Pavel Florensky

Remarkably, in his General Audience on 13 February 2013, soon after announcing his plans to abdicate the papacy, Pope Benedict made the following statement.

“While the Lord continues to raise up examples of radical conversion, like Pavel Florensky, Etty Hillesum and Dorothy Day, he also constantly challenges those who have been raised in the faith to deeper conversion.”

The three figures mentioned are each in their own way extraordinary (and only one is a Catholic), but I want to concentrate on Pavel Florensky (1882-1937), the Russian Orthodox theologian, priest, philosopher, mathematician, physicist, electrical engineer, inventor and Neomartyr. His name crops up just as unexpectedly in the encyclical of Pope John Paul II on philosophy, Fides Et Ratio, where the Pope is talking of a rich tradition of thinkers of East and West who bring philosophy into conversation with scripture. He writes that "attention to the spiritual journey of these masters can only give greater momentum to both the search for truth and the effort to apply the results of that search to the service of humanity."

It is of particular interest to me that Florensky is mentioned by John Paul II in the same breath as Vladimir Solovyev. Both are Sophiologists – exponents of a theology that personalizes the biblical figure of Wisdom (Sophia), and are sometimes regarded as somewhat unorthodox even by the Orthodox. Florensky's greatest book, The Pillar and Ground of the Truth, is a rich masterpiece of speculative thought ranging across many disciplines and written in a style reminiscent of Meditations on the Tarot, as a series of "Letters" to an unknown friend.

Pope Benedict mentioned Florensky on Wednesday mainly as an example of a man brought up in a rabidly secular environment "to the point he felt an outright hostility towards religious teachings taught in school," who nonetheless concluded, "No, you can not live without God," and changed his life to the extent of becoming a monk. But surely there is more to it than that. Why mention this particular convert among so many? There must be a hint here – especially coupled with the mention by John Paul II – that Florensky's actual thought, his theology, is worthy of attention.

Not only was Florensky a convert, a martyr, and an adventurous theologian, but he was a scientist. He exemplified in his own life the fact that there need be no gulf between faith and science. As Pope Benedict has stated on many occasions, the Son of God is the "Logos" or ordering principle of the universe – the same principle that science is trying to discern in its own way and at its own level. The two quests cannot fail to converge, although it would be a mistake to jump prematurely into some kind of false synthesis, an over-hasty conclusion.

In drawing attention to this profound unity in the Logos, Pope Benedict is once again hand in glove with his predecessor, Blessed John Paul II, who called for a restored harmony between faith and reason, religion and science. There are other reasons why Florensky is worthy of mention – his wonderful ascetic theology, and the Sophiology on which Bulgakov was to build so beautifully – but this is one of them.

Hope in hell?

In The Catholic Herald dated 25 January I published a letter in response to an article by Piers Paul Read, a Catholic novelist I admire very much. The text of the letter follows.

The article by Piers Paul Read drawing attention to a recent book by Ralph Martin (Charterhouse, 18 January) requires a response. He may be right in saying that seriousness of the call to repentance and the need to save have been downplayed in recent Catholic teaching. The result was a faith that challenged no one, and quickly lost its grip on the conscience, destroying the raison d’etre of the missions. Martin blames all this on the teaching of two twentieth-century theologians, Karl Rahner and Hans Urs von Balthasar, that God will not in the end let anyone enter a state of eternal damnation. Read concludes, "A riddle remains. Why, if Martin's critique is correct, has the teaching on salvation of Rahner and Balthasar not been condemned by the Church?"

The answer to this riddle is simple. Martin’s critique is not correct. I will focus mainly on Hans Urs von Balthasar, though it is worth noting that Rahner and Balthasar were by no means saying the same thing, and should not be lumped together. Balthasar made a strenuous critique of Rahner’s notion of the “anonymous Christian”.

For his own part, Balthasar definitely does not say that we should assume that no one is in hell. In fact he argues against that position. He does argue – citing an enormous range of supporting texts from the magisterium, the Church fathers, the saints and doctors of the Church – that we must hope for the salvation of all. But this is exactly what the Catechism says. Right after affirming the existence of hell (as Balthasar does), in the words, “Hell’s principle punishment consists of eternal separation from God” (1057), the Catechism adds: “The Church prays that no one should be lost: ‘Lord, let me never be parted from you.’ If it is true that no one can save himself, it is also true that God ‘desires all men to be saved’ (1 Tim. 2:4), and that for him ‘all things are possible’ (Mt 19:26)” (1058).

There are certainly many who are heading towards hell. Many of us experience this in life, and for them the Church offers the hand of salvation. We will not be saved unless we grasp that hand with our own will. But the moment of death is a mysterious thing. Which of us can claim to understand what may happen when time comes to an end and we are gathered up into eternity, seeing for the first time clearly the reality of our sins? Then at the uttermost limits of our own despair, we shall see God crucified by those sins, but we must surely hope that especially then we will be supported by the prayers of the saints – including those who refuse to give up on us just because our name was Genghis Khan or Mrs Thatcher (names proposed by Mr Read)?

Piers Paul Read asks for clear statement on what we must do, or not do, to be saved. Balthasar’s answer fills many heavy tomes, it is true, but it all boils down to the faith of a child – that we must love God with all our strength, and our neighbour as ourselves. As for evangelization, the teaching on hell and the teaching on hope belong together, and to lose one or the other is to dissolve the Gospel.

For those who want to pursue this topic further there were some earlier discussions in our Forum pages, here, here, and here. See also an earlier article by Stratford and Leonie Caldecott called "Balthasar and the Problem of Hell".

Lady of the Mystery

Mother of the Lord, Lady of the Mystery,
Lady of hope, clothed in the sapphire of the night,
Lady with three stars on thy mantle,
Holy anchor of our aspirations,
Here am I, before thee once again,
Wasted by the tumult of the world, a slave to my thoughts,
After receiving my spiritual father's counsel and blessing,
I set upon the path of my salvation,
Furnished with the holy resolve to compel myself to unceasing prayer.
But my thought, earthly idol, allows me no occasion
To establish myself in a state of prayer, in the place of God,
There in my heart of hearts, towards which I strain.
Help me also, O thou my Protectress,
Strengthen me in the incessant invocation,
Come to my aid and I will chant to thee:

Rejoice, Strength of virginity, true soul of the world!
Rejoice, sanctified body, Place which contains God!
Rejoice, Holy of Holies, secret place at the heart's core!
Rejoice, spiritual Treasure enclosed in the spirit of the humble!
Rejoice, sure Gift of all the ineffable virtues!
Rejoice, golden Censer from which rises pure prayer without cease!
Rejoice, Oneness of Mind of all the reconciled churches!
Rejoice, Lightning illumining the souls of the faithful!
Rejoice, unceasing Help, even of those hardened in sin!
Rejoice, protective Mantle over our weakness!
Rejoice, O Bride, Mother of continual prayer!

From Akathist to the Mother of God of the Burning Bush, by Romanian New-Martyr Fr Daniel (Santu Tudor). Ikos VIII.

Beauty is born

The poet Coventry Patmore once wrote of the Incarnation that it is not merely an event which occurred two thousand years ago, but one that is "renewed in the body of every one who is in the way to the fulfilment of his original destiny" (RRF, "Homo", XIX). In the birth of Christ the revelation of that destiny begins, because the One who is born is the new Adam, the new archetype of humanity. It is like an opening at the centre of the world, just when it seemed that there was no escape. In that opening is a space wider than the world, in which all the possibilities of life and love are set free. Our own humanity is reborn in his, our light rekindled. The beauty that will save us opens his arms to us, and shows us his face.

The Adoration of the Magi, by Lorenzo Monaco, c. 1425.

Revelation as Mystagogy

Much recent scholarship suggests that the Book of Revelation (literally ‘unveiling’) was intended not so much as a prediction of future events at the end of history, but as a mystagogical commentary on the Divine Liturgy or the Mass. As such it was intended to be read aloud to assist the active and conscious participation of the congregation. Scott Hahn gives a detailed liturgical reading to Revelation in The Lamb’s Supper, and more succinctly in the final chapter of his book on the history of the Covenant, A Father Who Keeps His Promises. Austin Farrer had already indicated in the middle of the last century that the pattern of the book is not one of earthly history,

but of celestial liturgy performed by Christ and the angels: the taking and unsealing of a book, the offering of incense, the blowing of trumpets; the opening of a heavenly temple, revealing the Ark of the Covenant and a series of other portents on high; the pouring of libations from angelic bowls. (The Revelation of St John the Divine, p. 23.)

The liturgy portrayed is one that fulfils the purpose of the Jewish Temple and brings it to an end, so that ‘in the world to come there is no sanctuary other than the presence of God and of the Lamb.’

The rhetorical symmetry of the Book of Revelation does seem to reflect the likely structure of the early Christian liturgy. The pattern is threefold: beginning with a rite of preparation and repentance that opens the faithful to the Word, moving on to an exposition of the Scriptures, and ending with a Communion in the Body and Blood of the Lamb, by which the Christian is finally converted into a prophet and agent of his Lord. Then the threefold pattern reverses, and we are taken back to the beginning. Read in this way, the Book of Revelation is intended to have a spiral structure that leads us up to the Eucharist, then back at a higher level to the beginning of the liturgy. Thus an endless cycle of meditation is created, penetrating ever more profoundly into the Word of God and leading us closer to the liturgy of heaven.

I have explored this idea in All Things Made New, and in an article on the New Liturgical Movement website. If it is true, then Revelation makes a fitting conclusion to the Bible, echoing the Book of Genesis with its own sevenfold theme, and providing a key to the reading of the Liturgy that unites heaven with earth as the culmination of the history of the Covenant. Whether it also reflects disasters that will afflict us at the end of time as Judgement draws near is another question.