"Take what you like and leave the rest" - especially if it's medieval

Needless to say, as one who maintains an Internet site about medieval topics, I tend to forget how confusing approaches of that era (and many others... including our own) can appear to those unfamiliar with the approaches and terminology. Cliché though it is, I not only find "take what you like and leave the rest" to be an especially wise approach in theology and philosophy. (I'm so used to doing so that I don't even realise how much I 'edit' when I'm studying.) I'm sorry that, in my own adult years, the idea of 'adapting to the times' so often meant nonsense, so what I'm about to say is not in the category of "make sure not to offend anyone, thereby sacrificing integrity." I've found it essential to always recall what a theologian or philosopher was either refuting or defending.

I have been participating in a discussion/reading group, where the current selection is Thomas Aquinas' Conferences on the Apostles' Creed. I love at least one idea in each chapter (and scrap the rest), but the anti-Semitism, emphasis on considering damnation, and so forth make me cringe. Then again, it seems to me there are at least three 'faces' of Aquinas. There is the mystic that I love, who wrote such glorious (and forever after misinterpreted) passages as those for Corpus Christi. There is the philosopher, about whom I've written extensively in the past. (One must always recall how much hands are tied by having to be careful not to even appear to forget or contradict doctrine or even devotion.) This particular work shows Thomas the homilist - and that is a confusing task for any day. Until well into the modern era, the purpose of sermons was seen as to call the hearers to repentance from sin. It's not that I think that is such a bad idea (...I not only think it's no accident that liturgical texts include a spot for daily contrition, but believe the most charitable action often can be when one has the insight and courage to 'do a Nathan' on us), but that it slants a great deal.

Last week's chapter was on 'He descended into hell.' I loved two elements of this exposition: that "no matter how anyone may be in affliction, he should not despair nor lose trust in the assistance of God," since "nothing can be so dire as being in hell." Of course, this is not the standard hell... it is the vestibule for patriarchs and such who couldn't be admitted to Paradise until the resurrection since the gate was locked at the fall of Adam. Considering that concepts of heaven, hell, and purgatory which had arisen by Thomas' time would have been a total puzzle in first century Palestine, let alone in the days of Abraham, and that concepts of the after-life were vague and, at least amongst Pharisees, centred on the ultimate resurrection, I'm still wondering how the apostles would have composed a creed which treated of descent into hell. The idea of Sheol dates back further, of course - we all remember the OT passage where someone indiscreetly summoned Samuel to appear - but none of the rabbis then or earlier patriarchs had read Augustine on 'the fall,' and presumably neither knew they were locked out nor knew a distant Incarnate Lord had the keys.

Paul of Tarsus, in a way, had it easy. His writings that had to do with our being redeemed in Christ don't condemn those other than the Christians, because he wasn't thinking of them in the first place - his words encouraged and inspired the fledgling Church, who, as heretics themselves, weren't likely to be distracted by the duties of the Inquisition and such. Poor Thomas! He had to make sure there was no doubt about all redemption coming through Christ (perfectly true, of course - but what about those unbaptised?) - and the cheeky 1970s feminist in me was tempted to say "if those not baptised were saved by circumcision, did God let Abraham out but not Sarah?"

The second part I liked immensely was about Christ as an example of love. I may not be big on the medieval concept of purgatory, but our being all one Church, with love enduring through all stages of our life in Christ, is one immensely appealing overall.

Coming from an entirely Catholic background theologically, and since Thomas is about as positive about creation and humanity as any western theologian, I had not realised that some of those in attendance would be quite uncomfortable with Thomas' throwing in our need to be afraid of hell (to avoid presumption), or the suggestion that we frequently descend into hell in thought, since consideration of death can keep us from mortal sin. I, of course, am an over-educated lover of the mystical but not a priest, superior, or anyone else in authority (thanks be to God...) I loathe any emphasis on hell! Thomas would set forth elsewhere that one should act in love for God, not out of fear of punishment, but sermons had to bring forth the pragmatism of the priest. It never occurs to me that, though acting out of fear (whether of divine punishment, social disapproval, criminal penalties) is far from practising virtue or growing in love, if (this is going to sound so pre-Vatican II pulpit, but it expresses the idea well) the only thing that can separate people from sanctifying grace is mortal sin, one tries to keep the flock from it in any way he can.

Lord knows I wish I had 1% of the saintliness that Thomas possessed, but (though I'm far better at studying mystic and ascetic theology than living it) I must laugh at myself that I tend to dwell in outer space. It doesn't matter that I'm a garden variety sinner. (I tend to forget that those such as Thomas or Alphonsus, who wrote wisely of casuistry, intended this for the clergy when they were in the role of confessor, not penitent. I'm in no way scrupulous, yet it takes me an hour or so to prepare for my periodic sacramental confessions. Five minutes to call to mind the messes I've got into since the last penitential season... then 50 of Thomistic mental gymnastics to convince myself I didn't act with reflection and consent.. then thirty seconds to finally admit that I did...) I really and truly think that everyone is focussed on virtue! (This has led to some dangerous situations in the past. I'm lucky I'm half behind the grille, considering that, were Jack the Ripper to speak of divine mercy and his own trust in this, I would never see that he had no conscience, but instead think "what faith this man must have, to so trust in divine mercy after all those murders!," then invite him in to join me for Vespers and a cigar.)

When it comes to my personal spirituality (hodge podge though it is), I actually favour the patristic writings most of all. I'm much more into deification than 'the fall' (I love Augustine in many ways, but not on that!). That does not mean that I'm unaware that scoundrels or the average but basically innocent existed in that supposed hey-dey of Christian thought (when most Christians were surrounded by pagans.) Those who were putting off baptism to get in plenty of sin before that one shot at total forgiveness were in huge numbers. Debates about whether forgiveness was possible after baptism, or whether only the holy could be considered still part of the Church, are less brutal to our eyes when we remember that the penitents were bishops who sacrificed to pagan gods, or solitaries who were escaping military service or taxes but selling pardons in the false names of those martyred.

Thomas may have used this chapter to refer to Jesus' defeating Satan on his own turf (even though, long before Thomas' day, the Evil One presided over a far more horrifying, and unquestionably permanent, kingdom than the patriarchs' waiting room... and even Thomas won't let the unbaptised babies have free passage to paradise, lest, I suppose, anyone doubt Christ as Redeemer or the importance of baptism, especially with non-Christian invaders not too far off and the need for an objective standard of who was Christian), but Thomas, however young, would have been far too wise to think we could blame Satan for all that much. We do most of it well enough on our own. I shudder at how 'evil does not exist' is a constant pastoral disaster, but love how Thomas thought that we were good, and that even evil is a failure to achieve potential, not depravity as in the minds of a few theologians I could think of from a later time.

Lord have mercy... it just struck me, and this for the first time in my life! I think everyone is trying to practise virtue - and that fear of hell doesn't grasp love - and that we are missing... our potential when we sin! Pastoral disaster or not, it is just this minute that I realised that it looks as if I essentially think evil is the absence of good! I'd best go get a nap.