Friday, 3 February 2012

A Brilliant Process

Late in following their Protestant counterparts, Catholic biblical scholars have now generally accepted the theory that the Pentateuch originates from four main sources, compiled centuries after Moses. Even those who are skeptical of the theory do not often argue for the Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch, probably because it would be very difficult to do; it’s a bit like defending a young earth. Sure, you can punch holes in your opponents’ theories and answer their objections, but in the end, you accept a young earth or Mosaic authorship mostly because of an old tradition which you consider weightier than the complicated new theories. However, the reigning idea is that convictions should grow out of reason’s investigation, not float on the pool of Why Not.

I have to admit, Mosaic authorship appeals a lot more to my sensibility than the JEDP theory. The Christian story revolves around persons, individuals with a particular brilliance (in the sense of splendour and significance). Adam, for instance, as the first man. People have tried to make Adam disappear into a cloud of human ancestors, but as Pope Pius XII pointed out in Humani Generis, it is ‘in no way apparent’ how that could ever be reconciled with original sin. David, as the great king who unified Israel and was also a great poet – but of course his authorship of the Psalms is questioned. Solomon, traditionally considered the wisest person between Adam and Christ and also a great author of Wisdom literature – now frequently ascribed to anonymous court poets. Jesus himself, whose face people have sought to obscure by reducing him to a narrative created by the early Christian Church, of multiplex authorship and dubious credibility. At least Christian scholars have put up a successful defence against the last claim.

The tendency of recent centuries is clear: greatness is examined with a liberal dose of skepticism; an ancient genius is an aggregate of some noteworthy qualities and lots of borrowed clothes. As he has come down to us, he is more of a narrative than a person; he has absorbed others’ lesser glory into himself.

In a way this conflicts with the expectations of a Christian imagination. After all, our whole faith rests on a man in whom the fullness of divinity dwelt bodily. The cloud of witnesses does not obscure his historical reality, but rather illumines the greatness that shone in his life on earth, far beyond anything our minds can conceive. From there, it is natural to imagine that the first man was not simply something new, an animal creature endowed with reason and innocence, but that his newness was excessive. The first rational being among brutes, he did not have to use reason for laborious decisions and knowledge-gathering; no, he was free from irregular desire, from death, from suffering, from ignorance. In the creation of man, as in the conception of the Saviour, God brilliantly manifested himself by doing what is impossible for nature to unfold. Such things cannot be found by a reconstruction of the plausible. That makes it plausible that more implausible things have occurred. Formerly we looked to Scripture and Tradition to discover which these were. Now we usually can’t tell.

To the imagination that has been shaped by an evolutionary view (in a broad sense), Adam’s depiction above is an aesthetic affront. It is not illogical; it just clashes, in an unpleasant fashion, with our expectation of reality. It is like a painting of a modern-day park in which one random ambler exudes rainbow-coloured light: beauty in the wrong place, ugliness. Similarly, to suppose that a brute anthropoid creature (a now-common reading of ‘dust’) brought forth a man gifted with complete integrity, immortality and treasures of knowledge – that sounds too mythical to be true. Christ can still be made acceptable by being presented as the inevitable culmination of the history of Israel. And man as the simple searching rational animal, at the end of a chain of beings of growing complexity – having that picture hanging on one’s creedal wall exhibits a certain sophistication too. But the ‘old Adam’ of the Schoolmen? Quaint, but ultimately preposterous.

Well, we live in an age of committees, in which great things are done by systematic processes involving many small men. We find our brilliance there, in small men doing great things by using each other as leverage and inspiration. The development of Christian doctrine has doubtlessly owed much to the Spirit’s hidden work in forgotten people and communities, all very gradual and acceptable.

(Yet Augustine and Aquinas, the two pillars and powerhouses of Western theology, have both done and written more than any human being could plausibly do and write in his lifetime. So why not Moses and Solomon?)


  1. I suppose there is something of a melancholy in creation as St. Paul seems to hint at. There is something in living creatures that seems to be dimly aware of a memory - a knowledge unknown of life not threatened, undivided, unsoiled, tranquil like the deep Silence St. Ignatius speaks about in his letter to the Magnesians. In the letter to the Hebrews that peace is invoked as lost and found, as it is evoked by Isaiah.
    Perhaps creation is something like a raider of the lost Eden. The only creature that can tell is the pure human being who finds himself lost in a cosmos that he wants to speak to him but for some mysterious reason is dumb. Though for those of us who are silent, who are acquainted with the richness of communication beyond words there is something to receive.
    No, I think Adam must have been that unimaginable creature that Scripture tells us about. It is the apex, the unexpected but so welcome apex of the creative essence God is, as He speaks himself out in the Word that is listened to in the Silence who generates meaning always fresh, alive, new, surprising, creation. And so the Word returns to the Father who is with the Son and the Spirit a living God, unique.
    Adam has lived, as the immaculate conception of a humanity in which the Word clothed Himself. The new Adam must evoke the old; the divine must find a humanity that is true, unspoiled. Adam may have lived for not more that an infinite moment - God knows. But creation somehow knows too.
    But than, in the fallenness of creation, with is divisions, its life that is also dead, with its implicit truth and goodness only to be discovered by man - I believe that the evolutionary process tells us the story of redemption. Stories are evolving, are born out of contrasts and change and they communicate meaning for those who want to listen, and they generate meaning by those who listen and tell the story.
    That happens in the history of humans, of states, peoples, companies, of ideas and art. It happens in the history of salvation: the great man in the stories embody the meaning they have generated in those who received them in their lives and fused their experiences, their meaning into his.
    I love that aspect of Hebrew anthropology. We are in Adam, in Moses, in David, in Christ.
    Living in Christ is living the mystery of creative God. There will be no 'out of Christ' for those who are in communion with Him, died and resurrected with Him in baptism. But there is that same dynamics of immeasurable generativeness of meaning in the receiving of Christ the Word in the power of the Spirit, the deep Silence of ones life. So the Christ we adore, the Christ who speaks for us at the right hand of the Father, the living Christ who reveals the unspeakable beauty and truth of his cosmos, is you.

    1. Fr. Matthieu, that's an unexpected and stirring reply which deserves the kind of silence you mention. But I do have two questions for the sake of clarification.
      First, what do you mean by "infinite moment" (and how could that have been Adam's lifespan)?
      Second, while Christ does identify himself with His "little ones", doesn't it go too far to say "the Christ we adore ... is you"? It suggests that I am the person we adore. As the angel said, see thou do it not...

      It's inspiring, though, to think of Adam as "the immaculate conception of a humanity in which the Word clothed Himself". Makes sense to me.