Logosphere

[In puris naturalibus] Apocalypse of the Siren

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Mon, 28 Sep 2015 19:05:00 +0000

"Hear me Calling" by Catrin Welz Stein
“Your ingenuousness touches me, your unconcealed carnal intrigues amuse me, and it seems to me that, as is sometimes the case with the best kind of Sicilians, you have managed to achieve a synthesis of the senses and reason.”

The wizened and eccentric Classics professor, Rosario La Ciura, spoke these words to his young friend, Paolo Corbera, before revealing the greatest secret of the old man’s life: He had been in love with a Siren. Yes, a real Siren is the divine spark which ignited the marvelous book, The Professor and the Siren, originally published in Italian as La Sirena, by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampesdusa.

As a young Greek scholar studying in Sicily, La Ciura had a divine––and yet also terrestrial––encounter with a sea Siren, who climbed up into his boat one summer afternoon. Once La Ciura had tasted the sublime confluence of the immortal and erotic transcendence of his Siren lover, he would repudiate the common experiences of humanity, spitting on them as dirty and utterly devoid of beauty. One of the only things that the old professor would allow himself to enjoy was a plate of sea urchins, briny and reminiscent of the kisses he once shared with his mythical beloved.

It seems to me most important at this stage in my spiritual and physical development, to dwell on this gift of achievement that Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa reveals in this, one of his only published works. I find these words of his to ring true to my own experience of those who have begun to master the delicate balance between life as a corporeal being, and the inner Being which is lit by an uncreated light. This is the struggle of St. Antony of Egypt, the fetish of every desert hermit and heretical flagellant, yes, but it is also a milder grove inhabited by the more moderate spirits among us who also seek out the gates of paradise. Cicero, Dionysius, Benedict, Hildegard, Ficino and Rabelais; they too have something to say about this balance––in fact they might have a bit more to say to us today than those who so quickly turned their human existence into some sort of sacrificial holocaust.

The reason I say these people might have come closer to giving us a glimpse of the Real is because they, each in their own way, focused inward in their quest for the Beloved. Saints and sages such as Gregory Palamaskept that ancient knowledge alive by focusing their attention on the inner light which can be revealed in the human heart through prayer, meditation and that experiential knowledge we call gnosis.

Even before the Nag Hammadi papyri were found, this hidden spiritual path was right in front of every Christian in the world. If we weeded our way through the “otherness” of an anthropomorphic mythology, there was at the end of the canonical Bible, a book of Mediterranean mysteries even more beautiful and profound than Tomasi di Lampedusa’s La Sirena. This ancient enigma is known as the Apocalypse of St. John, a.k.a. the Book of Revelation.

Three and a half decades before the discovery of the Gnostic Gospels in Egypt, a gentleman by the name of James Morgan Pryse would put forth his exposition of the Apocalypse as an esoteric interpretation of the Christos-myth. Pryse published his Theosophical research on the Apocalypse in 1910, rejecting the exoteric teachings of an anthropomorphic God, and showing a path to eternal life using that uncreated light within. The key to this path is Gnosis, and the nature of the New Jerusalem and each of the acts in the Hellenistic mystery play that is played out in Revelation is the subject of Pryse’s Apocalypse Unsealed.

Reminiscent of the ecstatic union of Professor La Ciura and his Siren, Pryse puts forth the ancient Hermetic matrix of energy and vibration which resonates between our three microcosmic bodies: The spiritual body (soma pneumatikon), the psychic body (soma psychikon), and the physical body (soma, or sarx, “flesh”). Pryse takes this primordial microcosmic Being and places it within the context of an initiation which is present in an absolutely complete form, in St. John’s Apocalypse.

The initiation contained in Pryse’s summary unleashes the latent light of the Logos within us, into conscious energy which travels as the speirema, which is Greek for “serpent coil”, through the apocalyptic cycle of initiation up the ladder of energy points in the human body; finally unveiling a solar body, the immortal Augeoides, in Greek called the soma heliakon. This initiation leads us to become self-luminous in the way Jesus was transfigured on Mount Tabor.

In this scenario, the material forms of our body are important, and have much to contribute to our enlightenment. Working as a whole, the initiate, like Tomasi di Lampedusa’s “best kind of Sicilians”, learns to manage a synthesis of senses and reason, which leads not only to balance and service to others, but to a relationship that leaves the pleasures of earth lacking in the seductive charm of our spiritual youth.

***

[In puris naturalibus] Of Beauty and Bouillabaisse

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Fri, 18 Sep 2015 18:35:00 +0000

Since the days of our most distant ancestors, the haunting of beauty in our souls has been the protagonist of learning, the blossom of civilization, and the gateway that stands between materialistic error and spiritual elevation. For the ancient Greeks and Romans, this duality was well represented in Dionysus, or Bacchus, as he was known in Latin. In the words of the classical philologist, Walter Otto:

Here we have a cosmic enigma––the mystery of life which is self-generating, self-creating. The love which races toward the miracle of procreation is touched by madness. So is the mind when it is staggered by the impulse to create.*

It is entirely human to feel these terrible Dionysian pangs; the erotic tension which ignites in us a potent desire to recreate that which we find beautiful. Our spiritual memory is transfixed on the essential Being of the Good, which is eternal, while our terrestrial body pines in decadent angst for the transcendental threshold through which our earthly desires might find satisfaction. This is the essence of duality.

With all this simultaneous beauty and squalor engulfing our senses and experiences, it is altogether too easy for us to slip into a delicate and putrefying nihilism. We become existentially nauseated on the order of Jean-Paul Sartre, when we focus exclusively on the suicidal bouillabaisse of modern materialism.

Everything in our visible universe is a symbol of a larger spiritual Being, and we need to meet those symbols with reverence. Our means of communicating and living in this sacred projection of symbols are primarily based on actions. Reason and Love should be our first movements to harmonize our Being with our existence in the flesh. Then comes ritual, when our two primary faculties cannot help us navigate.

With Reason, we have made ourselves masters of all sorts of contraptions, we have ordered the chaos, and stretched out our naked hands to the stars. And yet, we do not turn the power of Reason inward, to truly come to know ourselves. Exercise that Reason, join with it; yield to its order. When you feel that familiarly ancient tug at your heart at the sight of something or someone beautiful, let that creative energy turn inward and add fuel to the flickering flame of divinity within you.

If Reason does not allow for us to grasp the symbol that we are facing, then Love comes to help fill us with awe at the oneness of the cosmic order; the beauty of the Logos, that gives all things form and function. Barring Reason and Love, then we rely on the oldest recipe book in the world, known as ritual. Religion is the ancient formula that helps us bridge the fleeting beauty of duality.

As anyone from Marseille could tell you, no matter how ugly or dangerous some fish might be, some of the nastiest and prickliest make a delicious bouillabaisse. They know from the ritual of culture that it is not how pretty the fish are, but how you cook them.

***

*Walter F. Otto, Dionysus: Myth and Cult (Dallas: Spring Publications, 1981) 136

[Gnosis for All] Quantum Gnosis

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Daher) — Sun, 30 Aug 2015 06:17:00 +0000

Gnosis is a direct, immediate knowledge of the Divine, through experiencing the Self of the Individual and realizing its role within the All.

We are each moving through our own sphere of the cosmos, interacting with the energy around us, surviving as a biological super organism which has created a neural map from biological receptors that translate this energy into a complex series of illusions that we perceive as "reality".

However, scientific discoveries in biology, quantum physics, and cosmology have allowed us to intellectually break down these patterns, and prove that most of what we perceive as "real" is only the result of our brains compiling information together in order to consolidate the trillions of living organisms that make our physical bodies up into one, single, super organism.

It's one thing to understand this rationally, but it's another to understand this intuitively, on a very real "spiritual" level.

Gnosis is an intuitive understanding of the Self as a bodiless, consciousness beyond the ego's perception of this false reality, and creates a transmutation within the mind that allows a deeper perception of the Self as part of the All.

To illustrate, picture each user on the Internet as part of the World Wide Web. Each user is individually a piece of the ocean of information that connects together to form an unbroken, complex map of a virtual world that stretches across the globe.

We all fall victim to our own perception of "reality", and it is easy to allow the ego to construct the false notion of real separation from the rest of the All. However, the quantum level of this "reality" shows a sea of gaseous particles made of energy that LITERALLY jumps in and out of existence.

Atomically, we are all connected. Spiritually, we are each capable of intuitively understanding and experiencing this connection.

It is this intuitive knowledge, this gnosis, that sets us free. This gnosis of Self is what allows each of us to KNOW the very nature of the Divine, which is the culmination of the All.

[In puris naturalibus] Rites of the Virgin Queens

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Fri, 28 Aug 2015 14:56:00 +0000

Empress Theodora by J-J Benjamin-Constant

In the Judeo-Gnostic descent of Sophia, and in the Greek myths of Persephone (Proserpina to the Romans), there is a common legend and initiation to be cherished and emulated by lovers of wisdom. These ancient stories and the traditions which sprouted from them provide a similar order to achieve liberation of the soul. Despite the differences of language, custom and religious history, it is well worth drawing an initial sketch of these two ancient Mediterranean mystery schools, and how they lead the attentive seeker to the same destination.

The “Bridal Chamber” in the Gospel of Philip, a second or third century Gnostic text found among the Nag Hammadi codices in 1945, describes an initiation into the Mysteries akin to the purpose of the cult of Persephone at Eleusis and Syracuse. This is true for the form of the Bridal Chamber as a sacramental event, such as the Greater Mysteries celebrated in the Telesterion at Eleusis, and also for the function of the rite, which is the liberation of the soul. Regardless of their many points of departure, both the Gnostic and Hellenic stories share common elements and objectives, which I believe are worthy of our contemplation today.

The two myths begin their dramatic procession by the descent of the goddesses into the darkness. For Persephone, her abduction by Hades to the underworld is echoed not only in the fall of Sophia, but also in the Gnostic myth of Edem being abducted and raped by Elohim in Justin’s Baruch, and Yaldabaoth’s defilement of Eve in the Secret Book of John.[1] The theme of the daughters of wisdom being seized and oppressed by the lords of the earth emerges.

Although the Eleusinian Mysteries were strictly secret, we know a little about what they focused on by way of initiates like Plato, who described the function but not the actual rituals themselves. He refers to this in Phaedo:

The true moral ideal, whether self-control or integrity or courage, is really a kind of purgation from all these emotions, and wisdom itself is a sort of purification. Perhaps these people who direct the religious initiations are not so far from the mark, and all the time there has been an allegorical meaning beneath their doctrine that he who enters the next world uninitiated and unenlightened shall lie in the mire, but he who arrives there purified and enlightened shall dwell among the gods. You know how the initiation practitioners say, 'Many bear the emblems, but the devotees are few'?

Wisdom being a kind of purification is an important point in both myths, so too is the descent of the Divine Feminine into the darkness of the material realm, where she is transformed through metanoia; a change of mind or repentance, into an even stronger deity. For the Gnostics, Sophia becomes the Queen of Heaven, and for the cult of the Two Goddesses, Demeter and Persephone, there is a similar development in Persephone’s stature after her marriage to Hades. Among other advancements, Persephone morphs from her appearance as Kore, the maiden, into the queen of the underworld, goddess of water and the spring, “all-ruling virgin” and mother to the dying and rising Dionysus as Eubouleus and Zagreus.[2] These epithets are perhaps suggestive of the cult of the Virgin Mary. This is not to say that Christianity and the cult of Mary is nothing but an imitation of the polytheistic past, but to celebrate the continuity and veracity of this spiritual impulse which surmounts culture and epoch, and smolders in that sacred and eternal space which the human heart inhabits from time to time.

The beginning of September is the time when the cycle of Persephone’s story begins, and it is precisely the same time that we prepare for the great feast which celebrates the Descent of Holy Wisdom (Hagia Sophia) into the material world, and the birth of Virgin Mary. As the Gospel of Philip reflects,

Adam came into being from two virgins, from the Spirit and from the virgin earth. Christ therefore, was born from a virgin to rectify the Fall which occurred in the beginning.

This primordial symbolism leads us to contemplate the microcosmic significance of being born twice. The idea of dying and rising again is contained in both the Eleusinian Mysteries and in the rite prescribed in Philip. In lieu of beginning the gospel with the life of the young Jesus, Philip shows that Jesus, who I believe symbolizes the initiate, must enter the Bridal Chamber. It says further that a glorious change took place on the day of his baptism by John in the river Jordan. “He who was once anointed, was anointed anew.”

This anointing appears to signify the death of his old self and his union with the angelic self, which emanates from the Pleroma. Sex and death play pivotal roles in both myths. Philip treats this as the “Sophia of death.”

Echamoth is one thing and Echmoth, another. Echamoth is Wisdom simply, but Echmoth is the Wisdom of death, which is the one who knows death, which is called ‘the little Wisdom’.

This little death and spiritual wedding (hieros gamos)[3]gives birth to a new body which supplants Adam’s animal and exists in the eternal fullness. This, I contend, is not to be read as mythos or cosmology, but what we must do. This is the Opus Magnum of the alchemists and the reason why Jesus is called the Logos Incarnate and the Exemplar by the Gnostics. He has replaced his will with the larger will of the Logos; the force which orders the universe and gives means to every expression.

The hieros gamos of Hades and Persephone at the beginning of her myth leads the maiden to greatness among the gods; so great that according to the Orphic Hymns, she attracts the attention of Zeus himself, who impregnates her with Dionysus, lord of resurrection and the vine. Later we will see that in addition to being the virgin, sister and bride, Persephone participates in a divine economy of three emanations in her Orphic Triad. Likewise, Philip provides us with three women of special import, bearing the same name:

“There were three who walked with the Lord at all times, Mary his mother and her sister and Magdalene, whom they called his consort. For Mary was his mother and his sister and his consort.”

In the Hellenistic Jewish Wisdom of Solomon, wisdom is personified as a trinity. Similarly, in the Gospel of Philip, the first in the Sophianic-Marian hierarchy is the Virgin Mother. Philip describes her this way:

Indeed, one must utter a mystery. The Father of everything united with the virgin who came down, and a fire shone for him on that day. He appeared in the great bridal chamber. Therefore his body came into being on that very day. It left the bridal chamber as one who came into being from the bridegroom and the bride.

Mary Magdalen was called the companion or consort of Jesus, whom he loved more than all his other followers. In this gospel, she is mentioned in the context of Sophia, Holy Wisdom, which according to Wisdom,

[R]eaches from one end of the world to the other; mightily and sweetly does she order all things. In that she is conversant with God, she has magnified her nobility; yea, the Lord of all things Himself loved her.

In Philip, Jesus opens the door to the eternal moment and shows the light to his disciples. Mary Magdalen fulfills the job description of being “conversant with God.” In other words, Mary is not merely a model disciple, but part of the sacred economy necessary for the Bridal Chamber to work. Philip shows this by assigning Mary the quality of seeing the light when others were blind to see it.[4]She has been in the Bridal Chamber. Back in Wisdom, we see her role more clearly:

By means of her I shall obtain immortality, for she is the mother of fair love, and of patience and perseverance, and of holy hope. Thou shalt put her on as a robe of honor, and shalt put her about thee as a crown of joy.

In wisdom we can appreciate our goal as Gnostics. We seek the knowledge and experience of the Divine here and now; this is a self-realization as much as an epiphany from some external force. It is as much about opening ourselves up to the Mysteries as it is about receiving them. However, none of our seeking or discipleship will amount to anything unless we willingly enter the Bridal Chamber.

This is not a place, but a state of spiritual preparedness. It is no doubt aided by ritual and environment, but the essence of the Bridal Chamber is a willingness to yield to the transforming power of the Divine. We celebrate this very act in the Eucharist. The dove of the Holy Spirit drops down into this dark world and becomes the flesh and blood of the Logos. Our intentions during this most sacred act must again be willing to yield to the Beloved; we must join physically and spiritually with that Higher Self, the angelic counterpart of our own souls who awaits us in the Bridal Chamber.

As we saw before, in Philip there are three Marys, not just two. Beyond the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen, there is the sister of the Virgin, Mary Jacobe, wife of Clopas. Many scholars believe her to be the mother of James the Less, thus her Latin cognomen “Jacobe” or “Iacobi”, although it is also possible that this Mary was actually a sister to Jesus. Either way, the role of this Mary mentioned in Philip could be to fulfill the three representative Marys who counterbalance the three Valentinian Christ figures. But our purpose here is not to study these spiritual realities in a purely analytical way; we must also be open to the reception of this knowledge through experience. One such experience was that of St. Francis’s spiritual sister, St. Clare of Assisi, who wrote:

See now. You are held tightly in His embrace. Now, you are His beloved, His mother, His sister. For He is your Lover, Your Son, Your Brother.[5]

In the Gnostic conception of God as taught by Valentinus, among others, there is the aeon Christ, the co-eternal Logos whose consort is the Pneuma Hagion—the Holy Spirit. Second in line is the Christ the Savior (Christos Sother), who was matched with Sophia. Finally, in the flesh, the Gospel of Philip seems to indicate that Jesus and Mary Magdalen complete this trinity of syzygies. This trinity of couples reflects some fascinating equivalents in the Greek Ouranic (heaven) and Chthonic (underworld) gods mirroring each other, and the specifically Eleusinian Orphic triads of Rhea—Demeter—Persephone (as Kore); and Kronos—Zeus—Dionysus.[6][7]

Although there is much more to discover in this immensely ancient drama of the Virgin Queens, this great Marian and Sophianic feast of ours which we celebrate on September 8th must forever persuade our limited faculties to emulate her procession from descent to her search, and finally her ascent to the light above. To pay homage to this well worn path, let this time of year be a moment in which we can see ourselves as we truly are: the children of the Bridal Chamber, “who need take no other form, because we have contemplation.”[8]

***

Note:

My special thanks to my friend and parishioner, Clark Aitkins of Harvard Divinity School, for his part in inspiring this research into the parallels to be found between Eleusinian Mysteries and the Gospel of Philip. My hope is that he will carry this research into academia.

[1]Willis Barnstone and Marvin Meyer, The Gnostic Bible, (Boston: Shambhala, 2003) 125 and 159

[2]Orphic Hymn 29. Hymn to Persephone

[3]Hieros gamos or Hierogamy (Greek ἱερὸς γάμος, ἱερογαμία "holy marriage")

[4]From the Gospel of Philip: “When a blind man and one who sees are both together in darkness, they are no different from one another. When the light comes, then he who sees will see the light, and he who is blind will remain in darkness.”

[5]Saint Clare of Assisi: Her Prayers, Poor Clares of Arundel.

[6]Rudolphus Maria Berg, Proclus' Hymns: Essays, Translations, Commentary. (Leiden: Koninklijke Brill NV, 2001), 257.

[7]Melitta Benu, ed., Queen of the Sacred Way. (Middletown, DE: Bibliotheca Alexandrina, 2012) 211

[8]The Gospel of Philip

[In puris naturalibus] A Voyage to Equanimity

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Fri, 21 Aug 2015 13:09:00 +0000

If a man does not know to what port he is sailing, no wind is favorable.

—Seneca, Epistulae morales ad Lucilium, VIII, LXXI, 3

It has always seemed reasonable to me that we should try to control our emotions and our thinking. It has never served me well to blurt out the first thing that comes across my mind, or to follow that downward spiral of negative thinking that ends in hatred, sloth, peevishness and self-destructive narcissism. I am, of course, addressing myself to those lucky ones who do not suffer with mental illness or depression. No amount of philosophy, religion or Jedi mind tricks can undo the physical, chemical and emotional damage ravaged by depression and related mental illness.

It has become increasingly important for me to focus not only on daily prayer, but meditation and constant mindfulness. I rise at least an hour before I have to, precisely because I need that dark, quiet time to pray, meditate and then drink my coffee in peace. In order to improve the way I deal with life's many problems, I have returned to reflecting on the very helpful meditations of the ancient Stoics. Having used some of their techniques during a life crisis before, I recently decided the time had come to revisit that path.

During the worst of times, when one thing after another hits us, it is relatively easy to slip into self pity. Why me? But if we shine the light of reason on that common question, I think the answer is perfectly obvious. It's not just you or me. Everyone has problems. Everyone is going to lose loved ones, suffer disease, emotional trauma and death. There is nothing special or unique about these things. Our job as humans is to walk that very tight rope which is stretched between nature and our own will. We must strike a balance between living a virtuous life in accordance with nature (which for humans includes being reasonable since we have reason) and our will, or what in this case was known as prohairesis to the Greeks. This word is rich with connotation. It means "will", but it connotes moral character, volition and even choice.

Given that we have this will or moral choice to make in our own lives, this places a lot of weight on our thoughts and actions. If fear is born from ignorance, as Seneca would have us believe, then perhaps it is really fear and negative thoughts that need to be controlled. Unless you are some kind of sage, you cannot overcome your mortality by sheer will power, but you can rise above mortality by not allowing fear to rule your heart and mind. We can maintain an even keel through the worst of storms. The Stoics called this æquanimitas, equanimity.

Of course keeping our minds serene amid the tumult of this world is not an easy prospect, but it can and has been done by many who follow Stoic principles and exercises. I take it as my responsibility as a human being, and as a priest, to better myself and my reactions to those around me; so I embark once again on a voyage to equanimity. Check back here for updates on harpy and siren attacks!

***

[In puris naturalibus] Divine Mothers

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Sat, 15 Aug 2015 15:30:00 +0000

Statue of Mary in the crypt, Dormition Abbey, Mt. Sion, Jerusalem

One of the key aspects of a Johannite approach to religion is the principle that scripture and tradition are not things to be taken literally. Ancient people wrote the stories of their spirituality in a way that defies our understanding of objective historical truth.

In our Liturgical Calendar, August 15th is called the Assumption of Holy Sophia, an allegorical return of redeemed wisdom to the fullness of the Divine, the Pleroma. As a core Gnostic myth, the redemption of Sophia by the Logos is both beautiful and necessary to a broad apprehension of the economy of grace that propels the cosmos towards ultimate reunification. On the microcosmic level, that reunion includes each one of us, as children of Sophia, as we make our way back to our spiritual home.

Notwithstanding the importance and beauty of the myth of Sophia, it really has very little to do with the historical development of August 15th as the feast day of the death and assumption of Mary, the mother of Jesus. As much as I appreciate the meaning behind the Sophianic reference to this great feast, the Gnostic façade recently placed over the Assumption of Mary barely seems appropriate when we consider the role the Blessed Mother played at the heart of the early Johannite community. We do not have to believe in a supernatural assumption of Mary, or even the miraculous resurrection of her son, to pay proper homage to the woman who dedicated her life to the love of God.

It is no less Gnostic––and certainly no less Johannite––to remember this day, August 15, for what it truly represents, which is the passing of Mary into the light beyond the shadows. The amazing thing about this date is that it is universal throughout the Church, although it was not celebrated universally until after the 5th century. In many respects, the story of Mary’s Dormition, as the Greeks call it, was a simple memorial to an extraordinary woman. Mary was a person whose role was so purely selfless and so pivotal that she embodied the countless Divine Mothers who had been revered since time immemorial.

Some Gnostics assert that the celebration of the Assumption of the Holy Sophia predates the celebration of the Assumption of Mary. This is simply not true. There is no evidence of a date on which the Assumption of the Holy Sophia would have been celebrated by the ancient Gnostic Christians. The date of August 15th and the replacement of Mary with Sophia was probably chosen consciously by the 19th century Gnostic Bishop Jules Doinel, although I admittedly do not have a citation for that conjecture. Regardless of who put it in the Gnostic liturgical calendar, I do not mean to refute the importance of the archetypal ascent of wisdom, but to register a certain uneasiness with the appropriation of the memorial of Mary's death.

While it is true that the Roman Catholic Church did not dogmatically define the Assumption until Pius XII’s Apostolic Constituion, Munificentissimus Deus in 1950, the Feast of the Assumption is indeed very ancient. The liturgical history of the Assumption shows us much about the nature of human spirituality. In the first and second centuries, few people would have known the exact nature of the death of the Blessed Mother. They argued about the exact conditions of her passing. Did the Holy Mother die? Was her body miraculously taken into the realm of the Spirit? Was she martyred or did she die of cancer? All these questions naturally arose among the nascent Christian communities which dotted the known world from Palestine to France, and Armenia to India. By the year 431, the Blessed Mother would be remembered by the Council of Ephesus as the “God-bearer” or Theotokos. Throughout the next few centuries, more Marian feasts would be included in local liturgies, including the Assumption or Dormition.

Facts surrounding Mary’s death were clearly disputed, although Pius XII was wise enough to leave a broad interpretation of her body being miraculously taken. The 5th century account of the Assumption which is available online should not be understood as a unique source, or even a particularly old one. We know that writings such as these came from traditions, both written and oral, which are far older. The Liber Requiei Mariae (The Book of Mary’s Repose), an Ethiopic text which dates to the 3rd or 4th century, was by tradition taken from an account made by St. John the Beloved or at least his community. At its heart then, the memorial of the Blessed Mother is a deeply Johannite affair when we remember that it was to John that Jesus entrusted his mother before he gave up the ghost. Mary would have been cared for by John and his community until her dying day, and so it must have been both extremely sorrowful for the primitive Johannites when Mary passed into the next world. According to East and West, which rarely agree about anything, August 15th was the day of their loss, and her joy.

While I am respectful of those who will likely disagree, I feel that being faithful to the memory of that very special Jewish mother is a lot more important than pasting a Gnostic title over the name of Mary. For me, the Assumption is not a day about abstractions or myths; it is the celebration of a day when an extraordinary woman was taken into the love and light that she helped bring into this dark and perilous world. It is a day when the Divine Mothers, Mary and Sophia, were finally united.

***

[In puris naturalibus] Demiurgic Sherbet

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Wed, 05 Aug 2015 14:19:00 +0000

World-hating dualists. This is what the ancient and medieval Gnostics are often called.

Scholars and commentators see the Gnostics as a people who view the world as a terrible farce; the product of a naughty god who fancies himself greater than all, and yet blindly lives in the suburban fringes of the truly divine. There, high above the northern horizon of these ancient mystics, hovered the true God of Plato, the One whose primeval fullness is even older than its own shimmering darkness.

It seems to me that the dangerous but necessary dance between the beauty and delectability of this tarnished Eden, and the knowledge of its inevitable decay, bears a precious and eternal gem of wisdom. Like the blood-red pomegranate fruit, this tiny treasure rests as the fulcrum between what we can sense and what we can truly know; between sanity and insanity, decadence and transcendence.

A certain sense of resignation is not unexpected among those of us who recognize the flaws, the immense injustices, and malignant sufferings that are contrasted in our minds like the spattering of filth on the lily white linens of our divine expectations. We have not fallen; we are seeing with the eyes of that platonic fullness which has somehow been left like the residue of a flood in the mysterious recesses of our skulls.

It is tempting to be drawn into the darkness of nihilism, depression, and even self-destruction, when we closely examine the cruel terrain of human existence. It is also easy to become overwhelmed by the sheer number of horrible things which face us. The other day, I thought about this kind of listlessness, which my Sicilian grandmother first expressed to me in terms of fate. Another Sicilian, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, encapsulated that ancient moribund spirit in his book Il Gattopardo, which was adapted as the 1963 film The Leopard by Luchino Visconti. As I watched the movie, I sat motionless as Burt Lancaster, who plays the part of Fabrizio Corbera, Prince of Salina, said these words:

Sleep, my dear Chevalley, eternal sleep, that is what Sicilians want. And they will always resent anyone who tries to awaken them, even to bring them the most wonderful of gifts. And, between ourselves, I doubt very strongly whether this new Kingdom has very many gifts for us in its luggage. All Sicilian expression, even the most violent, is really a wish for death. Our sensuality, wish for oblivion. Our knifings and shootings, a hankering after extinction. Our laziness, our spiced and drugged sherbets, a desire for voluptuous immobility, that is... for death again.

Perhaps there is a little Sicilian in all of us, especially in those of us who follow the path to Gnosis. Maybe all the violence in the world plays on this desire for the tranquility of death. As much as we dislike the epithet “dualists”, at least until the fullness is restored to our sight, there will always be a terrible gap between the beauty that we can envision from our most distant Parent, and this clay pit of ignorance and pain which we temporarily inhabit.

But here’s the thing:

The real beauty that can restore our vision of the world, and unveil the fullness of its design, is the love we share with one another. We are imbued with a spark of that original divinity, and our care for one another empowers us like nothing else. We are the children of that forgotten perfection, and through love, compassion, ritual, art and science, we hold and cultivate within us the gold that can mend these demiurgic sherds of earth.

***

[In puris naturalibus] The Red Egg of Resurrection

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Wed, 22 Jul 2015 09:37:00 +0000

Today is the feast of St. Mary Magdalen and the inner life she nurtured like a master gardener, full of love and steadfast dedication.

A necklace, tyet, or knot of red carnelian, symbol of the blood of Isis who brought her beloved Osiris back from death, was once used by the Egyptian priests to ensure the resurrection of the pharaoh. Using similar symbolism, St. Mary Magdalen is often depicted holding the red egg of resurrection. Harkening to the immensely ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, the egg appears in the rubrics for the deification of the body:

“Verily I say unto thee, I am the Plant which cometh forth from Nu, and my mother is Nut. Hail, my creator, I am he who hath no power to walk, the Great Knot who dwelleth in Yesterday. The might of my strength is within my hand, I am not known [by thee], but I am he who knoweth thee. I cannot be held in the hand, but I am he who can hold thee in his hand. Hail, O Egg! Hail, O Egg!”[1]

You have no doubt seen pictures of St. Mary Magdalen sitting or reclining in her room, brooding over the death of Jesus. There are scores of paintings depicting a penitential westernized Mary, often scantily clothed with red hair and mellow dramatic eyes, gazing wistfully at a skull, a crucifix or heavenward. And yet these popular images do not do full justice to the strong, spiritual teacher who appears in the gospels and folk legends, and whose feast is celebrated on July 22nd.

The words of Jesus, taken from the controversial Gospel of the Beloved Companion, give eloquent testimony to the true nature of Miriam, the woman who holds the carnelian egg:

“I tell you this: when all have abandoned me, only she shall stand beside me like a tower. A tower built on a high hill and fortified cannot fall, nor can it be hidden. From this day forth, she shall be known as Migdalah, for she shall be as a tower to my flock and the time will soon come when her tower shall stand alone by mine.”

Rather than being a weak and feeble penitent at her dressing table, the Mary of both the canonical and gnostic gospels is the person who asks the right questions when the other apostles were too busy with preconceived notions and conditioned thought. Mary is the woman who stands tall and full of life even after the death of Jesus, which is quite a bit more than can be said for St. Peter, who fled the scene and denied ever knowing Jesus. Mary was the first of Christ’s followers to visit his tomb and, according to some accounts; she was the first to see that he had risen. Mary is the woman who, according to legend, travelled across the Mediterranean to live out her life as a healer and a teacher in the hills of Provence outside Marseille. (Click here for more resources on the history and legend surrounding St. Mary.)

It is interesting to note that Mary’s greatest virtue given not once, but twice in the Gospel of the Beloved Companion, relates to her steadfast dedication. Here is another example:

“My Master spoke thus to me: He said ‘Miryam, blessed are you who came into being before coming into being, and whose eyes are set upon the kingdom, who from the beginning has understood and followed my teachings. Only from the truth I tell you, there is a great tree within you that does not change, summer or winter, and its leaves do not fall. Whosoever listens to y words and ascends to its crown will not taste death, but know the truth of eternal life.’”

If we sit quietly enough with the mysterious and powerful essence of Mary of Magdala, we can almost see her long hair and bronzed arms outstretched with love for the sick and poor to whom she gave indefatigable care. We can imagine this mystical mother gathering herbs and making ointments for the dispossessed who followed her to the rocky hermitage at Sainte Baume. If we are very quiet, our ears can hear Mary’s voice speaking words not only of hope and charity, but of transformation and love, that highest wonderwork of her Beloved. Mary is the personification of steadfast dedication, and the most worthy spiritual focus of our liturgical celebration today.

[1] E.A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Dead: The Papyrus of Ani, (circa. 1240 B.C.); London, 1895. (Photo above right: "The Penitent" by William-Adolphe Bouguereau)

[In puris naturalibus] Incense and the Johannite Tradition

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Thu, 16 Jul 2015 14:49:00 +0000

More than four thousand years ago, deep inside the sweet-scented darkness of the immense Egyptian temples, priests and attendants in minor orders were charged with keeping the lamps lit and the incense burning night and day. Indeed, casting incense onto hot charcoal has been an indispensable rite in the religions of the Egyptians, the Jews, the Greeks, Romans and finally, in Christian practice. Our English word “incense” comes directly from the Latin word incendere, which means “to burn.”

The burning of incense carries with it practical, spiritual and aesthetic qualities that are shared throughout the world, from the churches of North America and Europe, to the temples and shrines of India, China and Japan. In each region and religion, specific perfumes, herbs and resins have been burnt to please the Divine, cleanse the air of bad odors, and add a physical aid for us to hone our spiritual perceptions. Although the practice could be seen as an ancient version of aromatherapy, these mixtures were often extremely costly, and difficult to procure and make. Therefore, burning incense would have been a real sacrifice.

Moreover, according to recent scientific studies at Johns Hopkins University and the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, the burning of frankincense, the most common ingredient in Western liturgical use, is not only psychoactive, but it is also an antidepressant.[1] Today, most of our church incense, which is usually based on frankincense, is made from the resin of the Boswellia tree, most commonly found in Oman, Yemen and Somalia–the ancient lands of the Queen of Sheba.

Evidence of the Egyptians’ use of incense dates from at least the Fifth Dynasty of the Old Kingdom (2494 to 2345 BC), but it is generally thought that balls of scented resin, honey, spices and bouquets of various herbs have been burnt since prehistoric times.[2] The Egyptians had a wide variety of resins, plants, fruits and medicinal herbs which were used. Plutarch wrote of the Egyptian clerics, “Every day they make a triple offering of incense to the Sun, an offering of resin at sunrise, of myrrh at midday, and of the so-called kyphi at sunset.”[3]

For Jews and Christians, the mandate for the use of incense is taken from both scripture and tradition. In ancient Israel, Aaron, the brother of Moses, was commanded to burn incense from morning till night in the book of Exodus.[4]It is curious that some denominations of Christianity condemn the burning of incense at the altar, arguing that it was a tradition only under the Law of Moses, and that use of incense by early Christians never existed. Contrary to these assertions, the Apocalypse of St. John, also known as Revelation, rather prominently features a vision of the Seventh Seal in which the prayers of the saints rise to the Divine with the smoke of incense.

Another angel came and stood at the altar, holding a golden censer; and much incense was given to him, so that he might add it to the prayers of all the saints on the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, went up before God out of the angel’s hand. – Apocalypse of St. John 8:3-5

If the followers of the risen Christ were not meant to use incense, then why does St. John’s vision have us understand that the prayers of the saints went up with its smoke? And the Apocalypse is not the only mention of incense made in the New Testament. It is also present in the Gospel of Luke 1:11, when St. John the Baptist’s future father, the priest Zacharias, witnessed:

An angel of the Lord, standing at the right of the altar where incense was burnt. But the angel said unto him, Fear not, Zacharias: for thy prayer is heard; and thy wife Elisabeth shall bear thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John.

Here we have a special appreciation for the central role incense played in the spiritual foretelling of the ministry of John the Baptist, and therefore the beginning of the Johannite tradition.

In the very early Church there is little mention of any liturgical norms. We do know that at least during the first two centuries of Christianity, most adherents thought of themselves as Jews and worshiped in the Temple and in the synagogues. If we were to use the litmus test of today’s Evangelicals and fundamentalists, the first Christians were not Christian at all since they observed Shabbat, not Sunday as their holy day, until about 110 AD[5]; they had no Bible, and they largely practiced Jewish customs, which would have included visits to the Temple where incense was most certainly used.

No incense was used in Jewish practice outside of the Temple, thus the use of incense at the first agape feasts, and finally the more formal Eucharist, would have probably first been practiced by Greeks, Romans and other gentile Christians. It therefore makes a great deal of sense that one of the first mentions of incense used in the liturgy was in The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, who wrote of it as a common practice at the time he wrote Hierarchy in approximately 520 AD.[6][7] Some say this is the first mention of liturgical incense.

Since at least the fifth and sixth centuries, incense has played an important role in the celebration of the Mysteries in both the East and the West. But there is also an important thread of continuity in the burning of incense that strikes directly to the heart of both the Johannite way and the teachings of Christ, the Incarnate Logos, who inspired St. John the Beloved to continue where he left off. That tradition began long before Christ, which is why John the Baptist represents the initiation through the waters of the past and of learning, as well as the cleansing and welcoming Sacrament we have in today’s Holy Baptism.

As Johannites, we do not destroy the righteous and powerful spiritual legacy of our ancestors; we celebrate it and fulfill its promises to us. Jesus said “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” Thus, with the help of the angels, we add our intentions to the smoke of the incense, and the prayers of all the saints, to be placed on the golden altar which is before the throne.

***

[1] Science Daily: "Burning Incense Is Psychoactive: New Class Of Antidepressants Might Be Right Under Our Noses". May 20, 2008, Federation of American Societies for Experimental Biology

[2] Nielsen, Kjeld (1986). Incense in ancient Israel. p. 3.

[3] Plutarch, Isis and Osiris, § 52

[4] Exodus 39:38; The Mishnah (ed. Herbert Danby), Oxford University Press 1977, s.v. Kareithoth 1:1, p. 563

[5] Ignatius' Epistle to the Magnesians chapter 9 at ccel.org

[6] The Celestial and Ecclesiastical Hierarchies, 3:3. (Parker 1894, 61)

[7]William Scudamore, Notitia Eucharistica (Rivingtons, London: 1877), 154

[Eighth Sermon] Rain Magic

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 18:34:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Persons vs. Concepts

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Wed, 08 Jul 2015 21:40:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Neighbors

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Mon, 06 Jul 2015 17:19:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Illuminated Circle Vol 4

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Sun, 05 Jul 2015 18:13:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Immortality

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Tue, 30 Jun 2015 22:35:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Sustainability

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Thu, 25 Jun 2015 21:31:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Upheaval

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Wed, 24 Jun 2015 19:58:00 +0000

[In puris naturalibus] Two Johns, One Story

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Wed, 24 Jun 2015 09:15:00 +0000

Alessandro Allori (1535-1607), St. John the Baptist

Johannites are named for the tradition of two holy men with the same name. One came bearing the gifts of the past; the memory of our spiritual origin, and the need for "repentance", which is an utter mistranslation of the Greek word metanoia (μετάνοια). In the language of the Gospel of John, this word meant a "change of mind." This John taught the need for us to change our hearts and minds by washing away the unnecessary, and seeing the Real that surrounds and envelopes us as Beings.

If we enter with our eyes thus cleared into John's sacramental world, we suddenly see that our lives are enchanted and full of meaning. We are called to love and to serve others as he did. But his message is a lot bigger than that.

Recently, Stephen Fry, a gentleman I admire very much, made something of an audacious comment on television about God. He said that because of all the horrible sufferings of humanity, if there were a deity, it would be an 'evil, capricious, monstrous maniac.' And I would agree, if I thought that our existence was defined by the living, breathing animal that writes this article. If I held that view, I would be in complete agreement with good Mr Fry.

Here's the thing. That is not what being human is about; that is only a small part of a longer story. Our lives follow the contours of a Being far greater even than the ones which built this flowery graveyard of clay and death. Its oneness is self-evident, and yet it escapes even the cleverest among us. We are the living, breathing synapses of a great, expanding consciousness. We are lost, but not forgotten. That is why men like St John the Baptist are born: To remind us, to prepare the way for us to return to that consciousness.

The second John was a follower of the first John before the Baptism of Jesus. He was young and impetuous like many of us have been, but in the short time that he followed the teachings of Jesus, he became known as the Beloved Disciple. It was to this John that Jesus entrusted his mother as his dying wish. It was this John who stood unflinchingly by as his beloved rabbi was tortured and killed.

But today is about the first John, though the story would not be complete without the second. Today is about those teachers we have had who have washed our eyes so that we were brought to see and remedy uncomfortable truths about ourselves. Today is the birthday of a man who could live in the wild, eating and drinking as the land would allow, a man whose ideals were matched by his integrity and humility. When John the Baptist was asked who he was, he simply said: I am a voice of one crying in the wilderness, make straight the way of the Lord, as Isaiah the prophet said. (Lévitikon p. 26 and John 1:23)

Today is the celebration of the birth of this voice which cried in the wilderness, and it is a living memorial to all of us who, from time to time, follow his example by reminding others of their true origins, their inner dignity and their responsibilities as children of the Divine. It is a day to remember all those who have died in service to others. But more than anything, this day is a great feast to us who delight in the gift of the prophets and mages, which is the knowledge, love and experience of God, all wound up in one golden word known to us as gnosis.

***

[Eighth Sermon] Lovely Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Mon, 22 Jun 2015 21:48:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Shrines

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Thu, 18 Jun 2015 19:51:00 +0000

[In puris naturalibus] Darkness & Light in Granada

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Wed, 17 Jun 2015 17:08:00 +0000

The Madrasah of Granada, Spain was built in 1349 and embellished during the Renaissance

Between my first years in college and my much later studies in seminary, I attended the School of Translation and Interpretation, which later became the School for Modern Languages at the University of Granada in Spain. The University in Granada is quite old, having first been founded in 1349 by the Nasrid monarch Yusuf I, Sultan of Granada.[1]

For such a good education, I have every reason to be thankful for the rich and learned scholarship which was initiated by the Nasrid dynasty, whose architectural monuments include the original college building, known as the Madrasah, and Granada’s World Heritage sites, the Alhambra and Generalife palaces, which still tower over the medieval Moorish city.

The Alhambra and Generalife Palaces of the Nasrid Dynasty of Granada

In 1531, the University of Granada was re-chartered by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, providing full rights to form a studium generale with the faculties of Theology, Arts and Canon Law, granted by a papal bull of Clement VII.[2]

But the story of the transition which occurred between the Muslim Emirate of Granada and the Christian Kingdom of Spain is not a pretty one. In the Andalusian emirates, Christians, Muslims and Jews lived in relative harmony and freedom to study, worship and participate in the arts, sciences and government of this land of saffron and olives. The spirit of sophistication and learning that characterized the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance in Granada can be summarized in the beautiful calligraphic inscriptions that decorated the exterior of the Madrasah building:

“If in your spirit you provide a place for the desire to study and to flee from the shadows of ignorance, you will find in it the beautiful tree of honor. Make study shine like stars to the great, and to those who are not, bring to them the same brilliance.”[3]

This was the culture that gave birth to the medieval Sephardic Jewish philosopher, astronomer and biblical scholar Maimonides, and to Averroës (Ibn Rushd), the founding father of secular thought—not in the Muslim world – but in Western Europe.[4] So what did the enlightened Christians do with this seat of learning after their conquest? From 1492–1499 the Madrasah still served as a university, but by 1500, when the conquerors no longer needed the agricultural expertise of the Moors, Moriscos and Sephardic Jews, (and in violation of the Treaty of Granada), the policy of tolerance came to a screeching halt. Under the leadership of the bishop of Granada, Hernando de Talavera, and the new governor, Gonzalo Jiménez de Cisneros, the new policy was to force Muslims and Jews to convert to Christianity or face extermination and/or deportation. Adding insult to injury, the 150 years’ worth of scholarly treasures kept in the Madrasah were summarily carted out to the Plaza Bib-Rambla, and burned in a bonfire of the vanities.

The period between the Reconquista and 1530 saw the trial, torture and expulsion of thousands of Spanish Muslims and Jews, most of whom had never known another country as their homeland. During the same period, approximately two to three thousand individuals were executed by being burned alive at the stake. Although historians now agree that the horrors of the Inquisition in Spain tend to be exaggerated, these figures are based not on hearsay, but documented cases which were handed to the State for execution.[5]

The story of the Madrasah building follows the ebb and flow of periods of oppression, ignorance and finally restoration. For several centuries the building was used as the city hall. After the municipality moved into new offices in the 19thcentury, the building was auctioned off by the city and used as – of all things – a warehouse. After sustaining considerable damage by the elements, this ancient focus of learning and culture was again purchased by the University in the late 1970s, undertaking an ambitious project of historical restoration.[6] When I was living and studying in Granada in the early 1990s, the Madrasah had regained its former glory as a place for scholars and the general public to enjoy the unique culture and educational heritage of that city of saffron and olives that now plays host to over 80,000 students.

For me, this one little hall in Granada is a constant reminder that people are made of both darkness and light, ignorance and wisdom; hatred and love. Muslims, Christians, Jews and other religious cultures foster both sides as well. In an era when it is all too easy to condemn Islam for the crimes of a few thousand fanatics, it would do well for those of us in the West to remember that there was a classroom off the Bib-Rambla, in the Nasarí Emirate of Granada, which played host to the preservation and study of Aristotle, as well as the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed.

We would do well to keep our hearts open to people of all faiths, helping to foster a civilization of advancements not only in the sciences and arts, but in the spiritual exercises of compassion, humility and integrity.

***

[1] http://www.alhambra.org/esp/index.asp?secc=/otros/granada_info/la_madraza

[2] Jílek, Jubor (ed.): "Historical Compendium of European Universities/Répertoire Historique des Universités Européennes", Standing Conference of Rectors, Presidents and Vice-Chancellors of the European Universities (CRE), Geneva 1984, p. 160

[3] Antonio Almagro Cardenas, Estudio Sobre Las Inscripciones Rabes de Granada [1870] (2009), BiblioBazaar, LLC, ISBN 1-115-71121-0. pág. 215. Availableon Google Books. The words would have been originally in Arabic; Almagro Cardenas gives them in Spanish as "Si en tu espíritu hace asiento el deseo del estudio y de huir de las sombras de la ignorancia, hallarás en ella el hermoso árbol del honor. Hace el estudio brillar como estrellas a los grandes, y a los que no lo son los eleva a igual lucimiento."

[4] "Averroës (Ibn Rushd) > By Individual Philosopher > Philosophy". Philosophybasics.com. Retrieved 2012-10-13.

[5] Kamen, Henry (1998). The Spanish Inquisition: a Historical Revision. Yale University Press.

[6] Miguel Rodríguez-Pantoja Márquez, Patrimonio artístico y monumental de las universidades andaluzas, Universidad de Sevilla, 1992

[Eighth Sermon] Gnosis of the Light

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Fri, 12 Jun 2015 15:08:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Mystical Joy

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Thu, 11 Jun 2015 22:34:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Mystical Horror

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Wed, 10 Jun 2015 21:06:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Moving

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Wed, 03 Jun 2015 00:03:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 42: The end of this sequence

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Thu, 28 May 2015 16:39:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 37: Wow, take a day off

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Thu, 21 May 2015 18:31:00 +0000

[In puris naturalibus] The Middle Pillar

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Wed, 20 May 2015 15:30:00 +0000

The Mystical Voyage of St. Brendan – Part 22.

The Middle Pillar

Sailing across the clear sea with open hearts seemed to make the world around St. Brendan’s craft as transparent as Bermudian water. It is only through considerable time and cleansing that any of us is able to manifest the inner light which leads to self knowledge and the experiential insight of the Divine, which is called gnosis. Only through a clear vessel can that light be properly seen, let alone interpreted for others. But for St. Brendan and his seven-year mystical voyagers, time, ritual and self-knowledge were beginning to bear gorgeous fruit.

In this space of clarity, after celebrating Mass, St. Brendan and the brothers beheld a miracle before their eyes. Standing in the middle of that aquamarine sea was a pillar of crystal which stretched its vertical trunk up to the sky. The pillar was surrounded by an enormous net of ethereal material which seemed to pose no threat or warning. Without delay, the Navigator asked his brothers to ship their oars and glide through the net at one of its giant openings.

The vertical beam of uncreated light that shone within that pillar extended as far as the monks could see, both above them and below the water. As above, so below. This is the upright post of the esoteric Cross, whose meaning is an infinite flight of the Spirit as it effortlessly travels between the physical and the spiritual, the living and the dead. It is the dove which descends from on high.

This great column has been celebrated by many traditions, not least in the Kabbalah. We could interpret this as the Middle Pillar, the place where we must stand between the Pillars of Mercy and Severity, or Boaz and Jachin, of the Temple of Solomon, and which were described as being wreathed in nets and 200 pomegranates, and crowned with lilies. (1 Kings 7) In the Rosicrucian and later Golden Dawn rituals of the Middle Pillar, the seeker invites the Divine light to travel down this pillar of central Sephiroth on the diagrammatic Tree of Life.

The four angles or sides of the pillar Brendan measured to be 700 yards each. These angles each correspond to the essential elements of earthly life: Air, Fire, Water and Earth, and the four directions: North, South, East and West. And as Brendan’s party moved their leather boat around the foundations of this pillar, they discovered a chalice and a paten in the southernmost niche.

The holy abbot held the chalice and paten up to his brothers as living exemplars that others could follow to see the conjunction of spirit and matter. Each of us has this wonder standing right before us in the celebration of the Mass. All of us are welcome, not to follow, but to be that middle pillar of light, for it is within us that the Divine also sits, crowned with lilies and pomegranates, ruling over the microcosm of our existence.

***

Image:

Title page of Francis Bacon’s Francisci de Verulamio, summi Angliae cancellarii, Instauratio magna (London: apud Joannem Billium, Typographum Regium, anno 1620.) Scheide Library.

"Unlike the ancients, who often contended that nothing can be known, he argues here that there are progressive stages of certainty, and he will show how through inductive reasoning they can be achieved. The title page exhibits a galleon exiting into the Atlantic Ocean from between the mythical Pillars of Hercules that stand on either side of the Strait of Gibraltar—hence, beyond the boundaries of the Mediterranean, or known world. The implications to the reader are clear: boldly embark on a voyage of discovery in which empirical investigation will lead to a greater understanding of the world. As the hopeful Latin caption states, 'Many will pass through and scientific knowledge will increase.'” --Princeton University Historic Maps Collection

[In puris naturalibus] Sovereign Pontiff: The Life of Dr. Fabré-Palaprat

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Fri, 15 May 2015 17:17:00 +0000

Many esoteric groups and Gnostic churches trace their roots to Dr. Bernard-Raymond Fabré-Palaprat, but few people know much of anything about the man. Grand Master of L'Ordre du Temple and Sovereign Pontiff and Patriarch of the Johannite Church, Dr. Fabré-Palaprat was much more than a man in fancy dress.

Ordained a Roman Catholic priest, he became a leading physician and researcher in the new uses of electricity in the field of medicine. A fervent supporter of the arts and sciences, Dr. Fabré-Palaprat's singular devotion to service is a profile in courage, compassion and dedication. Decorated with France's highest civilian and military award for his selfless work as a medical doctor during the 1814 siege of Paris, Dr. Fabré-Palaprat's list of accomplishments stands as the best testament to his appreciation of the indwelling spark of the Divine, the font human dignity.

On Sunday, May 24, 2015, I will be giving a presentation on the incredible life of this extraordinary 19th century Frenchman, to the Conclave of the Apostolic Johannite Church in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. I hope that I will be able to do Dr. Fabré-Palaprat the justice he deserves after a life of such exemplary service to his faith, his country, and to science.

***

[In puris naturalibus] The Alchemy of Ascension

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Thu, 14 May 2015 12:31:00 +0000

Resurrection by William Blake, Fogg Museum of Art, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

Traditionally, the Feast of the Ascension celebrates the rising and physical reunion of Christ the man with the ineffable and unknowable Father. This is a day to brace yourself for lots of pictures of Jesus surrounded by very stiff looking apostles and disciples, as he is wafted up to the mother-ship. By the look on his face, the impish side of my mind can’t help but hear him saying “Beam me up, Scotty; I’ve had enough of these quarrelsome toadies.”

Notwithstanding this rather starchy Christian view of the Ascension, there is another––some might say, deeper––meaning that I think has always accompanied this celebration of Christ’s departure from the world of forms. It seems to me that the Ascension is not a once-off event, but the mystical culmination of the work of the Logos Incarnate, the Exemplar for us all. What began with the dove of the Spirit descending to meet the mystical ascension of Jesus from the waters of initiation, contemplation and tradition, continued to bubble up into still greater works of mercy, compassion and love.

From Cana and the miraculous wine, to Golgotha and its terrible shedding of his blood, Jesus unveils his true Being by divine alchemical transfiguration. The act of the Ascension shows us the way for our own soul to fulfill the alchemical union of opposites. In the Valentinian Exegesis on the Soul, we see this process individualized.

Now it is fitting that the soul regenerate herself....This is the resurrection that is from the dead. This is the ransom from captivity. This is the upward journey of ascent to heaven. This is the way of ascent to the father.

Our development as spiritual and physical beings may be working in tandem, but we must never forget that the former continues on, while the latter must necessarily fade away. No matter which tradition you follow, the pain and mistakes of this physical life can lead you from the waters of your baptism to your inevitable, material demise on your own Golgotha. But there is more, much more.

That journey is what teaches us to be like the anointed one. As William Blake wrote, "If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear as it is, infinite." This is how we learn to reunite with the Divine. These are good tidings. This is the good news, or what has become known as the "gospel."

***

[Eighth Sermon] Day 27: Permaculture

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Mon, 11 May 2015 19:30:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 24: Resting, and upcoming plans.

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Fri, 08 May 2015 17:22:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 22: International No Diet Day

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Wed, 06 May 2015 21:51:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 21: On to other things

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Tue, 05 May 2015 18:51:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 20: Initiations, Rites, and dirt

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Mon, 04 May 2015 21:37:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 17: Rest, reading, and New life

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Fri, 01 May 2015 17:10:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 14: Back on the Wagon & Who do you say that I am?

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Tue, 28 Apr 2015 17:42:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 13: Procrastination

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Mon, 27 Apr 2015 21:59:00 +0000

[In puris naturalibus] The Semiotics of Fish

noreply@blogger.com (Donald Donato) — Fri, 24 Apr 2015 14:50:00 +0000

The Mystical Voyage of St. Brendan – Parts 20 and 21

The Semiotics of Fish

Semiotics is concerned with everything that can be taken as a sign. A sign is everything which can be taken as significantly substituting for something else. This something else does not necessarily have to exist or to actually be somewhere at the moment in which a sign stands for it. Thus, semiotics is in principle the discipline studying everything which can be used in order to lie.” – Umberto Eco

Our mystical voyage with St. Brendan the Navigator and his brother monks continues to sail the darkened horizon that lies between the very distant past and the sunrise of the eternal moment. Following the prophecy of the Paradise of Birds, and after returning to the Community of Ailbe for Christmas, St. Brendan and his seafaring monastics took to the great western sea, which has proven to be a place of dreadful learning.

Far out in the vast blue waters of the Atlantic, the men came upon a place where the clarity of the sea allowed them to catch a glimpse of the fish in their schools and other creatures of the sea swimming beneath the currach. Astonished by this otherworldly vision, the startled monks begged their abbot not to make a noise which might attract the wrath of the aquatic host, which they could see so plainly beneath their tiny craft. The men were deathly afraid that the bigger animals would lunge for them and capsize their leather boat.

The holy navigator was sorely disappointed in his monks’ lack of proper perspective, but said nothing, instead hiding his disdain deep in the recesses of his cowl. At the appointed hour, the sainted priest intoned his prayers loudly so that the masses of fish beneath the currach swirled in circles of darkness. When he finished his prayers and singing, the fish darted to and fro, leaving the boat and its crew in peace.

Brendan then asked his followers how they could be so frightened of the fish in the sea when they could ride the great monster Jasconius. How could they dread what they saw below them when they had been saved from monsters far more terrible? Why did they fear what they saw?

This part of the voyage illustrates the pride of clarity and certitude, that most wicked of semiotic lies in this world of forms. We are so sure of what we see when things are clear, and yet we fail to remember that even when we can see clearly, we cannot see everything with the eyes in our head. Material vision can only take us so far; what we see is at best a symbol, a distorted image, an incomplete sentence in the vast volumes of divinity and unity.

Technology has given us a great gift of sight and insight into the workings of language and literature, mathematics, the arts, philosophy, psychology, religious studies; the natural sciences and social sciences, and yet we still face the same human problems faced by our ancestors. Electric light has not extinguished darkness. Medicine has not made us materially immortal. Yes, we might live longer, healthier lives, but our faith and pride in seeing things as they truly are is a grievous error if that knowledge blocks us from apprehending the truth that is larger than the sum of its parts.

As Albert Einstein wrote, “The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know.” This is the spirit with which we can better put our knowledge in context. This is the kernel of truth that should always remind us of our fundamental lack of vision and knowledge of the larger universe which resides invisibly within us. This humility of knowledge is the anchor that can keep us from running aground on the perilous shores of arrogance and materialism.

This is the semiotics of fish as they swim beneath us, whether in obscurity or clarity. The point is, the fish are always there whether we see them or not.

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[Eighth Sermon] Day 8: Meditating while sick

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Wed, 22 Apr 2015 22:30:00 +0000

[Eighth Sermon] Day 6: The Hugos

noreply@blogger.com (Scott Rassbach) — Mon, 20 Apr 2015 22:49:00 +0000