Perspective

This is a topic which has been much on my mind recently. On the practical level, the concept reminds me that people whose perspectives are limited (that is putting it with more charity than that to which I am inclined in dealing with members of this set) spend a good deal of time talking but are totally unaware that they are usually saying nothing. In a more positive sense, and this particularly in my intellectual pursuits, I greatly enjoy seeing how different perspectives can colour attitudes towards a period or concept.

I recall when a couple I knew, who were active in the church where I served at the time, had a fire in their flat. Both the pastor (who also was formed in a Franciscan tradition) and I had spoken to them at length. The moment that others from the church heard of the fire, that fortunately no one had been injured, and that we'd seen them since, the first questions tended to be about how much damage there had been to their possessions and other related business. Both the friar and I would never deny the importance of necessities of life, yet it had not even occurred to either one of us to ask. Franciscans are 'raised' in an environment where material goods are rarely mentioned, and it would not have entered our minds. (We both were ones for ascetic theology as well. This explains why, though both of us have dealt with serious health problems, we both were totally puzzled when we heard others say things such as "the most important thing to pray for is your health.")

In my theological studies, I love reading presentations from varied perspectives. Any scripture scholar would shudder at the sermons of the 14th century, and, though Eamon Duffy presents a delightful treatment of how devotion was fervent in the high middle ages, a specialist in liturgy would consider it a wasteland. Of course, were such an unlikely conversation to arise in my presence, and I was too weary to explain the mediaeval charm, I could inspire a debate between the two about the revised lectionaries, and whether unity of theme justifies a lack of exegetical connection. :)

Undoubtedly, one of my future entries shall be about why the supposed return to a fourth century purity of liturgy was coupled with ignoring that a good deal has happened in the centuries since. Yet another will explore why Martin Luther (in an undying tradition of assuming that Paul of Tarsus was writing systematic theology) had an exegetical method which made it appear that a 1st century Jew was addressing the oppressiveness of mediaeval penitential systems. But this is one of my weary days, so I'll keep this reflection short.

I'm fond of John Henry Newman, probably because he fits my dad's "book learning, but not the ways of the world" category just as well as do I. I'm not suggesting that I have anything approaching his theological knowledge - in fact, I would say that he is probably the only true theologian of 19th century England. I have no doubt of his sincerity or devotion, and would applaud many of his writings. This is not to ignore that he had the worst judgement on the planet, and far more dedication than prudence.

I'll excuse the disaster of the "Second Spring sermon", agreeing with Owen Chadwick that Newman was suffering from the 'disease of conversion' and would have not been so imprudent five years later. Yet it does amaze me that one with Newman's intelligence was not only blind to the insult to his Tractarian roots (I'll not even think of the social and political implications for the moment) but seemed totally unaware that he'd insulted most of the English Catholic community he had just joined. Of course, this was only one of many examples of how, whenever Newman was sent in to fix something, he inevitably made the situation worse. Nor did he, for all his learning, see the flaws in Wiseman's approach.

Heavens, am I dealing in understatement today! Perhaps I'm learning charity of speech after all. :)