Kim Jong Un and the Numinous

Rudolph Otto’s idea of the mysterium tremendum et fascinans, the source of holy dread and attraction that sends shudders down the human spine, rises to the fore as North Korea’s young leader Kim Jong Un plays with the possibility of nuclear holocaust.

It’s one thing to play with toys. It’s something else when the toys are nuclear bombs and missiles.

In The Idea of the Holy: An Inquiry into the Non-rational Factor in the Idea of the Divine and its Relation to the Rational, Rudolph Otto examines what he called the “numen,” the non-rational mystery that evokes feelings at once terrifying and sublime regarding our human condition.

“Otto on the Numinous” provides a concise introduction by an unidentified City University of New York English professor.

In The Idea of the Holy: An Inquiry into the Non-rational Factor in the Idea of the Divine and its Relation to the Rational, Rudolph Otto identifies and explores the non-rational mystery behind religion and the religious experience (“non-rational” should not be confused with “irrational”); he called this mystery, which is the basic element in all religions, the numinous. He uses the related word “numen” to refer to deity or God.

Forced, necessarily, to use familiar words, like “dread” and “majesty,” Otto insists that he is using them in a special sense; to emphasize this fact, he sometimes uses Latin or Greek words for key concepts. This fact is crucial to understanding Otto. Our feeling of the numinous and responses to the numinous are not ordinary ones intensified; they are unique (I use this word in its original meaning of “one of a kind, the only one”) or sui generis (meaning “in a class by itself”). For example, fear does not become dread in response to the numinous; rather, we cease to feel ordinary fear and move into an entirely different feeling, a dread that is aroused by intimations of the numinous or the actual experience of the numinous.

The word “absolute” is used in its metaphysical sense of “existing without relation to any other being; self-existent; self-sufficing” (OED); its adjectival form, “absolutely,” is used with the same meaning.”

The fact that North Korea’s young leader Kim Jong Un is threatening the world with nuclear holocaust does what World War I did to many theologians who had presumed that history is on a course of inevitable progress.

It is not.

The power of death is enticing, a sin to which Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the bomb, later confessed. The human will to power becomes evil when real soldiers, real nuclear bombs, and real missiles, and real threats of destruction are mistaken for childhood toys or computer games where human folly can be erased by hitting a delete button.

We are all children inside, for both good and ill.

Looking at the young North Korean leader, psychiatrists might see an Oedipus complex, the son outdoing the father at the game of nuclear threat, the boy who played with matches and determined that if his father was afraid to light the fuse, he would step out from his father’s shadow onto the stage of world power in a way the world would never forget.

But deeper and more encompassing than any Freudian analysis is Rudolph Otto’s mysterium tremendum et fascinans.

The philosophical-theological debates about Modernism and Post-Modernism are interesting. They deserve our attention. But neither Modernism’s rationalism nor Post-Modernism’s deconstructionism is equipped to address the most basic reality which encompassing the human condition: the mysterium tremendum et fascinans and the horror of its daemonic distortion in the shrinking of it by the human will to power.

Whenever we take the ultimate trembling and fascination of the self into our own hands, the world is put at risk. In the world of the ancients and the pre-historical world of our evolutionary ancestors the consequences were limited to a neighbor’s skull broken with a club. In the advanced species that has progressed from those primitive origins, we have fallen in love with our own toys of destruction, the technical achievements and manufactured mysteries that are deadly surrogates for the mysterium tremendum et fascinans that sends shudders down the spine in terror and in joy before what is Real.

Our time is perilously close to mass suicide. Unless and until we get it straight that I/we are not the Center of the universe, the likes of Kim Jong Un – and his mirror opposite but like-minded opponents on this side of the Pacific – will hold us hostage to the evil that lurks in human goodness.

Progress isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The ancient shudder of the creature – the human cry for help in the face of chaos and the heart’s leap toward what is greater than the self or our social constructs – unmasks every illusion of grandeur in a world increasingly put at risk by little boys with toys.

P.S. Just as this piece was in final editing, Dennis Aubrey published “Mysterium Tremendum” on Via Lucis Photography.

✚ Lessons in Stone (Dennis Aubrey) ✚

✚ Lessons in Stone (Dennis Aubrey) ✚.

Dennis Aubrey’s “Lessons in Stone” took me back three years ago.

I’m sitting in a small room with a Benedictine monk at St. John’s Abbey in Collegeville, MN. It’s the first of six private meetings over a three day silent retreat.

“What brings you here?” asks the spiritual guide. “My step-daughter is dying of cancer.” “What is her name?” “Katherine.” How old is Katherine?” “Thirty-three. She was diagnosed four years ago with Leiomyosarcoma, a rare incurable sarcoma, and is now in her last months in hospice care.”

“So what troubles you? Are you afraid for the state of her soul?” “No,” I respond quickly. “Not at all. It’s not about that. God is Love. I don’t believe in hell.”

“Hmmm,” said the monk. “I see. Interesting. Our tradition says that there is a hell, but that the likelihood is that there’s nobody in it.”

The centerpiece of the tympanum that captured the attention of the little Danish boy in Dennis’ “Lessons in Stone” is the scene of God’s hand reaching to pull Saint Foy toward heaven.

You don’t have to believe in hell as an eternal state to cry out for release from its torments here and now, or to pray for a peace that passes all understanding.

The Refiner’s Fire

While reflecting on Malachi’s strange metaphor of  the refiner’s fire, Via Lucis’  post “Stillness Crieth Out” (re-posted here last week) re-focused the sermon. Here are the words from Malachi:

“Behold, I send my messenger to prepare the way for me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant in whom you delight, behold, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? “For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fuller’s soap….” – Malachi 3:1-2.

Thank you, Dennis Aubrey and PJ McKay, for you splendid insights to to these grand Romanesque and Gothic sacred spaces that still bring the soul to stillness and wonder.

I am lost to the world

Dennis Aubrey “I am lost to the world” on Via Lucis Photography caught struck a deep chord while preparing for the following Sunday’s sermon. Gustav Mahler, the photography, and the poetry lifted my soul in the midst of the toxic 2012 campaign here in the U.S.

An English Friend in Norman Coutances (Dennis Aubrey)

This lovely post from Via Lucis was almost deleted in the avalanche of campaign soliticitations in this morning’s in-box. Scroll down for the post. It lifted my spirits, prompting the following thank you:

Dennis and PJ, Your post gave me a lift this morning. Such grandeur. I am so weary of campaign television ads, phone calls, and internet solicitations that reduce the human spirit to its smallest proportions. I need the height, the soaring arches, the clean lines – and the reminder that sometimes even barbarity recognizes something else worth preserving. Beautiful shots and great commentary.

An English Friend in Norman Coutances (Dennis Aubrey).

Their post took me to the psalms, and psalm paraphrases set to music. One is Christopher L. Webber’s “I will give thanks with my whole heart,” a paraphrase of Psalm 138 set to the music of Cantionale Germanicum (1628) arranged by J.S. Bach (c. 1708).

All kings on earth who hear Your words,

O Lord, will give you thanks and praise

And tell how great Your glory is,

And they will sing of all Your ways.

The Lord is high, yet scornes the proud,

Protects the lowly on their path;

Although I walk in trouble, Lord,

You keep me safe from my foe’s wrath.

Lord, Your right hand shall save my life

And make Your purpose for me sure;

Do not forsake what You have made;

Your love forever will endure.

Third, fourth and fifth stanzas

Death in the Wood of Ephraim (Dennis Aubrey)

Dennis Aubrey of Via Lucis posted Death in the Wood of Ephraim (Dennis Aubrey), a one-of-a-kind reflection on the biblical David and the death of his slain rebellious son Absalom.

Dennis and PJ continually bring to the internet something very special: their thoughtful interplay between their photographs of Romanesque and Gothic architecture and commentaries on what they experience while photographing them and researching their histories.

Via Lucis is an example of the spiritual and artistic integration of external (visible) and internal (invisible) reality. This morning I left this comment for Dennis:

Dennis, this is such a profound reflection, in my view. Once again you weave the thread through the highs of joy and the depths of sin and sorrow in ways that move us beyond the separation of light and shadow/darkness that too often keeps us in spiritual and moral diapers, separating the sheep from the goats. Your note gives me hope that the time preparing for the pulpit is not in vain, especially when it is appreciated by someone who does not define himself as a practicing Christian. Friedrich Schleiermacher spent his life in conversation with “the cultured despisers” (i.e., good, rational people whose sophistication had led them to conclude that religion was a relic  that impedes the sure ascent of historical progress).  In your photography and writings I find a conversation partner who lives at the razor’s edge between belief and disbelief, joy and despair, the heights and the abyss of nothingness, and the honest search for hope and truth beyond the illusion of inevitable progress. If Romanesque architecture “induces internal experience and reflection…” – the internal experience of the external expression of Gothic – your photography and commentaries continually weave the two together to achieve a rare depth, and a balance between the seen and unseen, the external and internal. I am deeply grateful. – Gordon

If you go to Dennis’s site, please take a moment to comment. Or you may leave a comment here.

Heinrich Schutz’ lament for Absalom

Thanks to Dennis Aubrey of Via Lucis for sharing Heinrich Schutz’s rendering of David’s lament, “My son, Absalom!” in response to ”Holy Tears: David, Absalom…and Us” posted here on Views from the Edge this morning.

Sermon: The Estate Sale and a Thousand Years

Click 

This sermon, inspired by a visit to an estate sale and Via Lucis’ photographs of Gothic and Romanesque architecture, was preached at Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church in Chaska, MN.

Ephemera (Dennis Aubrey)

Profound and humorous personal story by Dennis Aubrey of Via Lucis.. “…And so I read these books in the library, but I carried them around the school halls in order that young women would be impressed.”  Lessons from Bertrand Russell, Alfred North Whitehead, Das Capital, libraries, books, and the raging hormones of  “the juvenile medieval monks who worked diligently in the scriptorium.”

Click Ephemera (Dennis Aubrey) for the photos and the story. Well worth the read.