Excerpts from
"Christianity and
Culture"
By Father George
Florovsky
Faith and Culture.
We
are living in a changed and changing world. This cannot be
denied even by those in our midst who may be unwilling or
unprepared to change themselves, who want to linger in the
age that is rapidly passing away. But nobody can evade the
discomfort of belonging to a world in transition. If we
accept the traditional classification of historical epochs
into “organic” and “critical,” there is no doubt that our
present age is a critical age, an age of crisis, an age of
unresolved tensions. One hears so often in our days about
the “End of Our Time,” about the “Decline of the
West,” about “Civilization on Trial,” and the
like. It is even suggested sometimes that probably we are
now passing through the “Great Divide,” through the
greatest change in the history of our civilization, which is
much greater and more radical than the change from Antiquity
to the Middle Ages, or from the Middle Ages to the Modern
Times. If it is true at all, as it was contended by Hegel,
that “history is judgment” (Die Weltgeschichte ist
Weltgericht), there are some fateful epochs, when
history not only judges, but, as it were, sentences itself
to doom. We are persistently reminded by experts and
prophets that civilizations rise and decay, and there is no
special reason to expect that our own civilization should
escape this common fate. If there is any historical future
at all, it may well happen that this future is reserved for
another civilization, and probably for one which will be
quite different from ours.
It is quite usual in our
days, and indeed quite fashionable, to say that we are
already dwelling in a “Post-Christian world” — whatever the
exact meaning of this pretentious phrase may actually be —
in a world which, subconsciously or deliberately,
“retreated” or seceded from Christianity. “We live in the
ruins of civilizations, hopes, systems, and souls.” Not only
do we find ourselves at the cross-roads, at which the right
way seems to be uncertain, but many of us would also
question whether there is any safe road at all, and any
prospect of getting on. Does not indeed our civilization
find itself in an impasse out of which there is no exit,
except at the cost of explosion? Now, what is the root of
the trouble? What is the primary or ultimate cause of this
imminent and appalling collapse? Is it just “the failure of
nerve,” as it is sometimes suggested, or rather a “sickness
to death,” a disease of the spirit, the loss of faith? There
is no common agreement on this point. Yet, there seems to be
considerable agreement that our cultural world has been
somehow disoriented and decentralized, spiritually and
intellectually disoriented and disorganized, so that no
over-arching principle has been left which can keep the
shifting elements together. As Christians, we can be more
emphatic and precise. We would contend that it is precisely
the modern Retreat from Christianity, at whatever exact
historical date we may discern its starting point, that lies
at the bottom of our present crisis. Our age is, first of
all, an age of unbelief, and for that reason an age of
uncertainty, confusion, and despair. There are so many in
our time who have no hope precisely because they lost all
faith.
We should not make such
statements too easily, however, and have to caution
ourselves at least on two points. First, the causes and
motives of this obvious “retreat” were complex and manifold,
and the guilt cannot be shifted exclusively onto those who
have retreated. In Christian humility, the faithful should
not exonerate themselves unconditionally, and should not
dispense too summarily with the responsibility for the
failures of others. If our culture, which we used, rather
complacently, to regard as Christian, disintegrates and
falls to pieces, it only shows that the seed of corruption
was already there. Secondly, we should not regard all
beliefs as constructive by themselves, and should not
welcome every faith as an antidote against doubt and
disruption. It may be perfectly true, as sociologists
contend, that cultures disintegrate when there is no
inspiring incentive, no commanding conviction. But it is the
content of faith that is decisive, at least from the
Christian point of view. The chief danger in our days is
that there are too many conflicting “beliefs.” The major
tension is not so much between “belief” and “un-belief” as
precisely between rival beliefs. Too many “strange Gospels”
are preached, and each of them claims total obedience and
faithful submission; even science poses sometimes as
religion. It may be true that the modern crisis can be
formally traced back to the loss of convictions. It would be
disastrous, however, if people rallied around a false banner
and pledged allegiance to a wrong faith. The real root of
the modern tragedy does not lie only in the fact that people
lost convictions, but that they deserted Christ.
Now, when we speak of a
“crisis of culture,” what do we actually mean? The word
“culture” is used in various senses, and there is no
commonly accepted definition. On the one hand, “culture” is
a specific attitude or orientation of individuals and of
human groups, by which we distinguish the “civilized”
society from the “primitive.” It is at once a system of aims
and concerns, and a system of habits. On the other hand,
“culture” is a system of values, produced and accumulated in
the creative process of history, and tending to obtain a
semi-independent existence, i.e. independent of that
creative endeavor which originated or discovered these
values.” The values are manifold and divers, and probably
they are never fully integrated into one coherent whole —
polite manners and mores, political and social institutions,
industry and sanitation, ethics, art and science, and so on.
Thus, when we speak of the crisis of culture, we usually
imply a dis-integration in one of these two different, if
related, systems, or rather in both of them. It may happen
that some of the accepted or alleged values are discredited
and compromised, i.e. cease to function and no longer appeal
to men. Or, again, it happens sometimes that “civilized man”
themselves degenerate or even disappear altogether, that
cultural habits become unstable, and men lose interest in or
concern for these habits, or are simply tired of them. Then
an urge for “primitivism” may emerge, if still within the
framework of a lingering civilization. A civilization
declines when that creative impulse which originally brought
it into existence loses its power and spontaneity. Then the
question arises, whether “culture” is relevant to the
fulfillment of man’s personality, or is no more than an
external garb which may be needed on occasions, but which
does not organically belong to the essence of human
existence. It obviously does not belong to human nature, and
we normally clearly distinguish between “nature” and
“culture,” implying that “culture” is man’s “artificial”
creation which he superimposes on “nature,” although it
seems that in fact we do not know human nature apart from
culture, from some kind of culture at least. It may be
contended that “culture” is not actually “artificial,” that
it is rather an extension of human nature, an extension by
which human nature achieves its maturity and completion, so
that an “under-cultural” existence is in fact a “sub-human”
mode of existence. Is it not true that a “civilized” man is
more human than a “primitive” or “natural” man? It is
precisely at this point that our major difficulty sets in.
It may be perfectly true,
as I personally believe is the case, that our contemporary
culture or civilization is “on trial.” But should
Christians, as Christians, be concerned with this cultural
crisis at all? If it is true, as we have just admitted, that
the collapse or decline of culture is rooted in the loss of
faith, in an “apostasy” or “retreat,” should not Christians
be concerned, primarily if not exclusively, with the
reconstruction of belief or a reconversion of the world, and
not with the salvaging of a sinking civilization? If we are
really passing in our days an “apocalyptic” test, should we
not concentrate all our efforts on Evangelism, on the
proclamation of the Gospel to an oblivious generation, on
the preaching of penitence and conversion ? The main
question seems to be, whether the crisis can be resolved if
we simply oppose to an outworn and disrupted civilization a
new one, or whether, in order to overcome the crisis, we
must go beyond civilization, to the very roots of human
existence. Now, if we have ultimately to go beyond, would
not this move make culture unnecessary and superfluous? Does
one need “culture,” and should one be interested in it, when
he encounters the Living God, Him Who alone is to be
worshipped and glorified? Is not then all “civilization”
ultimately but a subtle and refined sort of idolatry, a care
and trouble for “many things,” for too many things, while
there is but one “good part,” which shall never be taken
away, but will continue in the “beyond,” unto ages of ages?
Should not, in fact, those who have found the “precious
pearl” go straight away and sell their other goods? And
would it not be precisely an unfaithfulness and disloyalty
to hide and keep these other possessions ? Should we not
simply surrender all “human values,” into the hands of God.
This questioning was for
centuries the major temptation of many sincere and devout
souls. All these questions are intensively asked and
discussed again in our own days. We say: temptation.
But is it fair to use this disqualifying word? Is it not
rather an inescapable postulate of that integral
self-renunciation, which is the first pre-requisite and
foundation of Christian obedience? In fact, doubts about
culture and its values arise and emerge not only in the days
of great historical trials and crises. They arise so often
also in the periods of peace and prosperity, when one may
find himself in danger of being enslaved and seduced by
human achievements, by the glories and triumphs of
civilization. They arise so often in the process of intimate
and personal search for God. Radical self-renunciation may
lead devout people into wilderness, into the caves of the
earth and the deserts, out of the “civilized world,” and
culture would appear to them as vanity, and vanity of
vanities, even if it is alleged that this culture has been
christened, in shape if not in essence. Would it be right to
arrest these devout brethren in their resolute search of
perfection, and to retain them in the world, to compel them
to share in the building or reparation of what for them is
nothing else than a Tower of Babel? Are we prepared to
disavow St. Anthony of Egypt or St. Francis of Assisi and to
urge them to stay in the world? Is not God radically above
and beyond all culture? Does “culture” after all possess any
intrinsic value of its own? Is it service or play, obedience
or distraction, vanity, luxury and pride, i.e. ultimately a
trap for souls? It seems obvious that “culture” is not, and
by its very nature cannot be, an ultimate end or an ultimate
value, and should not be regarded as an ultimate goal or
destiny of man, nor probably even as an indispensable
component of true humanity.
A “primitive” can be saved no
less than a “civilized.” As St. Ambrose put it, God did not
choose to save His people by clever arguments. Moreover,
“culture” is not an unconditional good; rather it is a
sphere of unavoidable ambiguity and involvement. It tends to
degenerate into “civilization,” if we may accept Oswald
Spengler’s distinction between these two terms — and man may
be desperately enslaved in it, as the modern man is supposed
to be. “Culture” is human achievement, is man’s own
deliberate creation, but an accomplished “civilization” is
so often inimical to human creativity. Many in our days, and
indeed at all times, are painfully aware of this tyranny of
“cultural routine,” of the bondage of civilization. It can
be argued, as it has been more than once, that in
“civilization” man is, as it were, “estranged” from himself,
estranged and detached from the very roots of his existence,
from his very “self,” or from “nature,” or from God. This
alienation of man can be described and defined in a number
of ways and manners, both in a religious and anti-religious
mood. But in all cases “culture” would appear not only to be
in predicament, but to be predicament itself.
Different answers were
given to these searching questions in the course of
Christian history, and the problem still remains unsolved.
It has been recently suggested that the whole question about
“Christ and Culture” is “an enduring problem,” which
probably does not admit of any final decision. It is to say
that different answers will appeal to different types or
groups of people, believers alike and “unbelievers,” and
again different answers will seem convincing at different
times. The variety of answers seems to have a double
meaning. On the one hand, it points to the variety of
historical and human situations, in which different
solutions would naturally impose. Questions are differently
put and assessed at a time of peace or at a time of crisis.
But on the other hand, disagreement is precisely what we
should expect in the “Divided Christendom.” It would be idle
to ignore the depth of this division in Christendom. The
meaning of the Gospel itself is discordantly assessed in
various denominations. And in the debate about “Christ and
Culture” we encounter the same tension between the
“Catholic” and the “Evangelical” trends which is at the
bottom of the “Christian Schism” at large. If we are really
and sincerely concerned with “Christian Unity,” we should
look for an ultimate solution of this basic tension. In
fact, our attitude to “culture” is not a practical option,
but a theological decision, first of all and last of all.
The recent growth of historical and cultural pessimism, of
what Germans call Kulturpessimismus and
Geschichtspessimismus, not only reflects the factual
involvements and confusion of our epoch, but also reveals a
peculiar shift in theological and philosophical opinions.
Doubts about culture have an obvious theological
significance and spring from the very depth of man’s faith.
One should not dismiss any sincere challenge too easily and
self-complacently, without sympathy and understanding. Yet,
without imposing a uniform solution, for which our age seems
not to be ripe, one cannot avoid discarding certain
suggested solutions as inadequate, as erroneous and
misleading.
The modern opposition, or
indifference, of Christians to “culture” takes various
shapes and moulds. It would be impossible to attempt now a
comprehensive survey of all actual shades of opinion. We
must confine ourselves to a tentative list of those which
seem to be most vocal and relevant in our own situation.
There are a variety of motives, and a variety of
conclusions. Two special motives seem to concur in a very
usual contempt of the world by many Christians, in all
traditions. On the one hand, the world is passing, and
history itself seems so insignificant “in the perspective of
eternity,” or when related to the ultimate destiny of man.
All historical values are perishable, as they are also
relative and uncertain. Culture, also, is perishable and of
no significance in the perspective of an imminent end. On
the other hand, the whole world seems to be so insignificant
in comparison with the unfathomable Glory of God, as it has
been revealed in the mystery of our Redemption. At certain
times, and in certain historical situations, the mystery of
Redemption seems to obscure the mystery of Creation, and
Redemption is construed rather as a dismissal of the fallen
world than as its healing and recovery. The radical
opposition between Christianity and Culture, as it is
presented by certain Christian thinkers, is more inspired by
certain theological and philosophical presuppositions than
by an actual analysis of culture itself. There is an
increasing eschatological feeling in our days, at least in
certain quarters. There is also an increasing devaluation of
man in the contemporary thought, philosophical and
theological, partly in reaction to the excess of
self-confidence of the previous age. There is a re-discovery
of human “nothingness,” of the essential precariousness and
insecurity of his existence, both physical and spiritual.
The world seems to be inimical and empty, and man feels
himself lost in the flux of accidents and failures. If there
is still any hope of “salvation,” it is constructed rather
in the terms of “escape” and “endurance” than in those of
“recovery” or “reparation.” What can one hope for in
history?
We can distinguish several
types of this “pessimistic” attitude. The labels I am going
to use are but tentative and provisional.
First of all, we must
emphasize the persistence of the Pietist or Revivalist
motive in the modern devaluation of culture. Men believe
that they have met their Lord and Redeemer in their personal
and private experience, and that they were saved by His
mercy and their own response to it in faith and obedience.
Nothing else is therefore needed.
The life of the world, and
in the world, seems then to be but a sinful entanglement,
out of which men are glad, and probably proud, to have been
released. The only thing they have to say about this world
is to expose its vanity and perversion and to prophesy doom
and condemnation, the coming wrath and judgment of God.
People of this type may be of different temper, sometimes
wild and aggressive, sometimes mild and sentimental. In all
cases, however, they cannot see any positive meaning in the
continuing process of culture, and are indifferent to all
values of civilization, especially to those which cannot be
vindicated from the utilitarian point of view. People of
this type would preach the virtue of simplicity, in
opposition to the complexity of cultural involvement. They
may choose to retire into the privacy of solitary existence
or of stoic “indifference” or they may prefer a kind of
common life, in closed companies of those who have
understood the futility and purposelessness of the whole
historical toil and endeavor. One may describe this attitude
as “sectarian,” and indeed there is a deliberate attempt to
evade any share in common history. But this “sectarian”
approach can be found among the people of various cultural
and religious traditions. There are many who want to “retire
from the world,” at least psychologically, more for security
than for “the unseen warfare.” There is, in this attitude, a
paradoxical mixture of penitence and self-satisfaction, of
humility and pride. There is also a deliberate disregard of,
or indifference to, doctrine, and inability to think out
consistently the doctrinal implications of this
“isolationist” attitude. In fact, this is a radical
reduction of Christianity, at least a subjective reduction,
in which it becomes no more than a private religion of
individuals. The only problem with which this type of people
is concerned is the problem of individual “salvation.”
Secondly, there is a
“Puritan” type of opposition. There is a similar “reduction”
of belief, usually openly admitted. In practice, it is an
active type, without any desire to evade history. Only
history is accepted rather as “service” and “obedience,” and
not as a creative opportunity. There is the same
concentration on the problem of one’s “salvation.”
The basic contention is
that man, this miserable sinner, can be forgiven, if and
when he accepts the forgiveness which is offered to him by
Christ and in Christ, but even in this case he remains
precisely what he is, a frail and unprofitable creature, and
is not essentially changed or re-newed. Even as a forgiven
person, he continues as a lost creature, and his life cannot
have any constructive value. This may not lead necessarily
to an actual withdrawal from culture or denial of history,
but it makes of history a kind of servitude, which must be
carried on and endured, and should not be evaded, but
endured rather as a training of character and testing in
patience, than as a realm of creativeness. Nothing is to be
achieved in history. But man should use every opportunity to
prove his loyalty and obedience and to strengthen character
by this service of fidelity, this bondage in duty. There is
a strong “utilitarian” emphasis in this attitude, if it is a
“transcendental utility,” an utter concern with “salvation.”
Everything that does not directly serve this purpose should
be discarded, and no room is permitted for any
“disinterested creativity,” e.g. for art or
“belles-lettres.”
Thirdly, there is an
Existentialist type of opposition. Its basic motive is in
the protest against man’s enslavement in civilization, which
only screens from him the ultimate predicament of his
existence, and obscures the hopelessness of his
entanglement. It would be unfair to deny the relative truth
of the contemporary Existentialist movement, the truth of
reaction; and probably the modern man of culture needed this
sharp and pityless warning. In all its forms, religious and
areligious, Existentialism exposes the nothingness of man,
of the real man as he is and knows himself. For those among
the Existentialists who failed to encounter God or who
indulge in the atheistic denial, this “nothingness” is just
the last truth about man and his destiny. Only man should
find this truth out for himself. But many Existentialists
have found God, or, as they would put it themselves, have
been found by Him, challenged by Him, in His undivided wrath
and mercy. But, paradoxically enough, they would persist in
believing that man is still but “nothing,” in spite of the
redeeming love and concern of Creator for His lost and stray
creatures. In their conception, “creatureliness” of man
inextricably condemns him to be but “nothing,” at least in
his own eyes, in spite of the mysterious fact that for God
His creatures are obviously much more than “nothing,” since
the redeeming love of God moved Him, for the sake of man, to
the tremendous Sacrifice of the Cross. Existentialism seems
to be right in its criticism of human complacency, and even
helpful in its unwelcome detection of man’s pettiness. But
it is always blind to the complexity of the Divine Wisdom.
An Existentialist is always a lonely and solitary being,
inextricably involved and engaged in the scrutiny of his
predicament. His terms of reference are always: the ALL of
God and the Nothing of man. And, even in the case when his
analysis begins with a concrete situation, namely his
personal one, it continues somehow in abstracto: in
the last resort he will not speak of a living person, but
rather about man as man, for ultimately all men stand under
the same and universal detection of their ultimate
irrelevance. Whatever the psychological and historical
explanation of the recent rise of Existentialism may be, on
the whole it is no more than a symptom of cultural
disintegration and despair.
And finally, we should not
ignore the resistance or indifference of the “Plain Man.” He
may live rather quietly in the world of culture, and even
enjoy it, but he would wonder what culture can “add” to
religion, except by the way of decoration, or as a tribute
of reverence and gratitude, i.e. especially in the form of
art. But as a rule, the “plain man” is cautiously suspicious
about the use of reason in the matters of faith and
accordingly will dispense with the understanding of beliefs.
What religious value can be in a distinterested study of any
subject, which has no immediate practical application and
cannot be used in the discharge of charity? The “plain man”
will have not doubts about the value or utility of culture
in the economy of temporal life, but he will hesitate to
acknowledge its positive relevance in the spiritual
dimension, except insofar as it may affect or exhibit the
moral integrity of man. He will find no religious
justification for the human urge to know and create. Is not
all culture ultimately but vanity, a frail and perishable
thing indeed? And is not the deepest root of human pride and
arrogance precisely in the claims and ambition of reason?
The “plain man” usually prefers “simplicity” in religion,
and takes no interest in what he labels as “theological
speculation,” including therein very often almost all
doctrines and dogmas of the Church. What is involved in this
attitude is again a one-sided (and defective) concept of man
and of the relevance of man’s actual life in history to his
“eternal destiny,” i.e. to the ultimate purpose of God.
There is a tendency to stress the “otherworldliness” of the
“Life Eternal” to such an extent that human personality is
in danger of being rent in twain. Is History in its entirety
just a training ground for souls and characters, or is
something more intended in God’s design? Is the “last
judgment” just a test in loyalty, or also a “recapitulation”
of the Creation?
It is here that we are
touching upon the deepest cause of the enduring confusion in
the discussion about “Faith and Culture.” The deepest
theological issues are involved in this discussion, and no
solution can ever be reached unless the theological
character of the discussion is clearly acknowledged and
understood. We need a theology of culture, even for our
“practical” decisions. No real decision can be made in the
dark. The dogma of Creation, with everything that it
implies, was dangerously obscured in the consciousness of
modern Christians, and the concept of Providence, i.e. of
the perennial concern of the Creator with the destiny of His
Creation, was actually reduced to something utterly
sentimental and subjective. Accordingly, “History” was
conceived as an enigmatic interim between the Mighty Deeds
of God, for which it was difficult to assign any proper
substance. This was connected again with an inadequate
conception of Man. The emphasis has been shifted from the
fulfillment of God’s design for man to the release of Man
out of the consequences of his “original” failure. And,
accordingly, the whole doctrine of the Last Things has been
dangerously reduced and has come to be treated in the
categories of forensical justice or of sentimental love. The
“Modern Man” fails to appreciate and to assess the
conviction of early Christians, derived from the Scripture,
that Man was created by God for a creative purpose and was
to act in the world as its king, priest, and prophet. The
fall or failure of man did not abolish this purpose or
design, and man was redeemed in order to be re-instated in
his original rank and to resume his role and function in the
Creation. And only by doing this can he become what he was
designed to be, not only in the sense that he should display
obedience, but also in order to accomplish the task which
was appointed by God in his creative design precisely as the
task of man. As much as “History” is but a poor anticipation
of the “Age to come,” it is nevertheless its actual
anticipation, and the cultural process in history is related
to the ultimate consummation, if in a manner and in a sense
which we cannot adequately decipher now. One must be careful
not to exaggerate “the human achievement,” but one should
also be careful not to minimize the creative vocation of
man, The destiny of human culture is not irrelevant to the
ultimate destiny of man.
All this may seem to be but
a daring speculation, much beyond our warrant and
competence. But the fact remains: Christians as Christians
were building culture for centuries, and many of them not
only with a sense of vocation, and not only as in duty
bound, but with the firm conviction that this was the will
of God. A brief retrospect of the Christian endeavour in
culture may help us to see the problem in a more concrete
manner, in its full complexity, but also in all its
inevitability. As a matter of fact, Christianity entered the
world precisely at one of the most critical periods of
history, at the time of a momentous crisis of culture. And
the crisis was finally solved by the creation of Christian
Culture, as unstable and ambiguous as this culture proved to
be, in its turn, and in the course of its realization.
As a matter of fact, the question of
the relationship between Christianity and Culture is never
discussed in abstracto, just in this generalized form, or,
in any case, it should not be so discussed. The culture
about which one speaks is always a particular culture. The
concept of “Culture” with which one operates is always
situation-conditioned, i.e. derived from the actual
experience one has, in his own particular culture, which one
may cherish or abhor, or else it is an imaginary concept,
“another culture,” an ideal, about which one dreams and
speculates. Even when the question is put in general terms,
concrete impressions or wants can be always detected. When
“Culture” is resisted or denied by Christians, it is always
a definite historical formation which is taken to be
representative of the idea. In our own days it would be the
mechanized or “Capitalistic” civilization, inwardly
secularized and therefore estranged from any religion. In
the ancient times it was the pagan Graeco-Roman
civilization. The starting point in both cases is the
immediate impression of clash and conflict, and of practical
incompatibility of divergent structures, which diverge
basically in spirit or inspiration.
The early Christians were
facing a particular civilization, that of the Roman and
Hellenistic world. It was about this civilization that they
spoke, it was about this concrete “system of values” that
they were critical and uneasy. This civilization, moreover,
was itself changing and unstable at that time, and was, in
fact, involved in a desperate struggle and crisis. The
situation was complex and confused. The modern historian
cannot escape antinomy in his interpretation of this early
Christian epoch, and one cannot expect more coherence in the
interpretation given by the contemporaries. It is obvious
that this Hellenistic civilization was in a certain sense
ripe or prepared for “conversion,” and can even be regarded
itself, again in a certain sense, as a kind of the Praeparatio Evangelica, and the contemporaries were aware of
this situation. Already St. Paul had suggested this, and the
Apologists of the second century and early Alexandrinians
did not hesitate to refer to Socrates and Heraclitus, and
indeed Plato, as forerunners of Christianity. On the other
hand, they were aware, no less than we are now, of a radical
tension between this culture and their message, and the
opponents were conscious of this tension, also.
The Ancient
World resisted conversion, because it meant a radical change
and break with its tradition in many respects. We can see
now both the tension and continuity between “the Classical”
and “the Christian.” Contemporaries, of course, could not
see it in the same perspective as we do, because they could
not anticipate the future. If they were critical of
“culture,” they meant precisely the culture of their own
time, and this culture was both alien and inimical to the
Gospel. What Tertullian had to say about culture should be
interpreted in a concrete historical setting first of all,
and should not be immediately construed into absolute
pronouncements. Was he not right in his insistence on the
radical tension and divergence between “Jerusalem” and
Athens: quid Athenae Hierosolymis? “What indeed has
Athens to do with Jerusalem? What concord is there between
the Academy and the Church? . . . Our instruction comes from
the Porch of Solomon, who had himself taught that ‘the Lord
should be sought in simplicity of heart’ . . . We want no
curious disputation after possessing Christ Jesus, no
inquisition after enjoying the Gospel. With our faith, we
desire no further belief. For this is our palmary faith,
that there is nothing which we ought to believe besides” (de
prescription, 7). “What is there in common between the
philosopher and the Christian, the pupil of Hellas and the
pupil of Heaven, the worker for reputation and for
salvation, the manufacturer of words and of deeds”
(Apologeticus, 46). Yet, Tertullian himself could not avoid
“inquisition” and “disputation,” and did not hesitate to use
the wisdom of the Greeks in the defense of the Christian
faith. He indicts the culture of his time, and a specific
philosophy of life, which, in its very structure, was
opposed to faith. He was afraid of an easy syncretism and
contamination, which was an actual threat and danger in his
time, and could not anticipate that inner transformation of
the Hellenic mind which was to be effected in the centuries
to come, just as he could not imagine that Caesars could
become Christian.
One should not forget that
the attitude of Origen was actually much the same, although
he is regarded as one of the “Hellenizers” of Christianity.
He also was aware of the tension and was suspicious of the
vain speculation, in which he took little interest, and for
him the riches of the pagans were exactly “the riches of
sinners” (in Ps. 36, III. 6). St. Augustine also was of that
opinion. Was not Science for him just a vain curiosity which
only distracts mind from its true purpose, which is not to
number the stars and to seek out the hidden things of
nature, but to know and to love God ? Again, St. Augustine
was repudiating Astrology, which nobody would regard as
“science” in our days, but which in his days was inseparable
from true Astronomy. The cautious or even negative attitude
of early Christians toward philosophy, toward art, including
both painting and music, and especially toward the art of rhetorics, can be fully understood only in the concrete
historical context. The whole structure of the existing
culture was determined and permeated by a wrong and false
faith. One has to admit that certain historical forms of
culture are incompatible with the Christian attitude toward
life, and therefore must be rejected or avoided. But this
does not yet pre-judge the further question, whether a
Christian culture is possible and desirable. In our own
days, one may, or rather should, be sharply critical of our
contemporary civilization, and even be inclined to welcome
its collapse, but this does not prove that civilization as
such should be damned and cursed, and that Christians should
return to barbarism or primitivism.
As a matter of fact,
Christianity accepted the challenge of the Hellenistic and
Roman culture, and ultimately a Christian Civilization
emerged. It is true that this rise of Christian Culture has
been strongly censured in modern times as an “acute Hellenization” of Christianity, in which the purity and
simplicity of the Evangelical or Biblical faith is alleged
to have been lost. Many in our own days are quite
“iconoclastic” with regard to culture en bloc, or at least
to certain fields of culture, such as “Philosophy” (equated
with “sophistics”) or Art, repudiated as a subtle idolatry,
in the name of Christian faith. But, on the other hand, we
have to face the age-long accumulation of genuine human
values in the cultural process, undertaken and carried in
the spirit of Christian obedience and dedication to the
truth of God.
What is important in this
case is that the Ancient Culture proved to be plastic enough
to admit of an inner “transfiguration.” Or, in other words,
Christians proved that it was possible to re-orient the
cultural process, without lapsing into a pre-cultural state,
to re-shape the cultural fabric in a new spirit. The same
process which has been variously described as a
“Hellenization of Christianity” can be construed rather as a
“Christianization of Hellenism.” Hellenism was, as it were,
dissected by the Sword of the Spirit, was polarized and
divided, and a “Christian Hellenism” was created. Of course,
“Hellenism” was ambiguous and, as it were, double-faced. And
certain of the Hellenistic revivals in the history of the
European thought and life have been rather pagan revivals,
calling for caution and strictures. It is enough to mention
the ambiguities of the Renaissance, and in later times just
Goethe or Nietzsche. But it would be unfair to ignore the
existence of another Hellenism, already initiated in the Age
of the Fathers, both Greek and Latin, and creatively
continued through the Middle Ages and the Modern times. What
is really decisive in this connection is that “Hellenism”
has been really changed. One can be too quick in discovering
“Hellenic accretions” in the fabric of Christian life, and
at the same time quite negligent and oblivious of the facts
of this “transfiguration.”
One striking example may
suffice for our present purpose. It has been recently
brought to mind that Christianity in fact achieved a radical
change in the philosophical interpretation of Time. For the
ancient Greek Philosophers, Time was just “a movable image
of eternity,” i.e. a cyclical and recurrent motion, which
had to return upon itself, without ever moving “forward,” as
no “forward-motion” is possible on the circle. It was an
astronomical time, determined by “the revolution of the
celestial spheres” (let us remember the title of the famous
work of Copernicus, who was still under the sway of ancient
astronomy: De Revolutionibus Orbium Celestium), and human
history accordingly was subordinate to this basic principle
of rotation and iteration. Our modern concept of the linear
time, with a sense of direction or vectoriality, with the
possibility of progression and achievement of new things,
has been derived from the Bible and from the Biblical
conception of history, moving from Creation to Consummation,
in a unique, irreversible and unrepeatable motion, guided or
supervised by the constant Providence of the living God. The
circular time of the Greeks has been exploded, as St.
Augustine rejoicingly exclaims. History for the first time
could be conceived as a meaningful and purposeful process,
leading to a goal, and not as a perennial rotation, leading
nowhere. The very concept of Progress has been elaborated by
Christians.
This is to say, Christianity was not passive in
its intercourse with that inherited culture which it endeavoured to redeem, but very active. It is not too much
to say that the human mind was reborn and remade in the
school of Christian faith, without any repudiation of its
just claims and fashions. It is true that this process of
Christianization of mind has never been completed, and inner
tension continues even within the Christian “Universe of
discourse.” No culture can ever be final and definitive. It
is more than a system, it is a process, and it can be
preserved and continued only by a constant spiritual effort,
not just by inertia or inheritance. The true solution of the
perennial problem of relationship between Christianity and
Culture lies in the effort to convert “the natural mind” to
the right faith, and not in the denial of cultural tasks.
Cultural concerns are an integral part of actual human
existence and, for that reason, cannot be excluded from the
Christian historical endeavour.
Christianity entered the
historical scene as a Society or Community, as a new social
order or even a new social dimension, i.e. as the Church.
Early Christians had a strong corporate feeling. They felt
themselves to be a “chosen race,” a “holy nation,” a
“peculiar people,” i.e. precisely a New Society, a “New
Polis,” a City of God. Now, there was another City in
existence, a Universal and strictly totalitarian City
indeed, the Roman Empire, which felt itself to be simply the
Empire. It claimed to be the City, comprehensive and unique.
It claimed the whole man for its service, just as the Church
claimed the whole man for the service of God. No division of
competence and authority could be admitted, since the Roman
State could not admit autonomy of the “religious sphere,”
and religious allegiance was regarded as an aspect of the
political creed and an integral part of the civic obedience.
For that reason a conflict was unavoidable, a conflict of
the two Cities. Early Christians felt themselves, as it
were, extraterritorial, just outside of the existing social
order, simply because the Church was for them an order
itself. They dwelt in their cities as “sojourners” or
“strangers,” and for them “every foreign land was
fatherland, and every fatherland foreign,” as the author of
the “Epistle to Diognetus,” a remarkable document of the
second century, stated it (c. 5). On the other hand,
Christians did not retire from the existing society; they
could be found “everywhere,” as Tertullian insisted, in all
walks of life, in all social groups, in all nations. But
they were spiritually detached, spiritually segregated. As
Origen put it, in every city Christians had another system
of allegiance of their own, or, in literal translation,
“another system of fatherland” (c. Cels. VIII. 75).
Christians did stay in the world and were prepared to
perform their daily duties faithfully, but they could not
pledge their full allegiance to the polity of this world, to
the earthly City, for their citizenship was elsewhere, i.e.
“in heaven.”
Yet, this detachment from
“the world” could be but provisional, as Christianity, by
its very nature, was a missionary religion and aimed at a
universal conversion. The subtle distinction “in the world,
but not of the world,” could not settle the basic problem,
for “the world” itself had to be redeemed and could not be
endured in its un-reformed state. The final problem was
exactly this: could the two “societies” co-exist, and on
what terms? Could Christian allegiance be somehow divided or
duplicated, or a “double citizenship” accepted as a
normative principle? Various answers were given in the
course of history, and the issue is still a burning and
embarrassing one. One may still wonder whether “spiritual
segregation” is not actually the only consistent Christian
answer, and any other solution inevitably an entangling
compromise. The Church is here, in “this world,” for its
salvation. The Church has, as it were, to exhibit in history
a new pattern of existence, a new mode of life, that of the
“world to come.” And for that reason the Church has to
oppose and to renounce “this” world. She cannot, so to
speak, find a settled place for herself within the limits of
this “old world.” She is compelled to be “in this world” in
permanent opposition, even if she claims but a reformation
or renewal of the world.
The situation in which the
Church finds herself in this world is inextricably antinomical. Either the Church is to be constituted as an
exclusive society, endeavouring to satisfy all requirements
of the believers, both “temporal” and “spiritual,” paying no
attention to the existing order and leaving nothing to the
external world — this would mean an entire separation from
the world, an ultimate flight out of it, and a radical
denial of any external authority. Or the Church could
attempt an inclusive “Christianization” of the world,
subduing the whole of life to Christian rule and authority,
endeavor to reform and to reorganize secular life on
Christian principles, to build the Christian City. In the
history of the Church we can trace both solutions: a flight
into desert and a construction of the Christian Empire. The
first was practiced not only in monasticism of various
trends, but also in many other Christian groups or “sects.”
The second was the main line taken by Christians, both in
the West and in the East, up to the rise of militant
secularism in Europe and elsewhere, and even at present this
solution has not lost its hold on many people.
Historically speaking, both
solutions proved to be inadequate and unsuccessful. On the
other hand, one has to acknowledge the urgency of their
common problem and the truth of their common purpose.
Christianity is not an individualistic religion and is not
concerned only with the salvation of individuals.
Christianity is the Church, i.e. a Community, leading its
corporate life according to its peculiar principles.
Spiritual leadership of the Church can hardly be reduced to
an occasional guidance given to individuals or to groups
living under conditions utterly uncongenial to the Church.
The legitimacy of those conditions should be questioned
first of all. Nor can human life be split into departments,
some of which might have been ruled by some independent
principles, i.e. independent of the Church. One cannot serve
two Masters, and a double allegiance is a poor solution. The
problem is no easier in a Christian society. With Constantino the Empire, as it were, capitulated; Caesar
himself was converted — the Empire was now offering to the
Church not only peace, but cooperation. This could be
interpreted as a victory of the Christian cause. But for
many Christians at that time this new turn of affairs was an
unexpected surprise and rather a blow. Many leaders of the
Church were rather reluctant to accept the Imperial offer.
But it was difficult to decline it. The whole Church could
not escape into Desert, nor could she desert the world. The
new Christian Society came into existence, which was at once
both “Church” and “Empire,” and its ideology was
“theocratical.” This theocratical idea could be developed in
two versions, different, but correlated. Theocratical
authority could be exercised by the Church directly, i.e.
through the hierarchical Ministry of the Church. Or the
State could be invested with a theocratical authority, and
its officers commissioned to establish and propagate the
Christian order. In both cases the unity of Christian
society was strongly emphasized, and two orders were
distinguished inside of this unique structure: an
ecclesiastical in the strict sense and a temporal, i.e. the
Church and the State, with the basic assumption that
imperium was also a Divine gift, in a sense co-ordinated
with sacerdotium, and subordinate to the ultimate authority
of the Faith. The theory seemed to be reasonable and well
balanced, but in practice it led to an age-long tension and
strife within the theocratical structure and ultimately to
its disruption. The modern conception of the two “separated”
spheres, that of the Church and that of the State, lacks
both theoretical and practical consistency.
In fact, we are still
facing the same dilemma or the same antinomy. Either
Christians ought to go out of the world, in which there is
another master besides Christ (whatever name this master may
bear: Caesar or Mammon or any other), and start a separate
society. Or again they have to transform the outer world and
rebuild it according to the law of the Gospel. What is
important, however, is that even those who go out cannot
dispense with the main problem: they still have to build up
a “society” and cannot therefore dispense with this basic
element of social culture. “Anarchism” is in any case
excluded by the Gospel. Nor does Monasticism mean or imply a
denunciation of culture. Monasteries were, for a long time,
precisely the most powerful centers of cultural activity,
both in the West and in the East. The practical problem is
therefore reduced to the question of a sound and faithful
orientation in a concrete historical situation.
Christians are not
committed to the denial of culture as such. But they are to
be critical of any existing cultural situation and measure
it by the measure of Christ. For Christians are also the
Sons of Eternity, i.e. prospective citizens of the Heavenly
Jerusalem. Yet problems and needs of “this age” in no case
and in no sense can be dismissed or disregarded, since
Christians are called to work and service precisely “in this
world” and “in this age.” Only all these needs and problems
and aims must be viewed in that new and wider perspective
which is disclosed by the Christian Revelation and illumined
by its light.
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Missionary
Leaflet # E095k
Copyright ©
2003 Holy Trinity Orthodox Mission
466
Foothill Blvd, Box 397, La Canada, Ca 91011
Editor:
Bishop Alexander (Mileant)
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