  The Name of God was held to be so sacred that he who blasphemed It was put to death, as the Lord Himself orders in Leviticus.  After a man whose father was an Egyptian and mother was of the tribe of Dan blasphemes the Sacred Name, the Lord declares the punishment for the son of Shelomith and for all who blaspheme:

"And say to the people of Israel, Whoever curses his God shall bear his sin.  He who blasphemes the Name of the Lord shall be put to death; all the congregation shall stone him; the sojourner as well as the native, when he blasphemes the Name, shall be put to death" (Lev 24:15-16).

Blasphemy was the crime laid upon Jesus by the Sanhedrin, and thus He was crucified for it.  Because Jesus is the Lord, because He is one of the Persons of the All-Holy Trinity, He was, of course, not blaspheming when He claimed the Divine Name for Himself, because It is rightly His.  Because He is Lord, His personal name is holy as well:

"Therefore God has highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him the Name which is above every name, that at the Name of Jesus every knee should bow, in Heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (Phil 2:9-11).

If Jesus' Name is above all names (could this mean It is even above the Sacred Tetragrammaton?), It must be treated with awe and reverence.  If blaspheming the Sacred Name revealed in the Old Covenant is punished with death, should not the same be true of the Sacred Name of the New Covenant?  It seems clear, then, that blaspheming the name of Jesus Christ is a mortal sin, for it is an offense punishable by death.  Why, then, do we not speak up when His glorious Name is blasphemed far and wide?  We must reverence His Holy Name, for the Name belongs to the Person, and the Person of Jesus Christ is All-Holy, thus making the Name All-Holy as well.

What do we do when we hear His Name blasphemed so often?  We must speak up and defend His Name, which is a challenge, for to many it seems that nothing is sacred, that Jesus Himself is not sacred, much less His Name.  Since rebuking sinners (a spiritual work of mercy which must be done in love) seems so unable to effect change in this area, what else shall we do?  We must offer reparation for the blasphemers.  Thus, when we hear the name of Jesus Christ blasphemed, I recommend we pray the following prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on those who blaspheme Your Name.

It is a short prayer derived from the Jesus Prayer, but I think it will be effective.  For God can change the hearts of men, as long as men are the least bit open.  With our rebukes--which, I repeat, must be made in love--we can hope to open the hearts of blasphemers just a bit, but with our prayers we can hope for certain that we are doing the most we can for them, for what is more effective than prayer?  It will take much courage to rebuke blasphemers, for we will receive much ridicule for it, and I know it will be intensely difficult for me, for I am non-confrontational, but I hope to try and, with God's help, hopefully grow stronger in my defense of our Saviour's Most-Holy Name.  In the end, then, I encourage us all to rebuke those who blaspheme and to offer a reparatory prayer in intercession for them.  Let us all defend all that is sacred, all that belongs to the Lord, including His Holy and Sacred Name, so that we can declare with the Psalmist:

"Not to us, O Lord, not to us,

but to Thy Name give glory, 

for the sake of Thy steadfast love and Thy faithfulness!" (Ps 115:1)

Nota Bene: The quote from the Mishnah is taken from the translation by Herbert Danby, D.D., published by Oxford University Press in 1933.

"That Strange Wild Man": Vincent Van Gogh

 Tony Curran as Vincent van Gogh, compared to a self-potrait by the artist, in "Vincent and the Doctor"

I have just finished watching an episode of the wildly popular and long-running British series Doctor Who entitled "Vincent and the Doctor" (Series 5, Episode 10).  In this episode, everyone's favorite time-traveling humanoid alien notices a strange creature in Vincent van Gogh's The Church at Auvers at the Musée d'Orsay in Paris.  What could the Doctor do but go back in time to team up with Vincent to fight a violent alien?  (If you mind spoilers, skip to the next paragraph.  If not, one epic phrase sums this episode up perfectly: Vincent van Gogh vs. a giant, merciless, bloodthirsty, invisible space chicken.)

This episode fascinated me for its portrayal of the depressed artist.  While my mental health major friend noticed the way the episode depicted van Gogh's depression (though without his aural self-mutilation), I was entranced by the description of the artist's worldview.  I don't know how accurate it is, but I'm planning to read his letters to help find out.  

My favorite scene in the episode (which I could not find a clip of on-line, no matter how hard I could try: there are only music videos to a Don McLean song instead) involves the Doctor, his companion (kind of a strange term, but it's the one they use) Amy, and Vincent van Gogh staring up at the night sky as the artist explains his worldview.  While I can't find a clip, here is Vincent's brief soliloquy and a series of pictures showing how the sky transforms into van Gogh's The Starry Night during the scene:

"Try to see what I see.  We're so lucky we're still alive to see this beautiful world.  Look at the sky.  It's not dark and black and without character.  The black is in fact deep blue.  And over there!  Lighter blue.  And blowing through the blueness and blackness, the winds swirling through the air.  And there shining, burning, bursting through, the stars!  Can you see how they roll their light?  Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes."

I had never really thought much about Vincent van Gogh, "that strange wild man," as the curator of the Musée d'Orsay calls him in the episode, but he fascinates me now.  There is no big reason for this post besides spreading knowledge about this wonderful episode and explaining why I might have more posts on Vincent van Gogh in the future.  The faith of this man may not be laudable (he seems to agree with Gandhi's quote, "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians": his version is "I am no friend of present-day Christianity, though its Founder was sublime"), but I think there are some seeds of truth hidden in his worldview.  For now, I will end up some quotes of his that seem beautifully indicative of his artistic worldview:

"Poetry surrounds us everywhere, but putting it on paper is, alas, not so easy as looking at it."

"Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me.  I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners.  And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum."

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."

Let us end by saying a prayer for the repose of the soul of Vincent van Gogh, who in the struggle with his depression took his own life: Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on the soul of Vincent van Gogh and on the souls of all the departed, and, if they so desire, bring them to Your home, where there is no suffering, sighing, or grief, but ever-lasting life.  Eternal memory, eternal memory: blessed repose grant to Your servants, O Lord Jesus Christ, and eternal memory.

  Vincent van Gogh's The Starry Night (1889)

Nota Bene: The quote from the Doctor Who episode is found on Wikiquote's page for Vincent van Gogh, as are most of the quotes by him.  The quote by Gandhi was found here, and the last quote by van Gogh was found here.

Reflections on Leviticus 2-3

Leviticus is often known as the book that stops readers dead in their tracks when they try to read all of the Sacred Scriptures from cover to cover.  It is almost entirely made up of laws for the Israelites, many dealing with ceremonies involving priests (hence "Leviticus," deriving from Levi, the tribe of priests), with a few bits of narrative scattered throughout (such as the ordination of Aaron and his sons in Lev 8-9 and the unholy offering of incense by Nadab and Abihu in Lev 10:1-3).  While I am not knowledgeable in the rituals and laws of sacrificial Judaism, I can at least attempt some allegorical reflections based on this book.  The following are some reflections of my own drawn from Leviticus 2-3: these are merely my own opinion, so take them as you will.  For more substantial reflections on how the laws and rituals of ancient Israel apply to modern Christian life and worship, I highly recommend Dr. Brant Pitre's recent work Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist.

Unleavened Bread of Offering

"No cereal offering which you bring to the Lord shall be made with leaven; for you shall burn no leaven nor any honey as an offering by fire to the Lord" (Lev 2:11).

As the bread of Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread (vid. Ex 12-13) was commanded by the Lord to be kept free of leaven, so now all of Israel's cereal offerings must be free of leaven.  I do not know the deeper reason behind the purity from leaven, but I know that this is part of Christian tradition now.  The Last Supper was a Passover meal, and thus Jesus allowed no leaven there.  Since the Eucharist is a re-presentation (literally) of the Last Supper (and the Lord's sacrifice at Calvary), the Latin Church celebrates the Eucharist solely with unleavened bread.  As the 1983 Code of Canon Law states,

"In the Eucharistic celebration, in accordance with the ancient tradition of the Latin Church, the priest is to use unleavened bread wherever he celebrates Mass" (can. 926). 

This brings up an interesting side note, though: in many Eastern Churches, the Holy Bread used during Divine Liturgy is leavened.  The 1990 Code of Canons of Oriental Churches (CCEO) says nothing specific about this, only saying,

"In the Divine Liturgy the sacred gifts which are offered are bread made of wheat alone and recently made so that there is no danger of corruption and natural wine of the grape and not corrupt" (can. 706).

Thus while the Latin Church is required to use unleavened bread, the Eastern Churches seem to have the freedom to use either leavened or unleavened bread during the Divine Liturgy.  Why would leavened bread be used, though, since it seems that Scripture (the basis of Tradition) only speaks of using unleavened bread?  Though I do not know the exact background of this tradition, I have found one detail which could provide an explanation: the todah offering.

The todah offering, or offering of thanksgiving, is another of the sacrificial offerings of ancient Israel, though not as common and well-known as the other offerings (such as the sin offering, guilt offering, etc.).  Part of the todah offering involved bringing cakes of leavened bread (vid. Lev 7:13).  The Hebrew word todah refers to thanksgiving, and the word Eucharist is derived from the Greek word for thanksgiving.  Thus, since the offering of thanksgiving involved leavened bread, shouldn't the Eucharist?  I am not certain of this is the origin of leavened bread at the Divine Liturgy, but I think it is a possibility.  It also reminds me of an ancient Rabbinic saying quoted in the Pesiqta:

"In the coming Messianic age all sacrifices will cease, but the thank offering [todah] will never cease."

Memorial Portions and Prosphora

When offering cereal offerings to the Lord, the Israelite priests did not offer the entirety of what they received.  Instead, they offered a "memorial portion" of what they received from the people: for instance, if they received flour coated in oil and frankincense, the priest would only take a handful from it, and this would be the memorial portion offered to the Lord (cf. Lev 2:1-2).  After that handful was removed, "what is left of the cereal offering shall be for Aaron and his sons; it is a most holy part of the offerings by fire to the Lord" (Lev 2:3).

 A prosphoron

While this tradition is not seen in the West, I see it reflected in the use of the prosphora in the Divine Liturgies of the Eastern Churches.  Whereas in the West all bread used in the liturgy is consecrated and becomes the Body of Christ, in the East there is a different procedure.  A large loaf (a prosphoron) is brought to the liturgy, and a cube--called the Lamb--is taken from the center.  This is the bread that is consecrated and confected into the Eucharist.  The rest of the loaf is not consecrated, but merely blessed, and, besides other particles used for other symbolic purposes in the liturgy, this entire rest of the loaf becomes the antidoron, the "other gifts."  The antidoron is cubed and is given to the people at the end of the liturgy.  This blessed bread is often taken to those who could not attend the liturgy that day (or it can be given to other people as an evangelization tool, as one Orthodox priest suggested).  Thus only part of the prosphoron is offered to the Lord and consecrated as the Eucharist: the rest, while still "a most holy part of the offerings," is not consecrated but is instead given to the people by the priest.  In short, the Eastern tradition of only consecrating the Lamb from the prosphoron resembles the Israelite tradition of the memorial portion of the offering.

Salt

"You shall season all your cereal offerings with salt; you shall not let the salt of the covenant with your God be lacking from your cereal offering; with all your offerings you shall offer salt" (Lev 2:13).

The Church describes the entire congregation as in a sense offering themselves to God during the liturgy.  Since Jesus says, "You are the salt of the earth," it seems we mystically continue this command of God to the Israelites (Mt 5:13). 

The Fat and the Blood

This is probably the largest stretch in these reflections, but it may prove helpful to some, so I will write it.  Leviticus 3 is focused on how the fat of animal sacrifices must be offered to the Lord as part of the sacrifice and how no one else should consume animal fat but the Lord.

"All fat is the Lord's.  It shall be a perpetual statue throughout your generations, in all your dwelling places, that you eat neither fat nor blood" (Lev 3:16b-17).

I found this a very strange concept, and I pondered how it could be continued today.  For one, this represents a form of asceticism: the fat is the richest and tastiest part of animal meat, and abstaining from that is a form of asceticism, thus providing an early example of this practice that is so prominent in the Christian life, especially among hermits, monks, and nuns.  Another concept that came to my mind was how in the Eucharist, we receive the entirety of Christ, "Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity."  Already there is an interesting fact to note: we consume Christ's Blood, though the Lord specifically commanded the Israelites not to eat blood.  This is the conundrum that inspired Dr. Pitre's above-mentioned book, so I will leave it to him to discuss its resolution.  Since we eat the entirety of Christ's Body, though, we are also eating His fat, in a sense (I do not know how fat works in a glorified, ascended Body, which is why this "in a sense" is so crucial).  In one sense, then, the abstaining of the Israelites from fat and blood could be seen as a Eucharistic fast: no fat or blood could be eaten until the Fat and Blood of the Lord was consumed. 


Those are all my various reflections on these two chapters of Leviticus.  I hope they proved helpful to you.  God Bless, and thank you for reading.

Sts. Spyridon and Nicodemus, Prosphora-Bakers of the Kiev Caves, pray for us!

Note Bene: The quote from the Pesiqta was taken from the Catholic Education Resource Center.  The fact that the prosphora is sometimes leavened comes from the Wikipedia article.  The quote from the Code of Canon Law comes from the edition on The Catholic Primer.  The quote from the CCEO comes from the edition on JGray.org.

The Two Griefs (2 Cor 7)

Most people know, or have at least heard of, C.S. Lewis' book The Four Loves.  The titular loves are rooted in the four different Greek words for love: αγαπη (agape), ερως (eros), φιλια (philia), and στοργη (storge).  A lesser-known Greek distinction is one made by Paul: grief κατα θεον (according to God) and grief του κοσμου (of the world).  The relevant passage is this:

"As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting; for you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us.  For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death.  For see what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what zeal, what punishment!  At every point you have proved yourselves guiltless in the matter" (2 Cor 7:9-11).

Grief κατα θεον ("godly grief") leads to repentance, while grief του κοσμου ("worldly grief") leads to suffering and death.  I see a connection to the psychological ideas of appropriate and inappropriate guilt: the former is legitimate guilt due to wrongdoing, guilt that leads to change (sort of like "constructive criticism"), while the latter is guilt that derives from mistakes or the imposition of another's discontent (sort of like "nagging" or "guilt trips").  Though psychology discusses this, Paul discussed it first: he rejoices over godly grief because it leads to repentance without regret, while worldly grief leads to suffering, regret, and death.  (In one Greek text I have, 2 Cor 7:10 reads that worldly grief "births" or "begets" death (γεννα θανατον).) 

I have always had difficulty with this distinction.  Worldly grief (or inappropriate guilt) is something I have always been plagued with, though I have worked on lessening its power.  Worldly grief paralyzes him who suffers it, leading not to repentance and change, but to depression and defeatism.  One feels that he is the scum of the earth, and there is absolutely nothing he can do to change it.  Godly grief, on the other hand, pains the sufferer, but it also pushes him to strive for godliness.  Godly grief does not tell a man that he cannot change, but that he must change.  This is what the main point I found in this passage: we should rejoice over the grief and guilt that leads to our repentance and continual conversion, while we should fight off that which destroys all of our will to change.

When grief leads to our conversion, let us not mourn the pain, but rejoice over the result: our θεοσις.

Deus ex Machina Salvation

Before beginning, let's set the stage with some background music from Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884).

The legend of Faust is an ancient story, some say based in an actual 15th-century alchemist named Johann Faustus, some say mere myth.  Wherever it originated, it has fascinated men for centuries, leading to pulp-fiction-style books, puppet plays (for which the song hopefully now playing was written), plays, and operas.  The two most famous of these works are Christopher Marlowe's drama Doctor Faustus and Johann Wolfsgang von Goethe's closet drama (that is, not meant to be actually performed) Faust: A Tragedy.

According to the legend, Faust was a scholar and alchemist who sold his soul to a demon named Mephisto (or Mephistopheles, Mephistophilis, Mephistophilus...there are many spellings of this demon from German folklore).  Because he never repented of his decision, at the end of his life he was damned, and the devil claimed his soul, taking it to eternal punishment in hell.  Though I have not read Christopher Marlowe's play, I have heard that it ends the traditional way: Faust is damned for his evil decisions and his lack of repentance.  I have read, however, Goethe's Faust, and I have one comment to make:

Goethe hates Christianity.

Now, that may seem harsh, but delving into the drama shows this.  Christianity is shown as useless and almost laughable.  Faust himself cares nothing for Christianity, though he attempts to use symbols of the Cross and the Trinity to fight off a demon (to no avail), going so far as to curse the faith and its virtues:

"My curse I hurl on all that spangles 

The mind with dazzling make-belief,

With lures and blandishment entangles

The soul within this cave of grief!...

A curse on faith!  A curse on hope!

A curse on patience, above all!" 

(ll. 1587-90, 1605-6).

Even though he has some words of praise for the Gospel before ruinously translating it (from "In the beginning was the Word" to "In the beginning was the Deed"), and even though the bells and choruses of Easter morning stop him from committing suicide, Faust disregards it all: any Christianity in Faust's life was in the past.  Instead, he seduces a Catholic peasant girl when he sees her exiting Confession, which leads to the death of her, her son (by him), and herself.  Faust speaks with witches and goes to their gatherings, carouses with the beasts and gods of Greek mythology, and even has a son with Helen of Troy.  One of his last acts in the play is ordering a devout Christian couple living on his land to move, but when they will not, his servants turn their house into a funeral pyre.  For a man so far gone as to sell his soul to a demon, Christianity seems to hold no appeal.

Yet, though Faust has no respect for Christianity and no belief in God at all, and though the demon Mephistopheles won the wager for his soul, Faust is saved.  Yes, you read that correctly: Faust is saved.  "How," you may ask, "could one like this be saved?"  The answer is simple: as Goethe wishes, so shall it be.  Goethe wants his tragedy to end in Faust's salvation, for whatever reason, so he devises a dramatically terrible deus ex machina plot device to save him.

Gösta Ekman in F.W. Murnau's 1926 film Faust

First, after Faust has died and Mephistopheles and his fellow demons are waiting to catch his soul as it leaves his body, a cohort of angels appear, distracting the lusty Mephistopheles with their beautiful, young male bodies (yes, Mephistopheles seems to be bisexual, and possibly ephebophilic as well, depending on the age the angels are supposed to be), thus allowing them to snatch Faust's soul, though Mephistopheles won it fair and square in the wager.  Yet why did angels come to rescue the soul of an unrepentant atheist?  Though one prayer of his former lover, Gretchen (the Catholic peasant girl he seduced, which led her to murdering her mother and son and being executed for infanticide), who had just recently been saved by the joint prayers of the woman who anointed Jesus' feet with her tears at Bethany, the Samaritan woman at the well, and St. Mary of Egypt.  Because of this one prayer of Gretchen's, Mater Gloriosa (Jesus is nowhere to be seen, and God only appeared in the Job-like prologue of the drama) saves Faust.  The end.

It is possible one could spin this into a drama celebrating the "power of prayer," but that is not how prayer works.  Prayer cannot save an unrepentant sinner after his death.  An unrepentant sinner does not want to be saved.  Faust only sees God as a force, not a Person (or Three):

"Call it fulfillment!  Heart!  Love!  God!

I have no name for it!

Feeling is all;

Name is but sound and fume

Befogging heaven's blaze" 

(ll. 3454-8).

Faust is going to have a hard time in Heaven, spending eternity with the Personal Triune God and listening to angels and saints ceaselessly proclaim the praises of Jesus Christ, "the name above all names."  Seen from this angle, the drama's subtitle A Tragedy makes sense: it is a tragedy when God does not give someone what he wants and worked for--that is, hell--and gives him the opposite--Heaven--instead.  Thankfully, God does not work that way.  There is no arbitrary will of Mary deciding who goes to Heaven and who to hell (this takes the "Mary as Co-Redemptrix" idea way too far).

 The deus ex machina angel in F.W. Murnau's 1926 film Faust

In the end, Faust's salvation is a deus ex machina event.  If that were true, Heaven doesn't seem as perfect a place, since there may be God-hating occultists there sulking about, cursing all they see and hear.  (Though if salvation has no connection to one's actions, the Westboro Baptist Church could be right about Pope Bl. John Paul II's being in hell: not because he was evil, but because he was unlucky.)  With Goethe's view, there will be hardened atheists in Heaven and saints in hell.  That's what happens with an arbitrary system of salvation.

To wrap up this far too long post, the soteriology of Goethe's Faust is: man's actions accomplish nothing, for the Author's will alone separates the sheep from the goats.  Thankfully, this is not the truth: instead, God will send us where we want to be, whether with Him or with Mephisto.  I, for one, would rather be with Love than with a black poodle for eternity: poodles annoy me to no end.

 Sat--"That name's forbidden, hag, you hear?"--I mean Mephistopheles.

Nota Bene: The quotes from Faust are taken from the Norton Critical Edition, Second Edition, translated by Walter Arndt.  The overall idea for this post came from a paper I wrote for one of my classes, entitled "Striving and Its Results: The Soteriology of Goethe's Faust."  If, for some odd reason, you want to read the paper, send me an e-mail.  As for the poodle comment (caption quotes l. 2505), Mephistopheles first appears to Faust in the form of a black poodle, according to Goethe's drama.

The Luminous Heart

"In luminous silence within the mind let prayer recollect itself, so as not to stray." 

--St. Ephraim the Syrian

I long to obtain a ܫܰܦܝܽܬ ܠܶܒܒܰ (shafyūt lebbā), a luminous heart.  This is a phrase often used by St. Ephraim the Syrian, highlighted particularly by the scholar Sebastian Brock.  Brock describes the concept of "luminosity" in Syriac Christianity as encompassing limpidity, lucidity, clarity, purity, transparency, serenity, and sincerity of heart.  My hope is to someday attain this luminosity in my own heart.

I have chosen this name for my new blog because it is the goal for how I wish to see the world: with luminous eyes (an aspect of having a luminous heart).  This blog is a companion for my blog Θησαυρος της εκκλησιας (Treasures of the Church).  While my other blog is more or less strictly theological, this blog will cover a much wider range of topics: it is more of a personal blog where I will share my opinions, rather than a theological blog where I stick more to giving information and explaining the Church's teachings. 

In sum, my goal for this new blog is to express my opinions on various subjects, while hopefully viewing everything through the luminous eyesight that flows from a luminous heart.  As I begin, I implore the help of the Triune God, including Our Lord Jesus Christ, Who told us, "Without Me, you can do nothing" (Jn 15:5).  I also ask for the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos and of all the saints.  Finally, I humbly beseech your prayers, my readers, that I may do the will of God and someday attain theosis.  I pray for you as well, that you may also attain everlasting life in Heaven with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, to Whom be glory now and always and forever and ever.  Amen.

St. Ephraim the Syrian, Harp of the Holy Spirit, pray for us!

Nota Bene: The quotation from St. Ephraim comes from his Hymns on the Faith XX.5, translated in Sebastian Brock's The Syriac Fathers on Prayer and the Spiritual Life, p. 34.  The explanation of the concept of a "luminous heart" is derived from Sebastian Brock's Introduction to the same book, pp. xxviii-xxix.