#evil #privationtheory #theology #cybernetics #systemstheory

Recently for class, I read Rowen Williams’s book, Tokens of Trust. In Chapter 2, Williams discusses the mechanics of the cosmos, focusing on the complexity and coherence of how the world operates. However, he is quick to resist the common mechanistic accounts of the world, such as the old analogy of the cosmos as a watch or a fixed machine. Instead, Williams maintains that the systems are dynamic and capable of change. Though he did not specifically use the term, it sounds like Williams envisioned a type of cybernetic viewpoint of the world, which might align more with systems theory.

Cybernetics and systems theory are interdisciplinary fields that explore the complex interactions and behaviors of systems, be they mechanical, biological, social, or computational. They provide frameworks for understanding and managing the intricacies of dynamic systems in various domains.

Cybernetics, coined by Norbert Wiener in the mid-20th century, focuses on the study of feedback loops and control mechanisms within systems. It seeks to understand how information flows within a system and how it can be used to regulate and optimize system behavior. Cybernetics has applications in fields such as robotics, artificial intelligence, and management, emphasizing the importance of communication and feedback in achieving system goals.

Systems theory, on the other hand, takes a broader perspective and encompasses the study of systems at multiple levels of complexity. It emphasizes the interconnectedness of components within a system and their roles in influencing system behavior. Systems can range from simple mechanical devices to complex ecosystems or organizations. Systems theory helps in modeling, analyzing, and predicting the behavior of these systems. It provides tools for problem-solving, decision-making, and holistic thinking.

Both cybernetics and systems theory share common principles, such as the consideration of feedback, adaptation, and emergence. They are crucial in addressing contemporary challenges like climate change, healthcare management, and information technology. These fields enable us to design more resilient, efficient, and adaptable systems by recognizing the interplay of elements within them, ultimately contributing to a better understanding of the complex world we inhabit. An interesting perspective within some circles of cybernetics is the role of teleology because the feedback mechanism within a system can be understood as operating according to an ascribed telos. Thus, as the classic example goes, a thermostat operates according to the telos of an established temperature. When the temperature in the environment dips below that temperature, the thermostat activates a negative feedback loop to course-correct and bring the temperature back to the desired telos.

Rowen Williams, borrowing from Thomas Aquinas, maintains that the systems of the world have their ultimate teleological end in God. Thus, all systems find their truest nature in bringing glory to God. However, given that the world systems have such complexity and possibility for change, the systems can either go with the telos or against it. Complex, interdependent, and interrelated systems produce complex changes that can bring about drastic consequences — especially when rational agents are involved and influencing those systems (William, 40).

Though it doesn’t solve the problem of evil, I think such a perspective provides helpful analogies for thinking about evil in our world. Evil is like a positive feedback loop that causes the system to operate against the telos and into chaos. But before I can develop the analogy further, allow me to explain negative and positive feedback loops, because negative and positive are used in a technical sense, not in a value sense. To make it easier, I'll break it down into a compare and contrast, focusing on purpose and operation, and give a simple example.

Negative Feedback Loop:

a. Purpose: Negative feedback is a stabilizing mechanism within a system, aiming to maintain or restore a desired state or setpoint. b. Operation: When the system deviates from its desired state, negative feedback mechanisms work to counteract that deviation. They reduce the gap between the actual state and the desired state. c. Example: In the human body, negative feedback regulates body temperature. When you get too hot, sweat glands release sweat, cooling the body. When you get too cold, shivering generates heat, warming the body.

Positive Feedback Loop:

a. Purpose: Positive feedback amplifies deviations from a system's desired state, potentially leading to exponential growth or a significant change. b. Operation: Instead of opposing changes like negative feedback, positive feedback mechanisms reinforce them, causing a continuous deviation from the initial state. c. Example: A classic example is a microphone too close to a speaker. The microphone picks up sound from the speaker, amplifies it, and sends it back to the speaker. This loop continues, leading to a loud, screeching noise.

Thus, when these insights are applied to how we think about evil, we can analogously say that evil operates as a positive feedback loop, similar to an invasive species. Imagine that you introduce wild rabbits into an ecosystem, and let them reproduce as much as possible. This is a positive feedback loop that will tend toward accelerating chaos and system breakdown that is extremely difficult to stop. Or, think of an invasive species of plant that spreads throughout an ecosystem. In many such cases, the invasive species can be a positive feedback loop that brings chaos and destabilization toward the system, but it’s incredibly difficult to remove it without damaging the entire ecosystem.

What I like about this analogy is that it is compatible with the privation theory of evil. In the two analogies I gave, both rabbits and the invasive plant are good in themselves and are good when they are operating in their proper environment. The “evil” is derived from a misalignment of goods in a way that breaks down the proper teleology of the system. Likewise, I think we could say that evil has no telos because, ontologically speaking, evil as such does not exist, but is rather a privation of the good. However, at the same time, this analogy of a positive feedback loop captures something about the emotional force and devastation that we often feel when encountering evil, and the language of privation, though technically correct, often feels hollow. Finally, what I like about this analogy is that it aligns with Jesus’ parable.

Matthew 13:24-30 reads: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field, 25 but while everybody was asleep an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and then went away. 26 So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. 27 And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ 28 He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ 29 But he replied, ‘No, for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. 30 Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’ ”

It’s not a perfect one-to-one correlation, but I think there’s a strong resonance between Jesus’ teaching and the analogy of evil as an invasive species operating as a positive feedback loop.

Williams, Rowan. Tokens of Trust: An Introduction to Christian Belief. 1st U.S. paperback ed, Westminster John Knox Press, 2010.

#sublime #CasparDavidFriedrich #romanticera #art #music #GeorgesBataille #aesthetic #theology #religiousexperience

Yesterday, I listened to Laufey’s brilliant new jazz album “Bewitched.” It simultaneously captures the power of Ella Fitzgerald’s love ballads, Nat “King” Cole’s heartfelt spirit, and the reflective sadness of Sinatra’s “In the Wee Small Hours of Morning.” I was brought to tears. Laufey has managed to penetrate into the depths of human emotion, showcasing the sublime beauty and heartache of falling in love. The album is astonishingly passionate, and it refuses to compromise or tame itself, reaching into the extremes of sadness (”California and Me”) and love (”While You Were Sleeping”). Like a breath of clean air after years of a polluted environment, Laufey’s words, instrumentation, and vocal cadence are an unapologetic, full-throttle sincerity. Her music — simultaneously angelic and concrete—puts to shame the trollish and ironic dispositions of our current milieu, where authentic human emotions are obscured for non-committal niceties. In short, the album is a testimony to the depths of the human spirit for an age in which it feels like our souls have been ripped from our bodies. “Bewitched” is not merely a once-in-a-lifetime artistic achievement, it is a spiritual masterpiece.

To expand upon the spiritual reality Laufey was able to capture, I will turn to an explanation of the Romantic era, the sublime, and the link between romance and religious experience.

Romanticism and the Sublime

The Romantic era of art, which spanned from the late 18th to the mid-19th century, was a period characterized by a profound shift in artistic expression. It emerged as a reaction against the rationalism and restraint of the Enlightenment — instead embracing emotions, nature, and mystery. At the heart of this movement lay the concept of the sublime, a powerful and often overwhelming aesthetic experience that evoked both terror and awe. As I've said before, it's like looking over the edge of the Grand Canyon. The sight is overwhelmingly beautiful, but it is simultaneously terrifying because the canyon is so deep that one could fall to one's death if not careful.

Caspar David Friedrich, a prominent figure in Romantic art, expertly exemplifies this connection between the Romantic era and the sublime. Friedrich's works, such as “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog” and “The Monk by the Sea,” are quintessential examples of the sublime in art. His landscapes are vast and majestic, depicting untamed nature in all its glory, but saturated with deeply spiritual themes and undertones. In these paintings, human figures are often minuscule compared to the grandeur of the natural world, emphasizing the finitude of humankind in the face of nature's (and, for Friedrich, God’s) sublime majesty.

The Romantic artists sought to capture the sublime not only in nature but also in the human spirit. Emotions, often intense and tumultuous, were celebrated in their works. Friedrich's use of symbolism, such as the solitary figure gazing into the abyss or standing on a precipice, conveyed the individual's quest for self-discovery and spiritual connection with the sublime. Furthermore, Friedrich's manipulation of light and shadow created an atmosphere of mystery and transcendence. This technique intensified the emotional impact of his paintings, inviting viewers to contemplate the vastness of the universe and their place within it.

The term “romance” in the Romantic era originally referred to medieval tales of chivalry and adventure, often involving heroic knights and heroic deeds. These stories were marked by a sense of wonder, idealism, and a focus on individual passions and quests. The Romantic era drew inspiration from this idea of individualism and the pursuit of intense, personal experiences, which is why it came to be associated with the term “romance.” However, I believe that this artistic movement also sheds light on the romance of falling in love, and the qualities of sublime love are captured quite powerfully in Laufey's album. During its prime, the Romantic era often linked sublime beauty with masculinity and grandeur. But in our contemporary age, Laufey brings a much-needed feminine perspective. And although the album has moments of grandeur in which the music builds and the symphony swells, her music is also able to capture the spiritual and sublime moments found in the calm and quiet. Laufey does this by focusing on falling in love.

The Spiritual Dynamics of Falling in Love

Falling in love is both the greatest catastrophe and purest ecstasy. Hence, someone overcome with romantic emotions is said to suffer from lovesickness. One wants to cry bitter tears when on the mountaintop of joy and sing joyous melodies when in the valley of sadness. A romance into which one fully surrenders oneself is vulnerable, raw, and terrifying — but it is the sacrifice necessary to most intimately glimpse the divine light in the Other. It is, in short, sublime.

Moreover, similar to the spiritual themes saturating Caspar Friedrich’s paintings, the feeling of falling in love is akin to a religious experience. It is rapturous and overtakes us without us necessarily preparing for it, such as looking over a mountainside and suddenly recognizing our own finitude and contemplating the Infinitude of the Divine. Or, in Laufey’s case, her album begins with a song (”Dreamer”) in which she promises to not open her heart again— “And no boy's gonna be so smart as to / Try and pierce my porcelain heart.” But the album ends with her experiencing a rapturous pull into the beauty of love once again:

I try to think straight but I'm falling so badly

I’m coming apart

You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart

And bewitched me

The rapturous power of falling in love is perhaps why many religious persons wish to shun the passion of romance, fearing that the ebb and flow of infatuation will replace God in one’s life. However, if we look to the artists of the romantic era and the philosophy of Georges Bataille, we can see why romance is religious without needing to bring charges of idolatry.

The romantic artists understood that instances of the sublime brought about a keen awareness of one’s own finitude. The overwhelming beauty cascading over oneself — as beautiful as it is terrifying — has a way of breaking one’s consciousness. However, this breaking is by no means traumatic. Instead, it is the necessary expansion of one’s awareness to perceive new depths of truth. A whole new reality is opened to oneself in such moments.

Georges Bataille recognized the link between beauty, terror, and the loss of self in his work “Erotism: Death and Sensuality.” Within this book, he develops a theory of limit experiences. To quote what I have written in my previous post, a limit experience can be created through an experience of the intense combination of the erotic (not necessarily just sexual) and that which is terrifying. This is because limit experiences entail a loss of self and a dissolution of individual boundaries. In these moments, individuals transcend their individuality and merge with a larger whole, experiencing a sense of continuity and connection with the universe. Bataille associated limit experiences with a kind of sacred or mystical state that disrupts the everyday order and opens up possibilities for profound transformation. He notes that both erotic encounters and moments of terror (especially witnessing death) bring about this loss of self into the broader world, like pouring water into the ocean. For Bataille, such limit experiences provide a means for understanding religious experiences as well — especially the mystical and rapturous experiences reported by many saints. Such moments are the loss of self into the divine.

Thus, we can see that true romance — the catastrophic joy of falling in love — bears structural resemblance to the sublime and to limit experiences, and hence, to religious experience. Romantic love involves the boundary-breaking, vulnerable expansion of self into the realm of the Other. And we find examples of this moving beyond oneself both in the love songs of the great poets and in the deepest ecstasy of the mystics, for even a casual reading of the mystics will thrust oneself into a romantic spirituality full of passion, rapture, and the sublime.

Of course, things depend to some extent on context and the individual, but I disagree with the de facto charge that one falls into a passionate romantic love merely because one is too immature to keep his or her emotions in check. The truncated immanence and secular materialism of our culture often discourage higher forms of spiritual rapture. But the vulnerable strength it takes to risk pain for the sake of love reveals something deeply true about reality that one cannot learn in the abstract. Falling in love might instead be a sign that one’s soul is alive. Moreover, from my own Christian perspective, enduring vulnerability and even pain for the sake of love is at the heart of Christ’s incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection—which is the ultimate statement about the character of Being Itself (God).

Conclusion

Through her music, Laufey was able to allow us to experience a real human soul once again. “Bewitched” is powerful because it is so vulnerable. It is coherent because it is emotionally contradictory. Laufey has pulled back the curtain and shown us once again what it means to be a spiritually alive human— to fear, to hurt, and to love simultaneously beyond the boundaries of self.

#filmanalysis #art #DietrichBonhoeffer #SergeiBulgakov #theology #GeorgesBataille #atmosphere #CarlJung #atmospherictheology

The films of Panos Cosmatos are known for their intense atmosphere and striking use of color, drawing viewers into a world that is at once eerie and awe-inspiring. In works such as “Mandy,” “Beyond the Black Rainbow,” and “The Viewing,” Cosmatos creates a sense of otherworldliness through his use of color, light, space, and atmosphere. The screen is transformed into a mystically cosmic spectacle, disclosing apocalyptic noumena behind the thin veil of the everyday. To elucidate these themes, this essay will draw upon atmospheric theory, Sergei Bulgakov’s theory of religious materialism, Carl Jung’s theory of color, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s theory of revelation, and Georges Bataille’s theory of limit experience.

Atmosphere

Atmosphere refers to the general affective quality of space and material environments when interacted with by agents. There are different models and theories about the ontology of an atmosphere. One metaphor is to say that atmospheres are like spatially extended emotions. Through the intentional staging of a material environment, a space can convey or encourage certain ranges of emotional or affective responses. Set design and staging within theatre is a great example. Professional production designers are highly skilled at constructing a stage that helps convey or support the affective qualities of the scene. Furthermore, as in the case of a haunted house attraction, human agents might not even need to be directly present in order for the space to radiate powerful emotions, such as fear.

Films likewise generate an atmosphere. Though it might not be as fully immersive as others, the staging of a film is capable of creating atmospheres that suture the viewer more deeply into the emotional landscape of the film. Panos Cosmatos brilliantly accomplishes this. For Cosmatos, the atmosphere is not merely a background, but rather an active agent in itself, playing as important a role as the actor.

Religious Materialism

In addition to emotional qualities, atmosphere can encourage or convey other types of emotional affects as well, such as religious affects. Religions throughout time have professed the religious significance of physical objects, sacred spaces, and material environments for worship. The 20th-century Russian Orthodox theologian, Sergei Bulgakov, called this “religious materialism” in his essay “Relics,” and the concept played a significant role in his own theology. In the essay, Bulgakov uses the topic of relics to articulate the vitality of the material world from a religious perspective and how, from his perspective, there is no such thing as dead matter.

Sergei Bulgakov's theory of religious materialism proposes that the material world is intrinsically connected to and infused with divine energies and attributes. According to Bulgakov, creation is not separate from God but rather a manifestation of God's presence and creative activity. Bulgakov emphasized the sacredness and spiritual potential inherent in the physical world, rejecting the dualistic notion that matter is inherently sinful or separate from the divine. Instead, he argued, based on the Orthodox doctrines of the Incarnation of Christ and deification of humanity, that matter is a vehicle for divine revelation and the realization of God's purposes, of which the Incarnation of Christ and sacraments like the Holy Eucharist are prime examples. As he wrote, “The spiritual bread, the heavenly food, is also bodily bread and food; by no means does the spiritual sacrament become incorporeal — rather, it is corporeal to the highest degree, corporeal par excellence. [...] [Christ] came not to destroy the world but to save it. Therefore, in the gracious life of the church, all that is spiritual is corporeal [...].” (Bulgakov, “Relics,” page 9, Boris Jakim translation).

For Bulgakov, the materiality of the world is not dead, but rather something sacred, given that it is thoroughly infused with divine life. However, this picture contrasts sharply with our Cartesian-capitalist paradigm in which matter is a dead resource waiting for exploitation. Material environments, human spaces, and urban buildings become little more than cogs in a wider machine. However, in the films of Panos Cosmatos, the world is strikingly more mystical and cosmic than the dead matter of modernity. Cosmatos’s cinematic worlds are pulsating with animated energies and spiritual dimensions that we cannot fully comprehend. Each landscape or set is permeated with a mystical and sublime awe, as if every part of the world is just a facet in a larger sacred space.

Jung and Color

The sacredness of the atmosphere and material environments within Cosmatos’s cinematography is captured largely through the striking use of color. To understand this point further, I will turn to Carl Jung’s theory of color:

According to Jung, colors possess inherent symbolic and psychological meanings that resonate with the collective unconscious, the universal reservoir of ancestral memories and archetypes shared by all human beings. Jung believed that colors have a profound impact on our emotional and spiritual states, transcending their visual aspects. He viewed colors as carriers of archetypal messages and symbolic representations of psychic energies. For instance, red is often associated with passion, vitality, and danger, while blue is linked to spirituality, introspection, and calmness. Jung argued that these associations are not arbitrary but rather reflect deep-seated universal symbols that have emerged throughout human history.

Within the realm of religion, Jung posited that colors play a crucial role in the expression and experience of religious phenomena. He noted that religious rituals often incorporate specific colors to evoke particular psychological states and tap into the collective unconscious. For example, the color white is frequently associated with purity and divine transcendence in many religious traditions. Similarly, gold and yellow are often connected to the sacred and divine illumination. Jung also emphasized that individual psychological experiences of color can vary due to personal associations and cultural conditioning. While certain colors may have universal significance, their interpretation can be influenced by personal experiences, cultural contexts, and individual symbolism.

Even if one does not concede the idea that there are specific archetypal meanings inherent within each color, I do think it’s not far off to note that religious rituals and religious experiences often involve the use of striking colors. In nature, colors are beautiful, but they are often more muted. Rarely do we encounter, for instance, a natural landscape bathed in bright purple. And if such instances within nature do occur, such as in the Aurora Lights, then it fills viewers with a sense of otherworldly awe. On the flip side, incomprehensible lights often occur in mystical experiences, and sacred architecture regularly incorporates colored phenomena not typically found in nature.

However, in the films of Panos Cosmatos, the world is saturated with mystical and transcended light. It is as if the veil has been pulled back from our eyes, and we see the radiant, spiritual dimension of reality that permeates the world around us. Cosmatos's films are a powerful example of the transformative power of colors in our inner world. By using color to create a sense of atmosphere and evoke powerful emotions, he taps into the viewer's psyche in a way that is both profound and unsettling.

Bonhoeffer and Bataille: Revelation and Limit Experience

The interesting thing about Cosmatos’s films is that the spiritual and the divine are not always equated with the good. Of course, there are many instances of the transcendent, color-rich atmospheres that do convey beauty and goodness — especially in the first act of “Mandy” in which cosmic colors interspersed with radiant natural lighting are used to show the love between Red and Mandy. However, some forms of spiritual, otherworldly, or transcendent experience turn into absolute terror and horror. Often, this is the case when, in a Frankensteinian or Lovecraftian fashion, the human characters attempt to grasp and control the transcendent themselves. Without giving away too many spoilers, we can see this within the “bad trip” scene of “Beyond the Black Rainbow,” in which Barry takes a concoction of psychedelics and has an existential breakdown from which he cannot recover. “The Viewing” likewise features a recluse billionaire for whom the world and its inhabitants are objects to collect, but his aspirations of collecting something truly beyond our world lead to drastic consequences. Thus, within the films of Cosmatos, the spiritual world is both overwhelmingly beautiful and also terrifying, filled with phenomena and agents beyond our understanding.

In a sense, this sublimity of overwhelming beauty and terror in giving oneself to the Unknown, and hoping that it is good (while there is a threat it could lead to one’s own destruction) captures a sense of the harshness of religious experience in secular age. When people encounter something truly beyond their understanding, it can sometimes be perceived as a threatening force that leads to self-destruction because it breaks down the truncated, materialist world in which we believe ourselves to inhabit. This is perhaps similar to what Dietrich Bonhoeffer talked about in his book “Act and Being.” For Bonhoeffer, when God reveals Godself, it breaks down our rational systems and subverts the expectations we have of reality. It’s almost like an inverted version of H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraftian horror typically involves themes of the unknown, and the incomprehensible, often featuring ancient and malevolent beings that exist outside of human understanding. It relies upon the idea that human knowledge and understanding are limited, and that there are forces in the universe that are beyond human control and comprehension. When the characters encounter these incomprehensible forces, they are filled with a sense of dread and helplessness, often leading to madness, nihilism, and the futility of existence.

For Lovecraft, much of the horror comes from a revelation that humanity is little more than an ant to the cosmic, extra-dimensional monsters. However, for Bonhoeffer, this gets turned on its head. The horror is not that God is malevolent or uncaring, but rather that God is so loving, is so full of grace, is so beautiful, that we feel like minuscule dirt compared to God’s Perfection. For Bonhoeffer, this is especially the case in the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation, in which this Perfection and Grace become incarnate in a particular person.

Back to the films of Panos, we can see this angst and struggle captured brilliantly in his films. There is a primal and cosmic dimension to the emotions and struggles of the characters. Stepping into the atmosphere is like stepping into another world, parallel to ours, in which everything radiates with the sacred. Or, stated another way, perhaps it is like taking our secularist blinders off for a brief moment and allowing the incomprehensible spiritual dimension of reality to rapture us.

The Bonhoefferian reading of Panos’s films brings some parallels to the theory of limit experiences as developed by the French philosopher, Georges Bataille.

According to Bataille, limit experiences are transformative and ecstatic encounters that push individuals beyond the boundaries of their ordinary existence, challenging established norms and rationality. Bataille believed that limit experiences arise from activities that involve risk, transgression, and the breaking of taboos. These experiences confront individuals with the limits of their own existence and reveal the underlying instability and irrationality of human nature. Examples of limit experiences can include acts of intense sexuality, ritualistic practices, extreme physical activities, or encounters with death.

Furthermore, as developed in his book Erotism, a limit experience can also be created through an experience of the intense combination of the erotic (not necessarily just sex) and the horrific. This is because limit experiences entail a loss of self and a dissolution of individual boundaries. In these moments, individuals transcend their individuality and merge with a larger whole, experiencing a sense of continuity and connection with the universe. Bataille associated limit experiences with a kind of sacred or mystical state that disrupts the everyday order and opens up possibilities for profound transformation. He notes that both erotic encounters and moments of horror (especially witnessing death) bring about this loss of self into the broader world, like pouring water into the ocean.

Bataille argued that limit experiences are essential for individuals to confront and transcend the constraints imposed by society and rationality. By pushing individuals to their limits, these experiences enable them to access a different realm of experience that is typically suppressed in everyday life. Through this confrontation with the limit, Bataille believed that individuals could gain a deeper understanding of themselves, the world, and their place within it.

Within films like “Beyond the Black Rainbow,” “Mandy,” and “The Viewing,” characters are shown having such limit experiences — situations that break down rationality and bring about a loss of self. However, such limit experiences often lead to the character’s own destruction, rather than the reconstitution of a consciousness that embraces a newfound sense of transcendence. These limit experiences are quite different from the types of experiences described by mystics, such as St. Teresa of Avila or Julian of Norwich. Perhaps this is because the saints and mystics were more embedded within a symbolic and living religious tradition that already embraces the sacred. Their limit experiences were reconstituted into a deeper awareness of God’s love and grace. Contrarily, for the characters within the Cosmatos filmic universe, no such structuring existence. It is simply the raw, unfiltered extremity of human experience, without any reconstitution into a higher meaning or purpose. In a sense, this capture the type of underlying nihilism latent within the secular. The spiritual and mystical is all around us, but we have all but lost our categories and structures for engagement.

Conclusion and Additional Remarks

In conclusion, the films of Panos Cosmatos are a powerful example of the transformative power of color and atmosphere in cinema. By creating otherworldly atmospheres, often using bright and striking colors, Cosmatos taps into the viewer's psyche in a way that is both profound and unsettling. His films convey a sense of the sacredness and spiritual potential inherent in the physical world, echoing the ideas of Carl Jung and Sergei Bulgakov. Furthermore, the sublimity of overwhelming beauty and terror captured in Cosmatos's films reflects the harshness and struggles of encountering the divine in a secular age, resonating with the ideas of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Georges Bataille.

But of course (and to perhaps entirely subvert my own writing) most religious experiences are not that extreme. In fact, they usually are cultivated within the small liturgy of the everyday, building up over time and transforming us step by step into a new person. There is great hope in this, because it means that we don’t have to rely upon the apocalyptic to dictate our religious experiences. It can start right now.

#SergeiBulgakov #theology #religiousmaterialism #atmospherictheology #spatialtheology

Summary

During Bulgakov's life, a major scandal broke out in the Russian Orthodox Church: vandals broke into a church and desecrated the relics of saints. In response to this event, Bulgakov wrote an essay titled “Relics” in which he articulates a theology of holy relics grounded within the doctrines of the Incarnation, resurrection, and deification. For Bulgakov, these doctrines combine to create a new understanding of material reality, which Bulgakov (somewhat reluctantly) calls “religious materialism.” I recently finished reading this essay, and I found it eye-opening and tremendously fruitful for reclaiming the religious significance of the physical and material world. This article provides a summary of his argument.

Keywords: Deification, Incarnation, Incorruptible, Materiality, Sacrament, Sainthood, Resurrection, Soul and Body Union, Phenomena and Noumena

Four-sentence summary:

1. The incarnation and deification are the core doctrines associated with relics, which creates an ontology of religious materialism.
2. The holiness of relics witnesses to the incarnational and sacramental sanctification of reality.
3. The bodies of saints contain the future resurrected bodies in the present.
4. The most important thing about a relic is its holiness, not whether it is incorruptible.

Incarnation and Theosis

The incarnation of Christ is the first doctrine associated with relics. The Christian doctrine of the incarnation is a fundamental belief that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, became fully human while remaining fully divine. It teaches that God, in the person of Jesus, took on human flesh and entered into the world to dwell among humanity. This belief is rooted in various biblical passages, such as the Gospel of John, which states, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14).

Additionally, the sacrament of the Eucharist stands in continuity with the Incarnation. Just as Jesus took on human flesh in the incarnation, in the Eucharist, believers receive the true presence of Christ—his body, blood, soul, and divinity—under the appearances of bread and wine. It is a sacramental participation in the life and sacrifice of Christ. Indeed, as Bulgakov points out, all sacraments contain a degree of materiality to them, such as baptism requiring water (more on this later).

Bulgakov believed that the incarnation was not only a redemptive act but also a transformative event for humanity and creation as a whole. Thus, the holiness of relics witnesses to the incarnational and sacramental sanctification of reality along with Christ, who possesses a “Holy flesh” and stands as the prime example of this new reality (pg. 14).

Through the incarnation, Christ united the divine and the human, bringing about a process of deification (theosis) by which humans can participate in the divine life and uncreated energy of God. Or, as Athanasius of Alexandria put it: “God became man so that man might become god,” which Bulgakov himself restates on page 8. The doctrine of deification, also known as theosis, is a theological concept within Eastern Orthodox Christianity. It teaches that through the grace of God and the work of the Holy Spirit, humans can partake in the divine energies and become united with God. Theosis involves a transformative process where believers are progressively conformed to the image of Christ, participating in the divine energies and attributes. It is understood as a synergistic communion with God that goes beyond mere moral improvement or ethical conduct, emphasizing a profound union between God and humanity, rooted in the incarnation of Christ. It is the ultimate goal of salvation, where believers are transformed in their thoughts, desires, and actions, becoming more Christ-like and reflecting the divine image. The doctrine of deification holds that humans, through grace, can share in God's life and participate in the eternal communion of love and fellowship with the Triune God.

For Bulgakov, this process of deification is not merely a future hope, but a reality that is breaking into the present. At the Ascension, Christ, in the flesh, created a ladder between heaven and earth (pg. 8). The sacraments are then a means by which this holiness and transformation are brought to us from above (pg. 8). This creates a spiritual power via being born again in the Spirit (pg. 8). Additionally, as discussed in The Bride of the Lamb, Unfading Light, and The Comforter, Bulgakov expanded the concept of deification to include the whole cosmos. He saw deification not only as a personal transformation but also as the restoration and transfiguration of the entire created order. Bulgakov believed that through the incarnation, Christ united heaven and earth, and the goal of deification is the renewal and glorification of all creation.

When the doctrines of the incarnation and theosis are combined, they create an ontology of “religious materialism.”

Religious Materialism

“Religious materialism” is a phrase used (somewhat reluctantly) by Bulgakov to describe the sacredness and religious significance of materiality. Reality is not spirit or matter alone, but is comprised of both of these principles at work simultaneously. Bulgakov then cites several examples of what he means by this. Humans are not spirit alone such as the angels. Likewise, God doesn’t take us out of the world but fills us with God’s power in the world (pg. 8). Additionally, as hinted at earlier, sacraments are not purely spiritual but involve material, which affirms embodiment (pg. 9). Sacraments do not lose their corporeality during e.g. consecration but rather become “corporeal to the highest degree” (pg. 9). This reveals a deep continuity between materiality and spirituality, which is the ground of holy things, objects, places, etc. (pg. 13).

Sacraments transubstantiate the cosmos, which link back to the doctrines of the incarnation and deification (pg. 10). Borrowing terms from Kantian philosophy and German idealism (which his Western audience would've been more familiar with), Bulgakov describes sacraments as keeping the material phenomenon but replacing its noumenon or the thing-in-itself (pg. 12). This priestly and sacramental transformation is what happens with relics (pg. 18). But how does this relate to bodies and relics?

Resurrection and Embodied Holiness

This sacramental sanctification or transubstantiation of the cosmos brings the future redemption of the cosmos into the present (pg. 17). It is the future resurrection manifest to the present, making the corruptible incorruptible, and bringing new life over against the mortal life of humans (pg. 25). However, one might wonder about the particular difficulties raised by the materiality and physicality of this future resurrection. The key difficulty raised by Bulgakov can be stated as follows: What about bodies that died long ago and have decomposed and spread matter throughout the earth? (pg. 26)

To answer this question, Bulgakov provides an analysis of 1 Corinthians 15, which is a famous passage concerning the resurrection. 1 Corinthians 15 is rather long, so I will not quote it at length here, but I'll provide a general summary: Paul argues that the resurrection of the dead is a crucial connection to the resurrection of Christ because Christ's resurrection signifies the first fruits of those who have died. As all die in Adam, so will all be made alive in Christ. The first fruit of the resurrection is Christ, followed then by those who belong to Christ. Drawing a parallel between Adam and Christ, Paul states that the first Adam come from dust, and the second Adam (Christ) came from heaven. As people who are of both dust and heaven, we will bear the image of the resurrected one. The perishable body will put on imperishability (or the “corruptible” will put on the “incorruptible”) — the mortal body will put on immortality.

According to Bulgakov, this passage is about “the dynamic centers or monads of a body that has supraphysical and supramaterial character as well as a cosmic [physical] character” (pg. 27). In other words, we have something like a spirit or soul, though Bulgakov is keeping a full definition intentionally vague so as to not get pinned down into one particular camp of the mind-body problem. But importantly for Bulgakov, his interpretation of 1 Corinthians 15 means that “The mortal body is a seed of the future body” (pg. 27), the seed being the dynamic center of the body. For Bulgakov, this implies that “bodies have different glories” (pg. 28) or exist on a spectrum of holiness, with some bodies more fully manifesting the in-breaking future resurrection than others.

I'm going to jump in and emphasize something important as an aside: This is a spectrum of holiness, and not physical appearance or disability. Someone with a disability might have a more glorified body than a supermodel in perfect health. I think this insight holds fascinating potential for disabilities studies. But I digress...

The dynamic core or spirit of the body is an “entelechy,” which means something with potency that is actualized through matter and cannot be destroyed or removed (pg. 28). The greater the spiritual strength, the more powerful this connection between the entelechy of the dynamic core and the physical body (pg. 28). In other words, a holy person will more clearly manifest or showcase the future resurrected body in their own physical body (pg. 29).

To provide an additional example, I've heard a phrase thrown around in Catholic circles that I find rather interesting. I've heard several Catholics talk about meeting people who are particularly holy and full of the love of God, and they are described as people who “glow.” There is something within not just their words but in their physical presence that manifests a witness to the glory of God. Returning to Bulgakov, he interprets the saints as more clearly manifesting the future resurrected body, implying that saints don't die like the rest of us (pg. 29).

Because saints more clearly showcase the future resurrection within their own bodies, it means that sainthood is a witness to the transubstantiation and deification of humanity (pg. 19) — and indeed the entire cosmos. The saint becomes an altar for divine power (pg. 20) and a witness to the future resurrection glory. Importantly, because the saint is witnessing or manifesting a future glory that involves the complete redemption of our bodies (the general resurrection), the saint’s holiness is an embodied holiness (pg. 21).

What does this mean for relics? Quite simply, it means that a relic is, in its most basic form, “a place of the holy body” (pg. 21). The proto-typical relic and thus prime example is Christ’s body in the grave on Holy Saturday before being raised to resurrection, eternal transfiguration, and glorification (pg. 23)

Objections and Rebuttals

Within his essay, Bulgakov also recognizes that relics are not without their detractors and skeptics, so he replies to three key objections to relics.

Objection 1: Relics are too superstitious in the modern age (pg. 7).

At least in my initial reading, Bulgakov did not have a direct rebuttal to this objection but rather allows his general theology to serve as a response. But let's parse this out a bit more.

If this objection was made from the assumption that God does not exist, then of course holy relics would not operate as the Church describes. Bulgakov obviously believes that God exists, but the question of God's existence is a different conversation outside the scope of this topic.

If the objector proposes that God exists and also that relics are superstition in the modern age, then I think Bulgakov would point back to how firmly relics fit within the core doctrines and beliefs within Christianity, and so are no more superstition than the resurrection of Christ or hope in future deification. If one holds a more deistic view and supposes that miracles do not happen within a world guided totally by natural laws, then Bulgakov's essay “On the Gospel Miracles” serves as a response. But once again, that is outside the scope of this conversation (though I'm reading that essay right now, so I will try to write a summary of that soon).

Objection 2: Extreme Protestants who call for no sacraments and only Word (pg. 7).

To this objection, Bulgakov's statement at the end of the essay would be appropriate: “Thus, our discussion has been based on the conviction that the question of the veneration of holy relics is by no means an external and peripheral question, by no means a question that concerns only liturgical and cultic formalities. (...) it is indissolubly connected with the very essence of the Christian faith. To deny holy relics is to deny the power of Christ's Resurrection (...)” (pg. 39). Once again, Bulgakov has demonstrated that relics fit firmly within core doctrines of Christianity, such as the incarnation, resurrection, and deification (and probably beatific vision if one was a hardline Catholic about this). Additionally, Bulgakov has provided a Christian ontology of religious materialism that pushes against the (extreme) Protestant call for only Word and no sacrament, which can sometimes fringe upon Gnosticism.

Objection 3: This is all just fetishism (14)

Of course, the term “fetish” is used here in the anthropological and religious sense, not the sexual one. Fetishism, in a religious context, involves attributing magical or supernatural powers to objects or symbols. These objects, called fetishes, are believed to possess inherent spiritual or divine qualities and act as intermediaries between humans and the spiritual realm. In fetishistic religious practices, these objects are revered, worshipped, and believed to have the ability to influence various aspects of life or supernatural forces. Fetishism is commonly associated with animistic religions, where nature and its objects are seen as having spiritual essence or powers. The term “fetish” comes from the Portuguese word “feitiço” and was initially used by European explorers and missionaries to describe the religious practices they encountered in Africa and other regions.

To the objection of relics being a form of (perhaps pagan) fetishism, Bulgakov gives one of his spiciest takes in the essay. In essence, he says, 'You know what? Fetishism is good actually. At least it's better than materialism and spiritualism' (pg. 14, not a direct quote). Fetishism is more closely aligned with the ontology of religious materialism that Bulgakov sketched out above. Furthermore, there is such as thing as pious fetishism, such as Jacob pouring out oil at Bethel after his dream (pg. 14). Thus, Fetishism is false not because of its understanding of the connection between matter and spirit, but because its theology is incomplete (pg. 14). Furthermore, God is omnipresent, but still makes distinctions between places, with some being more sacred than others, which is shown repeatedly in scripture (pg. 15). The kenotic act of creation means God gives Godself to space and time to be present with us but without changing the divine essence or undoing omnipotence (pg. 15).

Concluding Thoughts

I found this essay exhilarating and intellectually exciting. It's one of my favorite essays I've read recently. Bulgakov's religious materialism especially resonated with me, given that one of my primary interests is in the theology of sacred spaces, material environments, and atmosphere. I also really liked his defense of fetishism where he said that the basic underlying assumptions of fetishism — the spiritual reality of materiality — are correct; it's just that the theology is not yet complete. I wonder if such a position could be expanded into a broader ontology of Christian animism, which would also seem to fit within Bulgakov's religious materialism.

Hopefully, this summary was helpful. The essay is a wonderful piece of theological writing, and I encourage you to read the full thing if you get a chance.

#SergeiBulgakov #Trinity #Theology #Sophiology #Creation #openprocessing

Introduction

Poetic. Confusing. Beautiful. Controversial. Sergei Bulgakov's Sophiology ignited heated debate within the Russian Orthodox religious renaissance of the late 19th-20th century. Sophiology is a theological-metaphysical theory to account for how God is both transcendent to creation while also being the Ground of All Being, that the physical world is not merely dead matter, that creation comes into being by God's Being alone, and that God is personal. If you have never heard of Bulgakov or Sophiology, that is because the waters are still receding into the academic ocean, preparing for a coming tsunami of more mainstream Bulgakov scholarship in the years to come. Well, at least that's my hypothesis as of now. In this essay, I will attempt to give an over-simplified explanation of Bulgakov and his concept of Sophia.

Bulgakov's Brief Bio

Sergei Bulgakov was a Russian Orthodox theologian and philosopher who lived and worked in the late 19th to early 20th century. He was one of the most prominent figures within the Russian Orthodox renaissance of that time period. This renaissance was sparked, in part, by the mass expulsion of intellectuals from Russia shortly following the Soviet Revolution. Thus, Bulgakov and his contemporaries were writing and working as exiles in Paris. He spent his life as a professor, priest, and even was a confessor and spiritual mentor to Mother Mary Skobtsova, who went on to become a canonized saint.

The concept of Sophia is central to Bulgakov's theology. Unfortunately, this concept is incredibly difficult to understand, which has made it difficult for Bulgakov's theology to gain more traction beyond the narrow corners of academia. For instance, my earliest encounter with Bulgakov's work happened during my first semester as an MTS student at Duke Divinity. I'm not sure if I have ever read something that went so completely over my head. Ever since that fateful day, Bulgakov has haunted me, and I've been determined to try to understand him because, despite being so beyond me, I felt like he had something beautiful to say. So in what follows, I will attempt to give my best over-simplified explanation of Sophia. Please keep in mind that I am still a novice in Bulgakov, and so this should not be taken as the definitive explanation of his thought because I might very well be wrong.

The Divine Sophia

The term Sophia is taken from one of the names of divine wisdom found in scripture. It is the Greek translation of “hokhmah” which is used often in Proverbs. For instance, Proverbs chapters 1 and 3 describe wisdom in terms that are strikingly personal and exalted.

“Wisdom cries out in the street; in the squares she raises her voice. At the busiest corner she cries out; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks: 'How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple? How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing and fools hate knowledge?Give heed to my reproof; I will pour out my thoughts to you; I will make my words known to you.''” (Prov. 1:20-23 NRSV)

“The Lord by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding he established the heavens; by his knowledge the deeps broke open, and the clouds drop down the dew.” (Prov. 3:19-20 NRSV)

Bulgakov attempts to take the vast biblical witness to Sophia (which is far more inclusive than the two verses I provided) and create an expansive theological metaphysics that involves both the Trinity and creation. His aim is to theorize how Sophia works within the Trinity without being a fourth member of the Godhead, bridge the gap between Creator and creation, and balance the immanence/transcendence distinction in God's relationship to the world.

For Bulgakov, wisdom/Sophia names something about the essence of God. It is not a fourth member of the Trinity and it is not a person. But at the same time, it is also not a static substance or storage of abstract data. My favorite description I've come across thus far is from John Milbank, who described Sophia as a “person-making force.” It is a dynamic and living essence that, when engaged in relation, creates a person. Thus, in the act of eternal processions within the Trinity, when the Father communicates the divine essence to the Son and the Spirit, there is a communication of a person-making force from which the two persons eternally proceed or generate. This generation or procession of the Son and Spirit by virtue of the Father's communication of the divine essence is the foundation of the Trinitarian relations existing from all eternity. Bulgakov described this relationship in kenotic (meaning “self-emptying,” cf. Philippians 2) terms. The Son is the result of the Father eternally giving himself to another in absolute love, and the Holy Spirit is the hypostatic joy of this love which freely gives itself to another.

Indeed, for Bulgakov, existence itself has a personal character to it because all that exists rests on and in the Ground of God's own being. As he writes in Jacob's Ladder, “Everything truly existing is personal, because love is personal and therefore reciprocal” (Jacob's Ladder: On Angels, page 3). For Bulgakov, the essence of the Trinity is love, and true love must be personal love of the self-giving itself to the Other without dissolving itself. The giving of oneself to the Other without dissolving oneself is how the Father communicates the Divine Essence to the Son and Spirit. If that which truly exists is personal because love is personal, then this would then imply that the divine essence is not static or abstract but rather living and dynamic. However, we do not want to postulate Sophia as a fourth person of the Godhead, because that would be heresy. Likewise, we do not want to collapse the hypostasis (roughly translated as “personhood” or “person”) of the Father into the essence such that they are purely univocal, because the Father communicates the essence to the Son but not the hypostasis. Thus, the divine essence must be personal (a person-making force) without being a full Person with a capital P.

However, Sophia is not something existing only within the Godhead. There is also a creaturely Sophia, which is a distinct mode of being of the Divine Sophia, though they are both just one Sophia. Sound confusing? You're not alone. This is one reason why Bulgakov has proved both controversial and confusing, but let's see if we can parse this out.

The Creaturely Sophia

One of Bulgakov's main concerns is the need to bridge the gap between creation and its Creator without collapsing into pantheism or a harsh dualism like Manicheanism (where both matter and God are co-eternal and co-necessary substances). At the same time, Bulgakov wants avoid postulating that the existence of creation makes a change within the nature or essence of God. In other words, Bulgakov wants to avoid saying that only after the creation of the world did God become a Creator. Instead, Bulgakov insists that God is a Creator from all eternity, and not merely in the abstract potentiality for one day changing into a creator, but that God is a Creator in God's actuality. (cf. The Bride of the Lamb, pg. 62).

Additionally, Bulgakov wants to avoid bringing God down into the category of a being amongst beings. He is insistent upon God's total transcendence, aseity, and self-sufficiency. God is the Ground of All of Being or Being Itself. Because of this, Bulgakov wants to reject what he sees as a bad notion of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo (“creation out of nothing”). Creatio ex nihilo means that God did not use any pre-existing matter or material to fashion the world. God created the world purely through God's own power. Thus, it is often said that God created the world 'from nothing.' But Bulgakov insists that this “nothing” is not covertly 'something' like empty space. As he writes in The Bride of the Lamb, “It is impossible to imagine that, before creation, there 'was' a nothing that was like a kind of emptiness, a sack into which, later, upon creation, all the forms of being were poured. Such a state of divine being before or outside the creation of the world simply did not exist and could not have existed, just as there was no such emptiness and no such sack.” (page 44)

Thus Bulgakov is juggling many things at once.

1: Bulgakov's wants to avoid pantheism and harsh dualism.

2: Bulgakov believes that God is a Creator from all eternity (not merely potentially, but in actuality) instead of only becoming Creator with the creation of the world.

3: Bulgakov rejects the notion of creatio ex nihilo as implying that there was an empty space into which God poured the stuff of creation.

4: God is not a beings amongst beings, and is thus not reducible to the “first cause” or “prime mover” of the world, because God is transcendent to our causal categories in the unfolding of nature.

To hold onto these commitments, Bulgakov advocates a view adjacent to what is sometimes called creatio ex deo. The doctrine of creatio ex deo, Latin for “creation out of God,” is a theological concept that affirms that all things were created directly from the being of God. According to this doctrine, God's creative power is intrinsic to God's divine nature, and the entire universe, including both the material and immaterial realms, finds its origin in God. Creatio ex deo emphasizes that God is the ultimate source and sustainer of all existence, while rejecting that God used any pre-existent matter to create the world. In this view, the universe is seen as an expression of God's will and a reflection of God's divine attributes. The doctrine highlights the immanence of God, asserting that His presence permeates every aspect of the created order. It also underscores the unity between God and God's creation, suggesting a profound interconnection between the Creator and the handiwork. Creatio ex deo serves as a theological framework that affirms the transcendence and immanence of God in the act of creation.

Because the world is an expression of God's will and a reflection of God's divine attributes, the world is an expression of the Divine Sophia. The presence of Sophia (the person-making wisdom of God) permeates and sustains the world, somewhat similarly to the world soul theory of other philosophers. Sophia is thus a type of bridge or mediating reality between God and the world, simultaneously existing both in the creaturely sphere and within the Godhead.

My preferred analogy is music. Suppose we have a classical symphony with an orchestra and a conductor, who composed the music being performed. Before the orchestra plays, the composer first composes the music based upon the melody that exists within his or her mind. The music within the composer's mind is like the Divine Sophia. Then, the composer writes down the music externally on paper, creating sheet music that depicts the melody in the composer's mind. This is like the creaturely Sophia — the Divine Sophia gone outwards. The music depicted by the notes on the paper exist both within the mind of the composer and externally on the paper. This is similar to how Sophia exists both within the divine essence and the cosmos. However, the notes on paper are not quite yet music per se. Rather, it is like a music-making force. It comes into its fullness when the composer leads the orchestra in playing the music he or she created.

Of course, this isn't a perfect analogy, but hopefully, it is helpful.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Sergei Bulgakov's concept of Sophia emerged as a poetic, beautiful, and controversial theory within the Russian Orthodox religious renaissance of the late 19th-20th century. As a theologian and philosopher, Bulgakov aimed to reconcile the transcendent nature of God with His immanence in creation. Sophia, derived from the biblical notion of divine wisdom, represents an essence of God that is not a separate person within the Trinity but a dynamic, person-making force. Bulgakov sought to bridge the gap between the Creator and creation without falling into pantheism or dualism. He rejected the idea that God became a Creator only with the existence of the world and instead emphasized God's eternal creative nature. Bulgakov also challenged the naive notions of creatio ex nihilo, positing instead a view adjacent to creatio ex deo, which holds that all things were directly created from the being of God. The presence of Sophia permeates and sustains the world, acting as a bridge between God and creation while remaining present to each. While this summary provides an introduction to Bulgakov's theory, further exploration is necessary to fully comprehend his motivations and the intricacies of Sophia.

If you'd like a fuller introduction to Bulgakov, I highly recommend John Milbank's lecture about him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxhekTit-cc

#Christology #CarlJung #trauma #theology

The doctrine of Christ's descent into hell is not an archaic superstition, an obscure facet of Catholic and Eastern Christianity, or an irrelevant line in the creed. Christ's victory over the forces of hell is a profound truth with mystical significance for the redemption of our souls — especially when we recognize that Christ's victory is not only cosmic but personal as well. The same power of Christ that descended into hell is likewise active in descending into the deepest and most hellish places of our souls, bringing divine liberation, triumph, and healing. In this essay, I will utilize Carl Jung's interpretation of the underworld motif to analyze the doctrine of Christ's descent into hell as an archetype for how Christ descends into our unconscious.

The Harrowing of Hades

The doctrine of Christ's descent into hell, or the harrowing of hell/hades as it is sometimes called, teaches that after Jesus' crucifixion and before his resurrection, he descended into the realm of the dead, commonly referred to as “hell” or “hades,” to proclaim his victory over sin and death. The primary scriptural basis for this doctrine is found in 1 Peter 3:18-20 and 1 Peter 4:6.

1 Peter 3:18-20 says: “For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight lives, were saved through water.”

1 Peter 4:6 says: “For this is the reason the gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that, though they had been judged in the flesh as everyone is judged, they might live in the spirit as God does.”

These passages mention that Jesus preached to the spirits in prison, implying a journey to the realm of the dead. Additionally, in the Apostles' Creed, there is a line that affirms Jesus' descent into hell or hades.

The purpose of Christ's descent into Hell is interpreted differently among Christian traditions. Some view it as a triumph over evil and the Devil, while others see it as an act of liberation, freeing the righteous souls who were awaiting salvation. Others even hold it as a basis for belief in the eventual, universal salvation of all. In other words, hell exists, but it's now empty. The theological significance of this event varies, and not all Christian denominations hold it as a central doctrine. Some see it as more literal, and others read it more metaphorically.

Christ's victory over hell is, at the very least, a true myth. By “myth,” I do not mean a lie or a tall tale. Instead, I mean it in the more technical sense, which refers to a people group's deepest sense of meaning, wisdom, and understanding of the world placed into narrative form. Or, as Alan Moore described, a myth is what happens when a story transcends what it means to be a story and it becomes something universal.

For clarity's sake, I'm not denying that Christ actually descended into hell. But I must admit that I have no idea what that event would look like, played out in real-time. Unfortunately, Jesus didn't have a camcorder with him.

But if we get too caught up in trying to create a mental image in our mind of what that camcorder footage would look like, then we might end up missing the deeper, mystical insight of what Christ's victory over hell means. Thus, to help us apply the harrowing of hell, I will turn to the great theorist of myth himself, Carl Jung.

Jung and the Archetype of the Underworld

Carl Jung spent much of his research analyzing and theorizing about common mythological motifs found in stories across different cultures. He utilized the term “archetype” to describe the fundamental, inherited patterns of thoughts, behaviors, and symbols that manifest in various forms, such as myths, dreams, and fantasies. The descent into the underworld is one such archetype that appears in myths and stories across different cultures.

According to Jung, the descent into the underworld represents a psychological journey of self-discovery and transformation. It symbolizes a confrontation with the unconscious, where individuals encounter hidden aspects of their psyche, including repressed emotions, desires, and fears. The descent can be seen as a metaphorical exploration of the depths of the human psyche, a quest for self-understanding, and a confrontation with the shadow — the dark and often neglected or suppressed aspects of the self.

Jung saw this descent as an essential step in the process of individuation, which is the psychological integration and development of the self. By confronting and int