The Anchor and Compass

The Question of God, Part 5 (Freud Segment, “Human Mythology“; Lewis Segment, “From Spirits to God“; Panel Discussion, “Miracles“)

Freud was determined in his research and writing to demonstrate that religious sentiments could be traced to historical, cultural, and psychological influences that revealed themselves through the sacred stories of religious traditions.  Rather than seeing truth in the midst of the story, he intended to reveal the mythical basis of all things sacred.  The exclusive claims of Christianity, to Freud, derived from its imaginative connections with God’s promises to a Chosen People.  The particular relationship these People enjoyed with God found its expression in the claims of a key historical figure, Moses.  His influence, in turn, stemmed from a mythical tale connected to an archetypal son, the “declared favorite of a dreaded father.”  To Freud, this primordial image of the favored son sacrificed by his brethren was the true basis of the Judeo-Christian worldview.  It was a grand cultural deception which needed to be revealed and discarded.

C.S. Lewis gave the title, The Discarded Image, to the last book he wrote.  After a lifetime of teaching Medieval and Renaissance Literature, he gathered his lecture notes into a comprehensive thesis:  while the “worldview” of this period may suffer from scientific and naturalistic “inaccuracies,” it represents a cohesive and imaginative picture of humanity that is more genuinely “true.”   The Human “Image” that emerges from a pre-modern understanding of history, science, philosophy, and theology informed the most beautiful and influential literature in the Western world for its first two millennia.  Writers of all genres during this period drew from a richer understanding of humanity to tell stories filled with imaginative and enchanted images that have been largely discarded by their modern counterparts.   Most importantly, Ancient, Medieval, even Renaissance writers viewed the world itself and human experience as a cohesive, unified “whole” that found meaning outside of itself.  Modernity has fragmented all things—including humanity—into segments of specialization subject to individual scrutiny and interpretation.

Freud’s effort to “mythologize” humanity’s religious impulse reflects the post-Enlightenment determination to explain and de-mystify every aspect of the human story.  The result has been a world in which scientific analysis and empirical “accuracy” is the basis for truth and “fact.”   One of his primary disciples, Carl Jung, pursued a different course, using psychoanalysis to explore a “collective consciousness” in humanity which mythical imagery reveals meaning.  Jung’s famous “archetypes” provide the deep structure for human motivation and meaning. When we encounter them in art, literature, sacred texts, advertising—or in individuals or groups—they evoke deep feeling within us. These imprints, which are hardwired in our psyches, were projected outward by the ancients onto images of gods and goddesses.  They continue to inform and motivate us in the present.

To Lewis and his fellow “Christian Humanists” (Chesterton, Tolkien, Dorothy Sayers, Evelyn Waugh, and others), modernity had gravely disenchanted the world and left us disconnected from important “essences” that define our true humanity.  As Lewis finally accepts in this segment, Christianity is simply the “True Myth” from which all other stories draw their true meaning.   “Here and here only in all time the myth must have become fact; the Word, flesh; God, Man. This is not ‘a religion,’ nor ‘a philosophy.’  It is the summing up and actuality of them all.”

Learn more about Humanism, Modernity, and the Human Story—

C. S. Lewis, The Discarded Image (originally published in 1964; Cambridge ed. 1995); Donald Williams, Mere Humanity:  Chesterton, Lewis, Tolkien on the Human Condition (Broadman & Holman, 2008)

The Question of God, Part 4
(C.S. Lewis segment, “A Leap in the Dark”; Panel Discussion, “Why Believe?”)

C. S. Lewis seemed a reluctant atheist, keeping God at bay through intellectual pride and accusations of injustice and infidelity.  Yet the world of Classical and Medieval literature he called home was filled with stories of lost and forbidden love—and longing for redemption and restoration—that kept alive hopes for finding the “joy” of his childhood days.  Modernity increasingly seemed a cheap substitute for a more profound narrative.  He could not escape the nagging idea that he’d given his love to an altogether wrong object of desire.

The book Lewis is reading in this segment is the Greek tragedy Hippolytus by Euripides.  In this story young Hippolytus, the beloved son of Athens’ King Theseus, decides to devote himself in celibate faithfulness to Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt.  His choice offends the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite, who cannot believe such a magnificent figure of manliness could possible resist the call of love.  Aphrodite charms Phaedra, Hippolytus’ step-mother, inspiring in her heart an irresistible love for the handsome youth.  The shame of this forbidden desire drives Phaedra to suicide.  Her husband Theseus wrongly accuses his son of ravaging his wife and exiles him, an action which ultimately leads Hippolytus to a fatal end.  Dying Son and loving Father are reconciled when Aphrodite herself appears and reveals the truth of the matter.

The passage Lewis reads aloud speaks of a longing for a deeper fulfillment in the land of the gods that might transcend the limitations of early love—particularly a love both forbidden and denied.  This longing for eternal bliss in a real world where human hopes are shaped by both glorious aspirations and desperate disappointment plays an important role in Lewis’ transformation.  It also echoes the great spiritual paradox that we humans are simultaneously created in God’s image (including the “divine” impetus toward creation) and cursed by the consequences of the Fall (including the temptation toward our own “divinity”).  Lewis himself is puzzled by the paradox of his own attraction to the “idea of God” when everything in his “real” world not only rejects this idea, but has rendered it intellectually “forbidden.”

The desire for serenity and salvation rooted in religious expression is a recurring theme in the Human Story as well.  The Classical Age of ancient Greece gave way to several centuries in which Greek ideas were spread to cultures conquered first by Alexander the Great and ultimately by Rome.  During this “Hellenistic”Age, Greek thought intermingled with those of other cultures, giving rise a mélange of worldviews in which religion, philosophy, spirituality, and rationalism formed new syncretistic systems.  Cynics were “self-sufficient” skeptics; they found satisfaction in simplicity, valued individuality, and disregarded universal claims to truth.  Epicureans were “self-centered” materialists; they found solace in the pursuit of happiness and avoidance of pain.  Stoics were “self-controlled” fatalists; they sought serenity in accepting life’s vicissitudes and valued perseverance in the face of struggle. (note the role of “self” in all these views!)

Of course, into this world as well was born the Promised One of the Jews, whose coming “in the fullness of time” would transform the world.  Lewis is not yet ready to go that deep in his return to belief in God, but here we see him take important steps in the right direction

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“I gave in, and admitted that God was God … perhaps that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”

Learn more about the religious impulse and the Human Story—
G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man (originally 1925, Dodd, Mead & Co.; 2008 edition, Wilder); J. G. Frazer, The Golden Bough (originally published in 1890, many modern printings available)

Yesterday most of the world celebrated New Year’s Day as January 1^st “arrived” around the globe.  For much of the history of the Christian West, however, this date may or may not have marked the actual “beginning of the year.”  Jan. 1 was the first day of the year under the Julian calendar used by the Roman Empire at the time of Jesus’ birth, though many common folk in the empire continued to mark  the start of the new year on March 1, as it had been under the “old” Roman calendar.

January 1 continued to be the first day of the new year when the present Gregorian calendar was introduced in October 1582, when Pope Gregory XIII “removed” 10 days from the calendar to properly “realign” its days with the solstices (Catholics in Europe went to bed on “October 4” that year only to wake up on “October 15”!).  It took a couple of centuries for European Protestants (and the rest of the world) to fall in line, and during that time many of parts of Europe continued to view March 1 as the start of a new year because of its general coincidence with Spring.

January 1 was an important day, however, and Luke’s Gospel tells us why. In Chapter two, right after the famous Christmas passages about angels announcing Jesus’ birth to local shepherds, Luke records in verses 21-22:  “When the eight days were completed for His circumcision, He was named Jesus—the name given by the angel before He was conceived.  And when the days of their purification according to the law of Moses were finished, they brought Him up to Jerusalem to present Him to the Lord.”

So, since most of Christian Europe celebrated Jesus’ Nativity on December 25, this “eighth day” fell on January 1 and began to be commemorated as the Feast of the Holy Name.  Luke tells us on that original “eighth day,” Mary and Joseph encountered a man named Simeon at the Temple who’d been told by the Holy Spirit that “he would not see death before he saw the Lord’s Messiah.”  When he saw the Holy Family, Simeon took the baby up in his arms, praised God, and said:  “Now, Master, You can dismiss Your slave in peace, as You promised. For my eyes have seen Your salvation. You have prepared it in the presence of all peoples—a light for revelation to the Gentiles and glory to Your people Israel” (Luke 2:25-32).

Mary and Joseph came in obedience and “done everything required by the Law,” but consider the extra blessings they receive in the process!  When they presented their baby to the Priest, he would ask, “What is his name?”  Joseph would say, “His name is Jesus.” I think this day after the Feast of the Holy Name is a wonderful time to consider the blessings we who believe receive in His Name!

The Epistle Reading for the Feast of the Holy name is Galatians 4:4-5:  “When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.  At just the right time; according to His sovereign plan, God sent “the Light of Salvation” to the whole world; redemption for those born “under the law” (Paul in Galatians); a revelation to the Gentiles (Simeon in Luke); so we might be adopted as His Children and share in the blessings of His Name.  What are some of these blessing?

John 20:31 tells us we have life “in Jesus Name.”  Acts 2:38 Peter says our forgiveness “comes in the name of Jesus Christ.”  In Acts 3—after God heals the crippled man at the temple, Peter reminds the amazed onlookers, “By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong. It is Jesus’ name and the faith that comes through him that has completely healed him.” 1 Corinthians 6:11 tells us we are “washed, sanctified, justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Simeon waited his whole life for salvation’s light to come.  Many still walk in the darkness, despite the reality that salvation’s light has come.  Some of us have walked in the blessings of this light for most of our lives; some for a short time.  One day, the whole world will acknowledge this Wonderful Name.  “Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that 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 acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:9-11).  Pope Gregory had the power to transform the calendar.  Only Jesus has the power to transform our lives and our world.

Psalm 89 (v.15-16) reminds us, “Blessed are those who worship you, who walk in the light of your presence, Lord.  They rejoice in your name all day long; they celebrate your righteousness.”  As you walk in “the light of His Presence” this coming new year—and every day of your life— Remember his promises.  Receive His blessings.  Rejoice in His Name.  And if you are not yet walking in the Light of Christ, reach out for His Grace.

Part 3 of The Question of God

So far we’ve examined the role that imagination (part 1) and senses/reason (part 2) play in human efforts to answer “the big questions of life.”  Using the former, we find answers through stories (“myths”) that explain the material world around us—and ourselves—in terms that integrate supernatural and natural “realities.”  Through the latter, we use our capacity think about our experiences in the natural world (or vice-versa), looking for answers in that have rational and material (“scientific”) explanations alone.

By Freud’s time, the wide acceptance of “science” as the only valid way of “knowing” reality allowed highly imaginative theories (like Darwinian evolution) to gain widespread intellectual credibility—so long as they were couched in the language of empirical methodology.  Unfortunately for Freud, his own theory of the unconscious failed to win the imprimatur of the scientific community (although it greatly influenced  20^th C. social science and popular culture!).  But the broader influence of “scientistic modernism” created an academic culture in which religious interpretations of the human condition were increasingly untenable.  In this atmosphere C. S. Lewis was himself first educated and then professionally engaged.  Yet within him still lingered an attraction to the “deeper” well of Classical learning as a source of truth, goodness, and beauty.

Of course, imaginative interpretations of the human experience are nothing new.  During the “Classical” age of Greece (4^th-5^th C. bc) such approaches to understanding the human identity, condition, and destiny were foundational to the formation of what we call “Western Civilization.”  Protagoras’ famous utterance, “Man is the measure of all things,” voices a human claim as sole  interpreter of the cosmos that rings down through the centuries.  More significantly, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle aim the imagination not at mere individual interpretation, but rather toward deeper principles woven into the cosmos, directing personal and social existence toward a greater good.  Even the characters and plots of Greek drama (Aeschylus, Sophocles, etc.) were designed to remind audiences of truths they already knew about humanity and the consequences of transgressing those truths (while also providing Freud the source of his famous “Oedipus Complex”!).

Socrates was condemned for insisting that human interpretations of truth must reflect timeless, absolute truths that transcend individual and temporal interpretation.  Though he never himself claimed to have “The Answers,” he believed a well-lived life must be based on the presumption of their existence and the cultivation of their influence.  Plato extended philosophical idealism from the individual to society, advancing in his “theory of forms” the “reality” of eternal, immutable ideas (from which all material reality derives).  A well-lived life aims to subject “lower” natural and material forms of human existence to the higher “virtues” that shape both individuals and societies.  Aristotle’s theory of “four causes” begins with material substances that comprise physical “reality,” but it also considers the essential ideas, activating agents, and ultimate purposes that give true “existence” to natural and material phenomena (metaphysical causes).  These all point to a design in the cosmos, which must logically be an “uncaused cause.”

Classical foundations provided the model for education in the West.  From Plato’s Academy and Aristotle’s Lyceum the “Arts and Sciences” emerged as a unified expression of the “fullness” of human learning. Protagoras provided the basis for modern divisions of learning into man-made, often exclusive categories of “expertise.”  Lewis and Freud were both educated in a culture still shaped by and mindful of its Classical influences (which will ultimately be to Lewis’ benefit).  At this point in their story, however, each is much more captivated by the trends of modernity (a captivity from which Freud will never escape).

Learn more about Classics and the Human Story—

Louise Cowen and Os Guiness, eds.  Invitation to the Classics (Baker, 1998)

Robt. Littlejohn and C. T. Evans, Wisdom and Eloquence:  A Christian Paradigm for Classical Learning (Crossway, 2006)

I have worked in academic or ministry settings for more than 20 years.  Everyone whose vocation places them in this world experiences the familiar rhythm of an annual cycle. Our years are marked in quarters and semesters, by “ordinary” time contrasted with the “strong” seasons of Lent, Easter, Advent, and Christmas.  We have arrived once again at the major transition point in both our academic and liturgical calendars.  Reflection often accompanies transition, and this particular turn has brought me to a fresh consideration of Advent through an exchange of images from Isaiah chapter 9 and John chapter 1.

Let’s begin with Isaiah 9:2: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of darkness, a light has dawned.”  The starting point of all humanity—even the people of God to whom this is addressed–is darkness.  We are born “blind” into a broken world over which a dark deception has been drawn.  We are unable to “see” who we really are or even to understand why we are really here.  As 1 Corinthians 13:12 recognizes, our perceptions of reality are but a dim reflection of how things really are.  At its most basic level, our dark deception is this—we believe that “we are on our own”; or worse–that “we are our own.”

But by God’s loving mercy glimmers of grace peek through the cracks.  In this land of darkness, a light shines on dawn’s horizon.  The nature of this light is poetically set forth in John 1:  “Life was in Him,” we are told, and contrary to our lot, “that life was the light of men.” This one born in light “shines in the darkness,” with power even “the darkness did not overcome.” What is so brilliantly illuminated by this Life that is “the light of men?”

In this “child [who] will be born for us,” this “son [who] will be given to us,” Isaiah sees the full reason for His coming:  “The government will be on His shoulders.”  With his coming, the oppressive darkness of our self-deception—that we are in control—is lifted for those who desire to see.  The awful consequences of humanity’s hubris is set right when we rightly acknowledge the Lordship of He who is named “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.”

This is why lights play such an important role in this annual journey through Advent and Christmas.  Our neighborhoods come alive with light (and, alas, so much more!).  Our sanctuaries are illuminated by candlelight.  Our hearts are strangely lit by hope, whether we believe or not.  All because, one day long ago, the Light “became flesh and took up residence” in our hearts, our sanctuaries, and even our neighborhoods.

Because He is Light, we are able to see through the darkness that blinds us.  Because He is Lord, we are set free from the deception that we are.  Because He was “born in the flesh,” we are “born of God.”  No wonder these days we mark are so filled with wonder.  Whether we count ourselves among “those who receive Him” or amidst those still “walking in darkness,” the Truth is that the Light has come.  Let us rejoice and be glad.