Sense and experience

Readers! You are in for a treat. As I mentioned in my prior post, I have introduced two new coauthors to this blog, and will be functioning primarily as editor, moderator, and provide the occasional interjection. Join me in welcome Aldan Shepard to this blog.

-Matt

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Welcome, readers. For my part, I feel that it may be pertinent to begin my writings here with an elaboration on material previously touched on by my acquaintance, now colleague, Ignass. However, being of a different sort of stock, I will attempt to treat the topic of our understanding of mercy from a totally different, hopefully thoughtful, perspective.

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"What does this fish remind you of?"

"Other fish."

"And what do other fish remind you of?

"Other fish."

In the beginning, there was darkness and void. Then, God spoke, and the universe exploded in a dazzling blaze of light and fury. Again, God spoke, and out of chaos, order emerged. Stars were formed, swirling dust congealed into planets, indeed, heaven and earth were made separate. And again, God spoke, and out of lumps of dust was brought forth a multitude of magnificent organisms, perfect in form and function. And with this magnificence, He did not cease, but again, spoke, and the image of himself was born into his own monologue. This image possessed eyes to see, and ears to hear, the things which God had spoken, even a voice to speak of himself.

Indeed, it is as though everything that has ever been done is merely God's speaking to us. Thus, all of our sense are tuned to listen to a language, spoken from the very mouth that created us, and yet now you may say "Why do we not understand that God exists? Why do we not understand Him as He is?" Indeed! What are the criteria for understanding such a language?

In order for us to make headway in answering this question, we shall have to return to the beginning, not chronologically, but to the most basic of inquiries about the spoken word, and other, much simpler, languages. I will not claim the ideas of language which I draw on are my own, but I must digress until we have a firm grasp and can continue comfortably into the application. I will freely quote Wittgenstein in the following discourse, however, I will not make use of quotations. Feel free to interpret this as meaning: when I talk about language, I am quoting or borrowing ideas from Wittgenstein (though, it is true, not in every case), and when I talk about theology, I am making an application of these ideas.

1.) What is the purpose of a word? One might respond by saying "to be a place holder for a part of reality. To indicate an object.

2.) The questions "What is length?", "What is meaning?", "What is the number one?" etc, produce in us a mental cramp. We feel that we can't point to anything in reply to them, and yet ought to point to something.

3.) In some sense, those who say that words offer ostensive definition would be right. Certainly, one would believe that when I say pencil, and point to a pencil, I have indicated the definition of the word. But then, to what do we ascribe the action of saying "round" and pointing to the pencil? Or perhaps "wood". And further still, consider words like "Justice", "Mercy", "Love". Certainly, it is not hard to point to instances of these, but just try to point to the concept "red" itself.

4.) Suppose we show a person a banjo, having never before seen one, and say "This is a banjo". Possibly the word "guitar" will then come into his mind, possibly no word at all but the image of a similar instrument, possibly nothing. Suppose then I give him the order "now pick a banjo from amongst these things." If he picks what we call a "banjo" we might say "he has given it the correct meaning", if he picks some other instrument -- "He has interpreted 'banjo' to mean 'string instrument'".

5.) It may be said that there are characteristic experiences of actions such as "pointing to the shape of a thing".

For example, one may follow the contour with one's eyes, or point and follow it with one's finger. But no such experience happens in all the cases, even necessarily in all the cases where I intend the shape of a thing as the ostensive definition of the word "round". We may be concerned that we cannot necessarily separate pointing at the shape from pointing at the colour.

6.) The definition of the number two, "That is called 'two'" -- pointing to two nuts -- is perfectly exact. -- But how can the number two be defined like that? The person one gives the definition to doesn't know what it is that one wants to call "two"; he will suppose that "two" is the name given to this group of nuts!

7.) Do not cling to the idea that there exist indestructible objects outside the world to which we effectively point when teaching someone concepts such as "red". Such a thing is by no means a necessity. Do you really think that the concept "red" would not fade when nothing red exists anymore in the world?

8.) Rather consider this: that the understanding of a concept is not found in pointing at one particular thing, but in eliciting the kind of behaviour which we ascribe to the understanding of the concept. The banjo, being a prime example. However, consider also: suppose I write out an algebraic series, and say "continue the series". Perhaps the series is that of squares: 1 4 9 16 ... Suppose my student writes out the series correctly for a few more terms. How many terms must he write before I can say that he has understood? Or must he have the language of algebra (the idea of the series of squares) to express that he has understood. By no means! For this language can have just as little meaning for him as that of his understanding of what must follow in the series.

9.) And not all concepts can be so "precisely" defined. One can say the concept of a game is a concept with blurred edges. For example, chess and other board games may fit a nice, exact definition. But, we find this definition lacking when considering children's games (ring around the rosie), or even when considering games whose rules may change as the game is played (such as many among children). We would like to say that these are games, but any delineation of the concept "game" is dissastisfying. There are always games which do not fit our dilineation

10.) "But is a blurred concept a concept at all?" -- Is a photograph that is not sharp a picture of a person at all?

Some might compare a concept to a delineated region, so that something without clear boundaries cannot be a concept. But then, is it nonsense to tell a person "Stay roughly here"? I do not bother to draw a boundary, in the same way that I may delineate a concept by examples, and the concept's having been understood is not evidenced by a drawing of boundaries, but by the proper application of the examples.

11.) What we are trying to demonstrate here, is that there is an inextricable link between concepts and things. That is to say, we can point only to things, and concepts are said to be understood when a person behaves in such and such a way. One cannot hope to give a criterion for the understanding of a concept. Even a simple one such as colour.

12.) Consider even the problem of the interpretation of a chart. Suppose I have the colours in the left column, and their word-equivalents in the right column. One might say that from this, the ostensive definition of the colour words is clear. However, how am I to interpret the chart? Do I read from left to right? Or perhaps the correct word is the one on the next row down. Or perhaps any arbitrarily complex rule. So, am I now to define a schema of "arrows" showing the way to interpret the chart. And still here, the interpretation of the schema of arrows is in question. No, like this, we would go on forever.

13.) And so we find the difficulty of teaching. We would like to point at concepts, but can only point at objects, hoping that the concepts will be shown to be understood. But our only hope that the our student has the "experience of understanding" is based upon our observing the behaviour we expect from our student's having understood the "concept of red". For example, fetching us a red rose when we ask.

14.) But how then, do we consider the understanding of the sense language? The understand of the divine experience? We can observe peoples reactions to these experiences, and would like to be able to teach people about them in the same way we would teach the concept "round". Yet, there can be no such thing as "pointing at the divine experience".

15.) "Can we demonstrate red by pointing at things which are not red?" Put another way, suppose I show you purple, and I show you brown, and I say "Red is what is common between these." Can you now show me what red is?

16.) Can you explain God by pointing at something that is not God? Or perhaps, not quite God? Here we find the difficulty of understanding the personality of our creator as a whole. One has a hard time experiencing NOT a thing and then trying to understand the thing itself.

17.) I can convey some knowledge, but not the "feeling of knowing", the latter is not a part of language.

"Compare knowing and being able to say: how high Mont Blanc is (in metres) -- How the word 'game' is used -- The way a clarinet sounds."

18.) Do not cling to the idea that, when describing coffee, one merely lacks the words. For what are the words lacking?

What would be the criteria of there being words?

19.) In this same way, we can think of systematic theology as a language. So long as one applies the inference rules, starting from some "true" basic premises, one can certainly arrive at all sorts of interesting statements. Yet, meaning in all of this can only be had if the fundamental premises are understood experientially.If not understood in this way, the whole of systematic theology becomes a mere tower of babel, a monument to man's attempt to equalize himself to God, and still infinitely far from the One to whom it is aspiring.

20.) Further the rigour of the structure becomes a kind of stumbling block. Our heads are filled. We cease to notice that we do not really understand.

21.) But then, how infinitely rich are those who possess the understanding, and the theology?

22.) A man says "I have not heard the voice of God", or "God does not speak to me", or even "I will believe in God if he shows himself to me". But! If God truly spoke the world into existence, then in some sense, all that exists is God speaking to us through our senses. You object "but that is not divine!" -- But what other form of communication did you really expect? One cannot imagine it, but would still like to say "It must be different."

23.) Probably, one expects some form which is obviously still sensory -- speaking english perhaps. This form is remarkable to that individual only because the experience is an "unusual" sensory experience. But what is so remarkable about this? Its uniqueness is merely an illusion.

24.) Miracles are a necessity only because man is hard of hearing. They are like shouting when a whisper carries the same meaning. Perhaps the whisper even contains the better meaning. Only then is it spoken in the voice it was meant to be spoken.

25.) Consider a child eating the pages of a bible. Certainly he is feeding upon the word, but is it nourishing him? Ha! Not in either sense.

26.) "Experience is irreplacable" extends to our theological leanings. The reformed christian as a cultural product has no experience. Therefore he has no faith! And this, in spite of the eloquence of his apologetics.

27.) As belief requires an understanding of the sense language, how then can we expect to come to faith without understanding the language. Can we make the leap from not understanding to an understanding of ourselves? Can we will it to occur? And thus the difficulty of the Arminian. If I understand the language already, would I not already have faith? How could I not believe, when the evidence is all around me? Understanding and belief are impossibly intertwined. This is a braid which cannot be unravelled.

28.) Then the disciples came and said to Jesus, "Why do you speak to them in parables?" And he answered them, "To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given. For to the one who has, more will be given, and he will have an abundance, but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. This is why I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. Indeed, in their case the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled that says:

You will indeed hear but never understand,

and you will indeed see but never perceive.

For this people's heart has grown dull,

and with their ears they can barely hear,

and their eyes they have closed,

lest they should see with their eyes

and hear with their ears

and understand with their heart

and turn, and I would heal them

But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear.

29.) But we must concede. Were he to speak to them plainly, not in parables, but perhaps rigourously. Transparently. Would they then understand? No! Christ is not witholding the truth from them, for the truth finds its way into the hearts of those who possess the criterion, and could never be understood by anyone else, no matter how plainly put. Indeed "plainly" is a misleading word, for it seems to indicate that understanding can be conveyed to anyone, if only one were to speak "correctly". But what is correct, what is plain, is only so to those who can understand.

30.) Which is better? A rigourous explaination, or a simple analogy? Which communicates an idea more effectively? What is the necessity of the proof? If we accept our criterion of understanding, the proof is merely an after thought, and no more effective at causing belief than a simple analogy. Certainly its rigour can be more an obstacle than a guide.

31.) Then, the point of parables is like unto the opposite of miracles. The parable is the quiet miracle which works in our hearts. It is the gospel spoken in a language meant for it. The parable whispers the truth to the hearts of those who can understand it plainly.

32.) And so, in order to understand the sense language, I must be taught. I must learn to say, these are the things which are divine. But how can a teacher teach me these things? He can not point at the "sensation of knowing" that what we see and feel is from God. This experience cannot be coerced in a man. Rather, it is perhaps like this: that I have the experience of seeing and knowing the divine, and then the teacher can say "Aha! What you have experienced is the divine". But then, what has he really taught me that I did not already know? Only the word. The means to communicate my sensation to others who themselves, have already understood the experience.

-Aldan Shepard

Tags: Language, Theology, Mercy

Announcing new authors

Well, it has certainly been a while, but I am pleased to finally have some new content for my readers, with some variety to boot.

I have invited a couple of friends to collaborate here. This is partially to alleviate the burden of content from myself, as my ideas come slowly and with great pains and labor. However, this is also to give you all some philosophical variety.

So, I now introduce to you: Ignass Kristensen and Aldan Shepard, two students of philosophy that I have met in my time abroad in these United States as a graduate student. Aldan is, in particular, a student of Analytical Philosophy, and I hope that he will provide a quite unique perspective on the issues which we intend to discuss. I will serve, for the most part, as a moderator and synthesizer, bring their ideas together, and -- hopefully -- maintaining harmony on this blog.

Today, you will enjoy a post from Aldan, touching on the ideas that are touched in the previous post, from a totally different perspective. His writing is meandering and thoughtful, and a pleasure to read.

As to our other new author, I must admit that I owe a good deal of the ideas and language of the previous post to Ignass (and ultimately, Kierkegaard, in case you didn't notice). I hope you will all interpret that post as characteristic of his style, until such a time as he makes a contribution complete his own.

-Matt

When Mercy Seasons Justice...

"It is an attribute of God himself;

And earthly power doth then show like God's

When mercy seasons justice"

Mercy

Perhaps the greatest virtue, the one most unexpected, the one most... unusual, is mercy. A man with no jurisdiction cannot exhibit it. Unlike kindness, generosity, and love it requires one to have complete power over the thing which receives mercy. Indeed, it requires one to have the power of tyranny. It requires even the suspension of other virtues. It requires a comprehension and love of justice, and yet it tempers justice. It restrains, and it achieves its utmost expression, its perfection, only in a being who is both omnipotent, and perfect in justice. But most unusual of its attributes, unlike any other virtue, it cannot be deserved, it is annihilated if it is warranted at all. Thus, there can be no formula for the receipt of mercy.

Unlike other virtues, its effect is also different. If we receive generosity, or kindness, it is received best when we acknowledge our external circumstances. It is appreciated when we see that we are poor, or destitute. In these cases, however, it is possible to maintain some pride about one's self. If mercy is received well, it requires the total eradication of our sense of self. We must see the wretchedness within us, and feel the justice of what would be our reward. When we are thus, and receive mercy instead, the divine love is conveyed. That love which is given without any demand, without even the possibility, of repayment. In this light, all of the debts and justices which are owed to us must pale in comparison. If we are infinitely wretched, and have received mercy, then how can the sins of other against us --which rarely manifest the true depth of wretchedness in their souls-- have any consequence? These things become easily forgiven.

But, if we believe ourselves to have even an iota of merit, then the effect of mercy is transformed into something altogether grotesque. We see that mercy has granted us the opportunity to continue as we are, to remain unchanged. In many cases, we see it as an opportunity for profit in the most base of senses. Christ tells a parable of a servant who is forgiven a great debt. The units of money are deceptive, but the debt (10,000 talents of silver) is equivalent to the wages of 200,000 years of work for a simple labourer. An impossible debt, but he is gripped only with a desire to take advantage of his good fortune; a desire to live for himself.

Clearly, this latter kind of person does not understand the gravity of what he has received. It is not, however, a rejection of mercy, he simply does not understand mercy as concept or experience. Its significance has passed him by. He could be said to be in a state of despair, precisely the kind of despair in which one is unaware of his own despair. The kind of state that cannot acknowledge itself in any form. So, let us move beyond such a hopeless individual, and consider only one who does understand the gravity of mercy.

Darkness

It has been said that despair is the sickness unto death. That is to say, Christianly understood, no sickness is unto death, since death is the end of the sickness, but death is not the end. However, despair is a sickness which goes beyond death. A sickness of the spirit which cries out to be destroyed, but which cannot die. Despair is the sickness unto death precisely because death is the end and the end is death, but the despair is precisely that it is impossible to be rid of oneself, to die in spirit.

But, what could be the source of such a magnificent despair? Answers have been given elsewhere, characterizing despair in each individual form that it can be encountered. But, here we are interested only in this latter sort of person. That is, the kind which understands the gravity of mercy. The kind which believes God to be a being perfect in justice, righteousness, and love, and so too, by necessity, perfect in mercy. We shall endeavour to imagine ourselves to be this person. Indeed, it may be that we ourselves are not too far afield! Far from being a person blissfully happy, we may find this person in as much or greater despair than the former type (which we have decided to ignore). This latter person, at least, has a much greater chance of having knowledge of her own despair, and therefore, by necessity, a much greater capacity to experience it. But the sword wielded by this form of despair is double edged: she has an equally magnificent chance of destroying it as well -- though not by her own action.

...

At one time, things were simple. Things were known. What was known was not particularly pleasant, just a series of hardships, a crucible of a life that had served to refine her into something, though she was not entirely certain what the goal had been. As it was, these were simply the facts. Cruel or not, it simply was. Perhaps the only thing she knew for certain, was that she did not love whomever she was. For a long time, this was not such a huge problem. She had discovered that she could lose that self which she did not love in relationships. She could lose it by refusing to be herself, and only to be herself through others, that is, not to be herself, but a self which was bound up and lost in the self of another. Perhaps these other selves seemed more stable, more confident. Regardless, they certainly lacked the character -- at least to her knowledge -- that horrified her so much in her self.

She had some religious conviction, if you could call it that. There were things that she would not do. They were 'morally' wrong, yes? Regardless, if only she did not do those things, at least the hideous self could be kept, to some extent, in its place. These convictions stemmed from some vague acknowledgement of the existence of a god. This god was not so important. He seemed far off. Regardless, he was in no way effective upon her self. Her self was something which she had to deal with herself. It would have been a magnificent reconciliation to interpret that life in light of such a God as is Christianly understood, but it was easier to leave the concept more nebulous. Thus, the dark pit became only so much noise in her peripheral vision.

And it failed. The relationships proved to be unsustainable. They ended, one after another, each a more desperate attempt than the last at losing her self, and yet her self remained. This was, indeed, the entire problem. Like a leech feeding upon a weak host, without a self to contribute love and compassion, joy and kindness, grace and mercy, a relationship, a symbiosis, as a natural consequence, whithers and dies. But she was not without a place to turn, no, she had become aware of a different kind of person in the midst of her weak grasping. This person, though by no means lacking in the type of despair that she herself experienced, did not seek to ignore his self, but to eradicate its insufficiencies through a perfected understanding of its meaning; circumstance and consequence. In this way, his despair was more masculine, as it sought to reconcile itself before God -- an impossibility. Unnaturally, this man became a Christian.

And so it was that she became aware that perhaps her religion was not something peripheral to her self, but could be yet another thing in which to lose her self. And what kind of God was this? She heard stories of a God of infinite love, of infinite justice. A God who would not overlook one such as her, lost and trodden upon by a life so cruel as this, a person with no real place to turn. A person who could not gaze away from darkness. A God also infinite in mercy. Perhaps this God could be a place to lose her self. And so she studied. She whiled away her hours on theology and wise men. She sought the things which she thought believers were to seek. A Christian life, understood through the lens of so much Christian cultural bias. A life in community, a life with worship, a life with reflection -- though not upon her self, as it should have been --, maybe even a life in Christian union. For a while, she found joy and friendship and love like she had never experienced before. She found a type of life which had hitherto been indescribable to one such as herself. She thought that perhaps HERE was something which would allow her to be rid of her self.

And it failed. By knowing the nature of God, she had come to believe in the existence of a thing which was altogether more luminous, more astoundingly beautiful, more powerful, than any she had thought existed. But! She had not moved closer to him by knowing him in this way. Further, her wise men failed her. They could not move her closer to Him. On the contrary! They often could only move her far away, for they themselves were not so close at hand as to draw her nearer to Him. And so the question which had so long haunted her, had so long tormented her in studying this God, finally congealed into an expressible language. She cried out, as one crying out in the darkness, "How can I know that I am the object of His mercy?"

And the darkness which had been held at bay, the darkness which was pushed below, which before could be ignored, this darkness came flooding in. She awoke, and realized that she had to think for herself, believe for herself, stand alone, in opposition to her self. Who would stand with her now? Where was this God? Where was His mercy? And here it was, her self. With nothing else left to do, she, like an addict, returned to all of those things which had seemed so insufficient in the past. After all, what was Sin anyway, in the face of such a despair? These things promised a kind of warmth, a kind of bliss, a kind of removal from the darkness. Even if it was miniscule, temporal in the most base of senses, it was still relief.

And it failed. But, the failure did not produce a change of action, only a change of heart. If she stood now, against a God who would not eradicate her self, then perhaps it did not actually matter what she chose. Perhaps it was best to settle. If she could not truly be rid of her self, then she would have to endure to the end, hoping for death, but knowing that even death is not the end of despair, for despair is precisely the inability to die, to consume one's self, to cease to be a self. Understood this way, Sin is precisely to be in despair at all. So she took what comfort she could, and she stood in opposition to God, a testament to His divine Imperfection.

And it failed.

...

Our poor child! But what could she have done? What went wrong? Perhaps it was in this: that the destruction of the self is not the way out of despair, since the self has an element of the eternal and cannot be destroyed. Instead, one must be reconciled to one's self. Alone, however, one cannot be reconciled to a self so repugnant as we find ourselves possessing. God, Christianly understood, does not desire an eradication of our selves. He, indeed, created them as they are. He is the author of our story, and we, as the words, cannot stand up to the author and declare that his authorship is in error! On the contrary, the author bends what is acceptable in order to produce what is actually beautiful. It is an art, and in God this art is perfect. So perhaps the charge is thus: to rest transparently in that which created us, trusting that in his divine wisdom, our selves are as they were meant, and will one day be as they should be, when the work is complete, our place will not be in vain. Perhaps then, this is the mercy of God: to allow our selves to be at rest in him.

In any case, a person with firm knowledge of God and themselves has their psychological disposition determined entirely by whether or not they are certain that the mercy of God has been showered upon them. There emerge, at the two ends of the spectrum, a fascinating result. That is, absolute knowledge that the mercy of God is directed only upon others, and not on one's self, is a state whose only logical conclusion is an absolute rejection of every virtue which takes part in the divine. Its perfect embodiment is in Lucifer himself, who rages against every part of God's creation which has received His mercy. It is loathsome and intolerable.

On the other hand, absolute knowledge of God's mercy for oneself can only lead one to rest in every aspect of the divine virtues. This type of person truly shines forth the divine light on the world, and its perfect embodiment is in the Christ, who, being the Son of God, knew his father's love as only a first-born son can.

But do any of us feel this kind of rest? By this very lack, the dilemma stands: how can we know that we are saved?

Enigma

At one time, Christ called to Judas also, and said, "Come, and follow me", as he had done to each one of those other venerable disciples, and yet, was Judas not to receive mercy? He travelled with his companions, listened to the teaching of Christ and saw wonderful works, how could he remain unchanged? It is even so that he must, at one time, have shown a strong faith and love because he was given charge of the common wealth of the group, to be used to provide for themselves and sooth the needs of the poor.

But sin was powerful in Judas.

As it does with all of us, it must have started small. "I will buy myself extra food today", he said to himself, "because I have given much, and worked hard to help these destitute". But if Sin is fed, it will grow, and grow it did. Into what did it grow?

Judas is a bit of an enigma, and the Written Word does not necessarily resolve our view of him. There are, in fact, two deaths of Judas in the New Testament. In one, he commits suicide. In the other, he dies accidentally. This difference is perhaps deceptively simple. Unnoticed.

Variations

I

Judas arose from supper with a plan. Jesus claimed he was to pass away soon, so why not take advantage of the political unrest which He was creating? He would go to the chief priests, and his service would be greeted with a substantial reward. Perhaps some sum of silver. After meeting the priests, his belly still full of food, and now his pockets full of silver, he felt particularly satisfied with himself.

Later, Judas approached Jesus in the garden. He was followed by a great throng, and intended to kiss Jesus so as to show the crowd whom it was that they were seeking. But, he was caught by surprise.

"Would though betray the Son of Man with a kiss?"

"Certainly rabbi, for as you said, it is not I, but Satan within me who compels me to betray you. Jerusalem! This is your man!"

And, standing to the side, he watched as the crowd seized Jesus. He snorted at the pathetic attempt by the disciples to protect him. And, satisfied that the job for which he was paid was now complete, he went his way.

He found out only much later the result of the trial. He was surprised to learn that the punishment for Jesus was so severe. He was expecting, perhaps, a beating and exile. But, people will do many unexpected things. Regardless, it was not he who killed Him, but the overexcited crowd making unreasonable decisions. Otherwise, the day was young, and Judas was taking his new wealth to buy a place for himself. Some place where he could live a comfortable life.

Later, he found his field. A beautiful place. He gazed upon it as the sun set over a nearby hill, satisfied with his actions. Walking across it, he tripped and fell. He caught his abdomen on a rock, and much to his surprise, his bowels gushed out upon the ground. Just before he passed out, he perhaps considered the irony.

II

Judas arose from supper with a plan. Perhaps he saw that, if Jesus did pass away, as he had been continually telling them, then Judas could no longer find his income through the money of the group. Further, the political unrest in Jerusalem made him certain that he would be well rewarded if only he informed the authorities of Jesus' location. He thought, perhaps, that after a public trial, and probably a beating, Jesus would be turned out of Jerusalem. Maybe not much worse for wear.

So he went, and he received his silver.

When Judas approached Christ in the garden, he led a great throng, and, approaching Christ to greet him (and thus, expose him to the mob), he was caught by surprise.

"Would thou betray the Son of Man with a kiss?"

The shame was certainly too much, but things had been put in motion, and could not be stopped now. Judas ran through the crowd, keeping his head down so that he could no longer be seen by his companions. He stole into the night.

Watching Jesus' trial from a corner, he hoped beyond hope that no harm would come to him. He hoped that his act of betrayal would, in the end, turn out to be nothing. Perhaps he could even return to Him afterwards, and, seeking forgiveness, be granted it by one such as this, who can forgive sins. But as the night went on, the anxiety only increased, and Judas sank into despair as it became clear that Jesus would be condemned to die. The insanity had seized the Jerusalemites, and they were now more willing to free a murderous criminal than acquit a man who had truly done nothing wrong. As Jesus was tortured and led out with the cross, Judas quietly went to the priests, dropped the money at their feet, and cried out "Take back this evil wage, for I have sinned against an innocent man." The crowds were all at the trial, and so Judas walked through quiet streets. He saw a beggar against the wall, a blind man. If he had had anything to give, he certainly would have given all of it. But he had nothing. He had thrown down all of his wealth at the feet of his tempters. At that moment, he knew he could do nothing to replace the man whom he had betrayed. There would be none like him, and he would die. There would no longer be a man who could take halt the decay of this world. No longer a man who could truly sooth the wounds in our spirit. He knew that for the rest of his life this fact would torment him. He would never sleep, never eat, and never find joy in any earthly thing. After gazing upon something so divine, he could see only decay in everything. But, he knew how to alleviate the pain. He took a length of rope, and found a lonely tree in a barren field.

Reconciliation...

The fruit of Judas was twofold, in the one hand, Judas' betrayal of Christ brought about a resting place for those who are poor in spirit. Analogously, the return of the 30 pieces of silver, which the priests used to buy the potter's field, yielded a place of rest (burial) for "strangers". A closer examination enlightens us. These strangers were precisely the indigent poor, those without possessions, housing, or a means for making a living, the totally disabled. Thus, his fruit is a place of rest for the poor, both spiritual and physical. This latter is precisely the fruit of his repentance. It is odd that such a man should produce these things.

But, in the end, what did Christ say to Judas himself? In the first type of Judas, perhaps nothing was said, this Judas was in the state of despair which does not even acknowledge the eternal in his self. But, in the second type, we see a man who, perhaps, received mercy without knowing it. He at least had some knowledge of his self, and that it stood in some relationship to the eternal. At least, in a relationship to the eternal idea of the fountain of life, whom he supposed to have ended. Perhaps Christ, after the ascension, said to Judas "Did I not call you also? Peter too, betrayed me, but, instead of money, he desired to save himself from the power of men. So, Judas, do you love me? Rise and follow." This would be the utmost mercy, even greater than the thief on the cross, who could do nothing, but could at least express his joy at the mercy of Christ in this life. He had some fruit, some visible sign. Judas would have had none, and yet would be plucked out of despair and misery greater than any we may possibly imagine.

One may cry out at this possibility, for Judas is, in church tradition, the embodiment of all that we despise in mankind, but I justly inquire as to whether or not any of us feels closer to the other venerable Disciples than we do to Judas. What then, for us?

But perhaps I am too harsh, perhaps there is more hope than what first appears, in either this (probably apocryphal) interpretation, or in another place. That place is this: if we have received mercy, and we have received it properly -- knowing its necessity as well as its gravity --, then we cannot help but have it change us. It is a force that is more powerful than our will to be or not to be our selves against God. But most of us do not feel fully this fruit. We are in a nebulous space of doubt. But, knowing these things, we must certainly cry out in prayer that it would not be the case that we would be one of these types. We should plead that mercy would have meaning for us, that it would change us, and that we would be able to reconcile our selves to God. Otherwise, we are embracing this descent into despair, to the point of standing in opposition to the only thing which can save us from it. Christ himself.

Style adjustments

After asking my friends for comments on this blog, I noticed that with fair frequency the complaints fell mostly to "length". That is, the posts are too long. Thus, for this post, I will try to characterize the essence of my mission without giving you 2100 words.

"Things are probably more complicated than you imagine them to be, and your answers show a disrespect for the questions, which always have far more gravity than you are comfortable with."

However, I do have to apologize for the fact that the post a posteriori to this post will actually be longer than the previous post by a substantial amount (even though it could probably be divided into 2-4 posts). I feel that as a whole, it has some benefit in being presented as one, so as to reinforce the relationships in the text. In the future, I hope I can think of shorter topics (see above, this may not be possible).

... We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.