II. Action and suffering as settings for learning hope
…continued
For this too we need witnesses—martyrs—who have given themselves totally, so as to
show us the way—day after day. We need them if we are to prefer goodness to comfort,
even in the little choices we face each day—knowing that this is how we live life to the full.
Let us say it once again: the capacity to suffer for the sake of the truth is the measure of
humanity. Yet this capacity to suffer depends on the type and extent of the hope that
we bear within us and build upon. The saints were able to make the great journey of
human existence in the way that Christ had done before them, because they were
brimming with great hope.
40. I would like to add here another brief comment with some relevance for everyday
living. There used to be a form of devotion—perhaps less practised today but quite
widespread not long ago—that included the idea of “offering up” the minor daily
hardships that continually strike at us like irritating “jabs”, thereby giving them a meaning.
Of course, there were some exaggerations and perhaps unhealthy applications of this
devotion, but we need to ask ourselves whether there may not after all have been
something essential and helpful contained within it. What does it mean to offer something
up? Those who did so were convinced that they could insert these little annoyances into
Christ's great “com-passion” so that they somehow became part of the treasury of
compassion so greatly needed by the human race. In this way, even the small
inconveniences of daily life could acquire meaning and contribute to the economy of
good and of human love. Maybe we should consider whether it might be judicious to
revive this practice ourselves.
III. Judgement as a setting for learning and practising hope
41. At the conclusion of the central section of the Church's great Credo—the part that
recounts the mystery of Christ, from his eternal birth of the Father and his temporal
birth of the Virgin Mary, through his Cross and Resurrection to the second coming—we
find the phrase: “he will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead”. From the
earliest times, the prospect of the Judgement has influenced Christians in their daily
living as a criterion by which to order their present life, as a summons to their conscience,
and at the same time as hope in God's justice. Faith in Christ has never looked merely
backwards or merely upwards, but always also forwards to the hour of justice that the
Lord repeatedly proclaimed. This looking ahead has given Christianity its importance
for the present moment. In the arrangement of Christian sacred buildings, which were
intended to make visible the historic and cosmic breadth of faith in Christ, it became
customary to depict the Lord returning as a king—the symbol of hope—at the east end;
while the west wall normally portrayed the Last Judgement as a symbol of our
responsibility for our lives—a scene which followed and accompanied the faithful as they
went out to resume their daily routine. As the iconography of the Last Judgement
developed, however, more and more prominence was given to its ominous and frightening
aspects, which obviously held more fascination for artists than the splendour of hope,
often all too well concealed beneath the horrors.
42. In the modern era, the idea of the Last Judgement has faded into the background:
Christian faith has been individualized and primarily oriented towards the salvation of
the believer's own soul, while reflection on world history is largely dominated by the idea
of progress. The fundamental content of awaiting a final Judgement, however, has not
disappeared: it has simply taken on a totally different form. The atheism of the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries is—in its origins and aims—a type of moralism: a
protest against the injustices of the world and of world history. A world marked by so
much injustice, innocent suffering, and cynicism of power cannot be the work of a good
God. A God with responsibility for such a world would not be a just God, much less a
good God. It is for the sake of morality that this God has to be contested. Since there
is no God to create justice, it seems man himself is now called to establish justice. If in the
face of this world's suffering, protest against God is understandable, the claim that
humanity can and must do what no God actually does or is able to do is both
presumptuous and intrinsically false. It is no accident that this idea has led to the
greatest forms of cruelty and violations of justice; rather, it is grounded in the intrinsic
falsity of the claim. A world which has to create its own justice is a world without hope.
No one and nothing can answer for centuries of suffering. No one and nothing can
guarantee that the cynicism of power—whatever beguiling ideological mask it adopts—will
cease to dominate the world. This is why the great thinkers of the Frankfurt School,
Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, were equally critical of atheism and theism.
Horkheimer radically excluded the possibility of ever finding a this-worldly substitute for
God, while at the same time he rejected the image of a good and just God. In an extreme
radicalization of the Old Testament prohibition of images, he speaks of a “longing for
the totally Other” that remains inaccessible—a cry of yearning directed at world history.
Adorno also firmly upheld this total rejection of images, which naturally meant the
exclusion of any “image” of a loving God. On the other hand, he also constantly
emphasized this “negative” dialectic and asserted that justice —true justice—would
require a world “where not only present suffering would be wiped out, but also that which
is irrevocably past would be undone”[30]. This, would mean, however—to express it with
positive and hence, for him, inadequate symbols—that there can be no justice without a
resurrection of the dead. Yet this would have to involve “the resurrection of the flesh,
something that is totally foreign to idealism and the realm of Absolute spirit”[31].
43. Christians likewise can and must constantly learn from the strict rejection of images
that is contained in God's first commandment (cf. Ex 20:4). The truth of negative
theology was highlighted by the Fourth Lateran Council, which explicitly stated that
however great the similarity that may be established between Creator and creature, the
dissimilarity between them is always greater[32]. In any case, for the believer the rejection
of images cannot be carried so far that one ends up, as Horkheimer and Adorno would
like, by saying “no” to both theses—theism and atheism. God has given himself an
“image”: in Christ who was made man. In him who was crucified, the denial of false images
of God is taken to an extreme.
Continue reading
Encylical “Saved In Hope”
Saved In Hope!
II. Action and suffering as
settings for learning hope
…continued
For this too we need
witnesses—martyrs—who have given
themselves totally, so as to show us the
way—day after day. We need them if we are
to prefer goodness to comfort, even in the
little choices we face each day—knowing
that this is how we live life to the full. Let us
say it once again: the capacity to suffer for
the sake of the truth is the measure of
humanity. Yet this capacity to suffer
depends on the type and extent of the hope
that we bear within us and build upon. The
saints were able to make the great journey
of human existence in the way that Christ
had done before them, because they were
brimming with great hope.
40. I would like to add here another brief
comment with some relevance for everyday
living. There used to be a form of
devotion—perhaps less practised today but
quite widespread not long ago—that
included the idea of “offering up” the minor
daily hardships that continually strike at us
like irritating “jabs”, thereby giving them a
meaning. Of course, there were some
exaggerations and perhaps unhealthy
applications of this devotion, but we need
to ask ourselves whether there may not
after all have been something essential and
helpful contained within it. What does it
mean to offer something up? Those who did
so were convinced that they could insert
these little annoyances into Christ's great
“com-passion” so that they somehow
became part of the treasury of compassion
so greatly needed by the human race. In this
way, even the small inconveniences of daily
life could acquire meaning and contribute to
the economy of good and of human love.
Maybe we should consider whether it might
be judicious to revive this practice
ourselves.
III. Judgement as a setting for
learning and practising hope
41. At the conclusion of the central section
of the Church's great Credo—the part that
recounts the mystery of Christ, from his
eternal birth of the Father and his temporal
birth of the Virgin Mary, through his Cross
and Resurrection to the second coming—we
find the phrase: “he will come again in glory
to judge the living and the dead”. From the
earliest times, the prospect of the
Judgement has influenced Christians in
their daily living as a criterion by which to
order their present life, as a summons to
their conscience, and at the same time as
hope in God's justice. Faith in Christ has
never looked merely backwards or merely
upwards, but always also forwards to the
hour of justice that the Lord repeatedly
proclaimed. This looking ahead has given
Christianity its importance for the present
moment. In the arrangement of Christian
sacred buildings, which were intended to
make visible the historic and cosmic breadth
of faith in Christ, it became customary to
depict the Lord returning as a king—the
symbol of hope—at the east end; while the
west wall normally portrayed the Last
Judgement as a symbol of our responsibility
for our lives—a scene which followed and
accompanied the faithful as they went out
to resume their daily routine. As the
iconography of the Last Judgement
developed, however, more and more
prominence was given to its ominous and
frightening aspects, which obviously held
more fascination for artists than the
splendour of hope, often all too well
concealed beneath the horrors.
42. In the modern era, the idea of the Last
Judgement has faded into the background:
Christian faith has been individualized and
primarily oriented towards the salvation of
the believer's own soul, while reflection on
world history is largely dominated by the
idea of progress. The fundamental content
of awaiting a final Judgement, however, has
not disappeared: it has simply taken on a
totally different form. The atheism of the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries is—in its
origins and aims—a type of moralism: a
protest against the injustices of the world
and of world history. A world marked by so
much injustice, innocent suffering, and
cynicism of power cannot be the work of a
good God. A God with responsibility for
such a world would not be a just God, much
less a good God. It is for the sake of
morality that this God has to be contested.
Since there is no God to create justice, it
seems man himself is now called to establish
justice. If in the face of this world's
suffering, protest against God is
understandable, the claim that humanity can
and must do what no God actually does or
is able to do is both presumptuous and
intrinsically false. It is no accident that this
idea has led to the greatest forms of cruelty
and violations of justice; rather, it is
grounded in the intrinsic falsity of the claim.
A world which has to create its own justice
is a world without hope. No one and
nothing can answer for centuries of
suffering. No one and nothing can
guarantee that the cynicism of
power—whatever beguiling ideological mask
it adopts—will cease to dominate the world.
This is why the great thinkers of the
Frankfurt School, Max Horkheimer and
Theodor W. Adorno, were equally critical
of atheism and theism. Horkheimer radically
excluded the possibility of ever finding a
this-worldly substitute for God, while at the
same time he rejected the image of a good
and just God. In an extreme radicalization
of the Old Testament prohibition of
images, he speaks of a “longing for the
totally Other” that remains inaccessible—a
cry of yearning directed at world history.
Adorno also firmly upheld this total
rejection of images, which naturally meant
the exclusion of any “image” of a loving
God. On the other hand, he also
constantly emphasized this “negative”
dialectic and asserted that justice —true
justice—would require a world “where not
only present suffering would be wiped out,
but also that which is irrevocably past would
be undone”[30]. This, would mean,
however—to express it with positive and
hence, for him, inadequate symbols—that
there can be no justice without a
resurrection of the dead. Yet this would
have to involve “the resurrection of the
flesh, something that is totally foreign to
idealism and the realm of Absolute
spirit”[31].
43. Christians likewise can and must
constantly learn from the strict rejection of
images that is contained in God's first
commandment (cf. Ex 20:4). The truth of
negative theology was highlighted by the
Fourth Lateran Council, which explicitly
stated that however great the similarity that
may be established between Creator and
creature, the dissimilarity between them is
always greater[32]. In any case, for the
believer the rejection of images cannot be
carried so far that one ends up, as
Horkheimer and Adorno would like, by
saying “no” to both theses—theism and
atheism. God has given himself an “image”:
in Christ who was made man. In him who was
crucified, the denial of false images of God
is taken to an extreme.
Continue reading
Encyclical "Saved In Hope"
Saved In Hope!
