The self-betrayal of evil

Some wise words from John McGuckin:

The face of evil is urbane and habitually masks itself in the present aeon of world history. It can even seek to mimic the good, and tries to fool even the elect, if such a thing were possible. Evil always betrays itself, however, for the simulation of the good is difficult for it, and its innate characteristics of agitation, spitefulness, lies, and hostility to what constitutes the peaceful good of others cannot help showing themselves at critical junctures. (The Orthodox Church, p. 234)

Agitation, spitefulness, lies, hostility to the peaceful good of others – a good summary of the attitude of the authoritarians, populists, and (crypto-)fascists who currently afflict the body politic.

God works around human freedom

The other day, I came across an interesting quotation from St John Chrysostom. He is trying to make sense of the disagreement between St Paul and St Barnabas over whether or not to reinstate John Mark as a companion on their missionary travels. And he says,

In many things they acted upon their human judgment, for they were not sticks or stones. (Homily 34 on Acts 15)

His point is that even the apostles did not have a reliable understanding of God’s will for their lives. This contrasts sharply with the determinism that has crept into some expressions of Christianity (via Augustinianism and Calvinism).

The aftermath of this blazing row between Paul and Barnabas is that they go their separate ways: Barnabas takes Mark with him to Cyprus, while Paul sets off for Syria and Cilicia with Silas. But as Chrysostom points out, this disagreement, far from hindering the Church’s mission, actually serves to spread the gospel.

We are not pawns pushed around on the chessboard of life by God. And our failures and sins certainly do not condemn us living God’s second best for us (a view that is regrettably only too common among evangelicals and charismatics). On the contrary, God adapts to our foibles and inexorably draws the cosmos towards its eschatological fulfilment. If you fancy a musical metaphor, think of God as the leader of a jazz ensemble rather than the conductor of a symphony orchestra.

Marcel Proust on seeing the world with other eyes

if we visited Mars or Venus while keeping the same senses, they would clothe everything we could see in the same aspect as the things of Earth. The only true voyage, the only bath in the Fountain of Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to see the universe through the eyes of another (The Captive)

And that is precisely what the great novelists, poets, musicians, artists, photographers, etc. enable us to do.

Icons and eye contact

 In my previous blog post, I wrote about how Gregor Samsa responded to hearing his sister playing the violin. The music reminded him that, in spite of appearing to be a monstrous insect, he was still human. And, as he recalls his humanity, he tries to make eye contact with his sister.

Eye contact is a recognition and affirmation of our shared humanity. So, perhaps we should try to make more eye contact with those around us. To say without words to them that we are both members of the human race – whatever our differences of class, race, gender, or age.

That makes me think of icons and the way in which, in so many of them, Christ and his mother and the saints make direct eye contact with us. Their eye contact is both a welcome and a challenge. Become what you were meant to be, they seem to say – fully human.

Here is a typical example. It is an ancient style of icon known as a mandylion, referring to the cloth-like background on which the face of Christ appears. This style is also sometimes called ‘not made with hands’. Both names refer to a legend in which Christ himself provides someone with an image of his face miraculously imprinted on a cloth.

This icon actually forms the centrepiece of our own icon corner. We commissioned it from the Scottish iconographer, Katherine Sanders in mid-2021. Acquiring it radically altered my appreciation of icons in general.

After placing the order, there was the inevitable wait. These things take time – if, like Katherine, the iconographer is in demand, there can be a ‘gestation period’ of several months. But, at last, the icon arrived and was unveiled in early 2022.

My first impression on taking the icon out of its packaging was that someone had joined us in the room. That impression has not gone away, and it has affected my perception of our other icons, even the ones that were mass produced! On reflection, it is that sense that the icon is challenging us with its gaze that gives it its presence.

So, I now find that icons have a presence that I would not associate with mere objects. In their proper (religious) context, icons are not commodities. We do not (cannot) possess them. They are not at our disposal. Rather, they are guests we have welcomed into our home.

Music and humanity

I was struck by this passage from Kafka’s Metamorphosis the other day:

And yet his sister played so beautifully. Her face was turned to the side, intently and sadly following the notes on the page. Gregor crept forward a little further, keeping his head near to the ground so that his eyes could meet hers. How could he be a brute beast, if music could make him feel like this?

To outward appearance, Gregor Samsa has become a monstrous insect (Ger. ungeheueres Ungeziefer, lit. ‘monstrous vermin’). His family has responded with hostility or indifference. He has come to be regarded as vermin and as a result is feeling increasingly isolated from the human race. Then he hears his sister playing the violin.

The music gives him the courage to dare to make eye contact. In response to what he hears, he risks breaking out of the isolation that has enveloped him. Music still has the power to move him. And in this capacity to be moved, he finds evidence of his continuing humanity.

The point is not really about the transformative power of music. Rather it is about Samsa’s capacity to be moved. To be human is to be capable of responding in this way to our fellow human beings and to God.