Tuesday, August 22, 2023

Ven. Madeleine Delbrel: Our Deserts/Solitude/Voices That Pray in the Desert

Introduction

Madeleine Delbrêl (1904-1964), though baptized and communed as a child, started her life as a strident atheist and student of philosophy; when her fiancé suddenly joined the Dominicans and her father went blind, she rethought the problem of God and embraced Catholicism.  She dedicated her life to social work, through Scouting and through creating a community of young women (called "the Charity") in Ivry, a small factory town in France, at the time Communist-run.  Through her conjunction of social work and deep Catholicism, she is often compared to Dorothy Day.  Her spirituality can be summarized by her saying, near the end of her life: "I have been and I remain dazzled by God."  Her cause for canonization was opened in 1993, and Pope Francis declared her Venerable on January 26, 2018.

Delbrêl wrote a number of works, including The Holiness of Ordinary People; Humor in Love: Meditations and Fantasies; Missionaries Without Boats; Marxist Town, Mission Field; Woman, Priest, and God; and We Others, People of the Streets.  (The last book has been translated into English as We, the Ordinary People of the Streets.)  The following passages are excerpted from a French anthology of her writings, fittingly entitled The Dazzle of God.


 Our Deserts

When one is in love, one loves to be together,

and when one is together, one loves to speak together.

When one is in love, it is annoying to always have lots of people around.

When one is in love, one loves to listen to the other

all alone,

without other voices that come to bother us.

This is why those who love God

have always cherished the desert, and this is why to those whom He loves

God cannot refuse it.

And I am sure, my God, that You love me

and that, in this so encumbered life,

touched, on all sides,

by family,

friends,

and all the others,

it cannot be absent, this Desert where one meets You.

One never goes into the Desert without passing through many things,

without being worn out by a long road,

without tearing one's eyes away from that which is

their horizon, all the time.

Deserts gain for themselves, they do not give themselves.

The deserts of our life,

we do not rip them out of the secret of our human hours

except by doing violence to our habits, our laziness.

This is difficult, but essential to our love.

Long hours of sleepiness

are not worth ten minutes of true sleep.

So, too, with solitude with You.

Hours of almost solitude are, for the soul, a less grand repose

than an instant plunged into Your presence.

It's not about learning to go for a stroll.

One must learn to be alone every time life gives us a pause.

And life is full of pauses that we can either discover or waste.

On the heaviest, the greyest of days,

what a dazzle for us, to foresee

all these back-to-back pearls.[1]

What joy to know

that we can, towards Your face alone,

lift our eyes

while the porridge thickens,

while the telephone's busy signal buzzes,

while, at the stop, we wait for the bus that's not coming,

while we walk up the stairs,

while we go looking for some chervil leaves at the end of the garden path, to finish the salad.

What an extraordinary stroll will be our return on the metro this evening

when one can no longer see well

the people crossing the sidewalk.

What advances towards You are the delays when one is waiting for a husband, friends, children.

But our deserts have rude defenses, if only just our impatience.

Every impatience over what's not coming is very often the sign of a desert.

If only just our wandering daydreams.

If only just our sluggishness in looking out for empty places.

For we are so beaten 

that we cannot prefer You

without a little fight, and so You,

our Beloved,

will always be set on a scale by us, weighed against that well-worn fascination, that well-worn obsession, with our trinkets.


Solitude

To us, people of the street, it seems that solitude is not the absence of the world but the presence of God.

It is meeting Him everywhere that makes our solitude.

To be truly alone is, for us, to participate in the solitude of God.  He is so great that He leaves no place for any other except Himself.  The whole world is, for us, like a vast face-to-face with God, which we cannot avoid.  An encounter with His living causality in the hectic crossroads of movement.

An encounter with His imprint upon earth.

An encounter with His providence in scientific laws.

An encounter with Christ in all those "little ones who are His," those who suffer in their bodies, those who are troubled, those who are disquieted, those who lack something.

An encounter with the rejected Christ, in the sin in a thousand faces.  How will we have the heart to mock them or to hate them, these many sinners whom we rub shoulders with?

The solitude of God in fraternal charity: Christ serving Christ.  Christ in he who serves, Christ in he who is served.

How could the apostolate be, for us, a distraction or a noise?


Voices That Pray in the Desert

Many of those who leave in a boat land in deserts, to pray there.

In those stretches without human steps, they feel themselves in the heart of their task.

This silence is like the guarantee of their prayer, like the transmitter of their prayer to the door of all far-away hearts.

Solitude confers upon them, as it were, an omnipotence in the midst of all the lives that they want to touch.

There where there is no person, one truly speaks on behalf of all.

There where no human being breathes, one is as if alone, to receive the weight of the presence, of the grace, of the Redemption of God.

The desert gives men the size of the Church.

They speak of the "Desert of love."  Love aspires to the Desert, for the desert delivers to God a man stripped of his homeland, of his friendships, of his fields, of his house.

In the desert, man is dispossessed of that which he loves, free of those who love him, submitted to God in a gigantic tete-a-tete.

This is why, at all times, the spirit has pushed those who love into the Desert.


[1] The French is égrenés, "things that have been shelled."  The image seems to be of removing the "shell" of the bland day in order to find the "pearls" or "nuts" of desert hidden within.  


Sources: "Our Deserts": Humour dans l'amour, méditations et fantaisies (Nouvelle Cité, 2005), 76ff.

"Solitude": La Sainteté des gens ordinaires, Textes missionnaires, Volume 1 (Nouvelle Cité, 2009), 25-26.

"Voices That Pray in the Desert": La Sainteté des gens ordinaires, 84.

All texts as reprinted in L'eblouie de Dieu: Les plus beau textes de Madeleine Delbrel (Nouvelle Cité, 2019).

Translation ©2023 Brandon P. Otto.  Licensed via CC BY-NC.  Feel free to redistribute non-commercially, as long as credit is given to the translator.

Monday, August 21, 2023

Peter of Celle: Sermon 66: On the Transfiguration of the Lord #2

 Introduction

Peter (also known as Peter Cellensis) was born of noble parentage in Champagne, France, in the first half of the 12th century.  He was educated at the Monastery of St. Martin-des-Champs in Paris before he became a Benedictine.  In 1150, he was named abbot of the Abbey of La Celle, near Troyes.  He was later made abbot of the Abbey of St. Rémy at Rheims, in 1162, and in 1181, he became Bishop of Chartres, succeeding John of Salisbury.  He died a few years later, on February 20, 1183.  Peter wrote many epistles and sermons, as well as a few treatises, including On ConscienceOn the Discipline of the Cloister, and an explanation of the Mosaic tabernacle.

This is the second of two sermons on the Transfiguration; I translated the first sermon here.  The source is PL 202:843A-848C.  I also recently translated Peter's first sermon on St. Mary Magdalene.


Sermon 66: On the Transfiguration of the Lord #II

Peter of Celle (d. 1183)


    We cannot worthily write or say something about Jesus, unless we receive it from Him from Whom is every best giving and every perfect gift, according to the measure of the giving (Jas 1:17, Eph 4:7).  Indeed, the Spirit, Who speaks mysteries, proceeds as much from the Father as from Him; He is the scrutator of the ineffable secrets of God (1 Cor 2:10), nor is He oppressed by the majesty in which He equally reigns, without inequality of substance.  Therefore, He is present to us, teaching every truth, especially when we speak of Jesus, when we write of Jesus.

                    Lord Jesus, when, according to the nature of the divinity, there is no change with You, nor shadow of vicissitude (Jas 1:17), You assumed the human condition which, subject to temporality and vanity, in no way excepts the lot of mutability, but runs in time and with time, in according with the order of nature, wherefore this is said: The boy Jesus grew in age and wisdom bef0re God and men (Lk 2:52).  In this, therefore, and according to this nature, the spouse of the Church, whose belly is ivory, distinguished with sapphires (Sgs 5:14), made distinction, not only by preaching with lips, but also by performing actions in accord with the threads of eternity, about what and when He would speak, what and when He would act, so that He would not only submit to human troubles, but also keep to the plan of the paternal and perpetual edict and the eternal decree, wherefore He says in the Gospel: As the Father gave command to me, so do I act (Jn 14:31).

                    Therefore, so that the devotion of His faithful would not abhor a nearly unbelievable thing, He willed to suffer the things sufferable to man, wherefore He was recognized as a man; He performed signs and miracles which, as Nicodemus said, no one could do, unless God were with him (Jn 3:2).  Not just through grace, because of the man, but also through nature, because of the divinity, so that God would be believed.  But more evident and more beautiful signs of humanity appeared more rarely, even in the face of the foolish; those which indubitably asserted God scarcely touched the disciples’ hearts.  Without a doubt, the newness of the mystery of the incarnate Word hindered the world from believing what had not been heard from the ages (Is 64:4), what human reason did not comprehend, what neither use nor custom had ever approved, namely, that God became man.

                    Occasionally shining through, a ray of Divinity excited the inertial torpor of the Jews, but did not strike them; it animated the disciples’ vigilance, but, the height of the matter stupefying them, sometimes it turned them back from the strength of faith for a while, in such a way that they frequently heard: “Little in faith, why do you doubt?”  Again, Thus far, and are you still without intellect (Mt 15:16)?  Therefore, along the mixed course of apostolic stability and instability, while the time of the passion was approaching, so that He would disperse every fog of doubt, He took Peter and James and John, and He ascended a high mountain, where He was transfigured before them (Mt 17:1-2).

                    Most strong and unconquerable is this argument for the Christian faith, that under the veil of flesh hid the power of divinity, and, again, He Who appeared outwardly as a man was God, which, being hidden within, did not appear.  For neither in this moment of the Transfiguration did the apostles see the substance of divinity, but, by a holy pre-libation, through the medical art, they pre-tasted the flesh which was, a little later, to be glorified by the perpetual resurrection, so that, by the strength of this meal, they would not fall away until the mount of God, Horeb, that is, in the resurrection, in which, according to the interpretation of this name,[1] mortality as well as all possibility was dried up in Christ; for Christ arising from the dead now does not die (Rom 6:9), etc.

                    Rightly honored by Christians is this holy and radiant solemnity, upon which faith presses like a footprint, which faith, even if it did not perilously waver, yet did not provide deep roots.  Indeed, it came forth beforehand in the baptism of John, where the Spirit was seen in the image of a dove, the Father likewise heard in voice, This is My beloved Son in Whom I am well pleased; listen to Him (Mt 3:47)—a certain emulation of this most beautiful Transfiguration.

                    Truly, by the shadow of the Sacrament, that event is more fruitful, because of the mystery of our regeneration, which began then; this one, higher by beauty and stronger by the attestation of witnesses; for the testimony of one is far weaker than that of five or three: John alone heard and saw that one.  Peter and James and John, with Moses and Elijah, were present here, and they are apt witnesses.  There, neither the flesh nor face of Jesus changed its appearance; here, His face shone like the sun, beyond the sight of man; that one was done in the desert, this on a high mountain; both there and here, the glory of Jesus.  There, as it were, the entrance of faith was seen, here, as it were, its departure, where the matter is discerned with manifest faith.  About that one, the Apostle says, We see now through a mirror and in enigma (1 Cor 13:12); of this one, John says, We have seen His glory, glory as if of the only-begotten of the Father (Jn 1:14).

                    Lord Jesus, since You, as it were, took off our mortality for an hour, could you not, if it would hasten our salvation without a plundering of pain and groaning, put Your power and beauty on top, and not permit Your sackcloth to be torn by the Jews, but rather make comedy from sackcloth[2] as easily as wine from water?  But as the Passion, as was proper, was voluntary, by a clearer light, it appears He was to accept, without coercion or inevitable necessity, what was in the mouth of Benjamin’s sack along that way (Gen 42:27-28)—by the open sack was revealed the great mystery of piety, as that money, with which the son of the right hand was to redeem Israel and the Gentiles, was in the mouth of Jesus; wherefore, when He said, It is consummated (Jn 19:30), and He sent forth His Spirit, the price was paid, and what the adversary had hand-written against us was erased (Col 2:14).

                    Setting aside such a mystery, what happened on the way pertains to the Transfiguration—that is, before he came to the mansion, Benjamin’s sack was opened, not torn asunder.  For the Passion was a tearing asunder, the Transfiguration, an opening; in the opening, the sack was not emptied or voided, since, the Transfiguration being finished, it received the same form and habit of mortality, or it represented what it received from its mother, entering into the world, and, as it were, it set down a certain prelude of the Resurrection.  But in the tearing asunder, it was absorbed in victory, and Jacob did not play with Esau—that is, the devil—but made a game of[3] him and supplanted him; so that, the body of sin being destroyed, no plant remained from which a revived deception of the human race could sprout forth and repeat the death of Christ by necessity.

                    Therefore, the Transfiguration was, as it were, an interpretation of a certain necessary mortality that was to come due to sin, by which Jesus proved Himself not affected by the laws of death, except only when, and how, and how far He wills it, for what was for an hour there would have been continuous if He had willed it.  Therefore, He manifested Himself, not as the Jews considered Him to be, but as the apostles believed Him to be; not to all people, but to the witnesses preordained by God, since the truth was not to be suppressed, so that no one would know it, nor was it to be disclosed to the princes of the world, until He had concluded the beginning of His prayer with a better end.  For this would be an impediment to His plan, which would generate a detriment to Christian faith; for who would know the sense of the Lord unless He Who is in the bosom of the Father explains it, when no one knew the Son except the Father, nor did anyone know the Father except the Son, and to whom the Son willed to reveal Him (Mt 11:27)?  Therefore, in this Transfiguration, the Son commends the Father, and the Father, the Son, saying, This is My beloved Son, in Whom I am well-pleased; listen to Him (Mt 17:5).

                    Sweet is light—as Solomon says—and delightful to the eyes is seeing the sun (Prv 2:17); Peter the apostle proves this, he who, when he saw Jesus clothed in light as in a vestment—for His vestments were white as snow (Mt 17:2)—and discerned His face to shine, resplendent as the sun, in His power, said, Lord, it is good for us to be here (Mt 17:4); indeed, baited by the hook of such sweetness, which they had forgotten before, he filled the glass of his heart with the trickle dripping from the emissions of Paradise, allured by which, he cried out: Draw me after you; let us run in the scent of your ointments (Sgs 1:3).  For even if the Gospel, through the shortness of His office (since, like a girded rooster, He speedily runs with such obstinacy that He greets no one along the way), failed to express the fragrance of His mouth, which was driven by a blowing east wind, yet it is to be believed and slightly understood that, beyond all perfumes, those vestments, which had become white like snow, scattered the scent of sweetness on all those present; for so the vision of His sunning would cause less joy if, on His part, He did not communicate a generous blessing to the nose; nor would an integral brotherhood be preserved if, the nose remaining famished, the eye alone were satiated.

                    Therefore, He poured out upon Peter and his companions rivers of His oil, not in one form, but in many, so that they would carry the five thirsting senses on one so solemn bier, and, intoxicated, they would say, Lord, it is good for us to be here; this is to be noted, since He touches what is bodily in a varied way, and remakes what is spiritual variedly.  For, because of their lacking, rarely and rare will you find bodies that serve the many senses at one time by one habit; for the diverse senses or appetites have diverse ends in their delight or satiety, so that they always require either diverse times or diverse delights at the same time.  Diversely do the spiritual gifts fulfill all the varieties of desires together and at once, and, in good truth, as this is not a lie that deceives, so this is no diminution of fullness which needs subsidiary alternation or vicarious disquiet.

                    And, behold, Moses and Elijah appeared, speaking with Him (Mt 17:3).  Here approaches the vagabond question that frequently circles about the gyre of heaven, asking why Moses and Elijah came, in the body or in the spirit, before the rest, since they were speaking with Him.  But what urges on this question, to which no certain response can be given?  And if it contains desirable marrow, the hard mouth and solid gum of whelps can assuredly gnaw on this, but they cannot penetrate it.  The appetite longs to crack it, but power everywhere fails to extract the guarded marrow; however, since shameless labor conquers all,[4] it is sweet to beat at it and to go around the surrounding city, so that this honest solicitude might, at the least, find solace in labor.

                    Therefore, it occurs to the investigating soul that Moses and Elijah were mountain-men, and fleers of the consort of men; on mountains, they knew many things, with angelic helpers from God, and they dedicated their lives to solitude, as much as possible.  Wherefore, as if by custom, in that they had, by now, celebrated many councils with Jesus in the mountains, the angelic ministry having informed them of this solemn council of the Transfiguration, they were eager to be present at it.  By reason of such shining luminaries and the glorification of the assumed humanity, which was to be preached, he whose eyes had never gone blind nor whose teeth set grinding, Moses, ran to the Transfiguration; for this reason, he, too, whose flesh had not seen the corruption of death, whose mortality, by an almost singular privilege, not consumed by the fiery chariot, nor absorbed by death, now enjoyed the region of the immortals; and he nearly conquered death, by an unwonted and long delay.[5]

                    Perhaps, too, Jesus, keeping vigil in prayers on the mountains, was used to their presence, and had prefixed the day, so that He would ask both of them about their dissimilar states, according to the assumed humanity, about which was more powerful, the state of Moses, denuded of the body, or of Elijah, still living in the body.  For it was in Jesus’ power to choose what He willed, namely, to hold to the proposition of either, without doubt.  Indeed, one was seen to be just according to the person assuming and assumed; the other, truly, was undoubtedly necessary because of the office of patronage, and the negotiation of quarrels, and in the cause of the ones who sweat; yet that meditator borrowed from both, according to their dispensation, so that He first put off his mortal body without death, by glorification, not by a perpetual transition, retaining both something of the old and something changed, something from His new and future state, so that He would draw from the change of Moses and the retention of Elijah.

                    There is another reason why Moses and Elijah were seen at the Transfiguration with the Lord; for the assumed humanity did not refuse to have witnesses, before men as well as before angels, since it hung from His own will either to die for man, and thus to enter into His glory, or, breaking off the negotiation of our redemption, without interposing death, to return to the right hand of the Father.  Therefore, everything was to be done in council; He ordered men, as authenticators, to be present at His transfiguration, so that Moses, as their author, would convince the unbelieving Jews, while Elijah, who is to come at the end of the world, would protest, with all assurance, that Christ is to be adored, not the Antichrist;[6] there are also other reasons which have been expounded by the holy Fathers, or which remain to be expounded in their times.

                    Speaking with Him, it says, they preserve discipline, nor do they exceed the limits of the mandate; they do not speak to the apostles, but with Jesus, since they did not come to Him here in order to hear worldly rumors, or to refer to things not yet to be explained, namely, the written, holy canons of the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension of the Lord.  About what and to Whom they came, they speak; and they place their fingers over their mouths, lest they speak of works, I do not say of men, but neither of angels.  Perhaps, by his death, Moses pleads for the people of the Jews, whose imminent ruins he foresees, so that at least a remnant might be saved; perhaps, not laying aside his zeal, Elijah discerns the conquest which was to occur under Titus and Vespasian;[7] yet we hold to the secret of their colloquy, we do not discuss it, since the glory of God is to conceal a word (Prv 25:2).

                    It follows: And behold, a lightful cloud overshadowed them (Mt 17:5); the Gospel reading is to be studied earnestly, and, from it, the course of our oration is to be woven; for, not from our own threads, but from its, ought we to weave a tabernacle for the God of Jacob;[8] for God does not dwell in things made by hands (Acts 7:48), that is, in those which were devised by human ingenuity, without grace, through which the knowledge or love of God is acquired.  For God does not dwell in things made by hands, being made known through inane philosophy and through foolish fables or genealogies and interminable questions; whence it is that a grove—that is, quibbling and obscure sophistry—is forbidden to be planted next to the altar of God (Dt 16:21).[9]  Indeed, only those authenticated words of the prophets and apostles, and the Scriptures confirmed by ecclesiastical authority, are to be read and sung in church; for these are like a lightful cloud, that is, the divine Scripture, or the Catholic Church, is a lightful cloud.

                    The Scripture is a cloud for three reasons: because it cools in the heat of temptation, teaching them a befitting remedy; it overshadows in the anguish of persecution, promising prizes to those to whom the passions of this time are not as worthy as the future glory which will be revealed in us (Rom 8:18); it rains in the time of dryness, putting infernal evaporations and smoking joints before our eyes; wherefore the summery and healthful exhalations from the region above the stars, which fully fill the purest and most blessed spirits, are ineffably fragrant and not troubled by a little cough; a lightful cloud, it says, overshadowed them.  The Psalmist explores and implores this overshadowing, saying, set a shadow over my head in the day of war (Ps 140:7); the day of war is all of this life, since warfare is the life of man upon earth (Job 7:1), where there is the battle against flesh and blood, against princes and powers, against the leaders of these darknesses, against the spiritual iniquities in the heavens (Eph 6:12).

                    An iron sword will not be enough against these, unless a lightful cloud—that is, the grace which has given birth to the divine Scripture from its bowels—overshadows you; nor will it suffer its offspring to be violated by this; indeed, through the breasts of the Old and New Testament, it expresses as many drops as the trickle from its womb, with which the virgin Mary was impregnated; by which its adoptive progeny was regenerated, through the lightful cloud, which is the Church; for divine grace fills both breasts, both the Church and the Scripture, to the full, with equal measure; wherefore two-fold is the lactation, but one the education of the children.  Therefore, the Church is the cloud which sojourns from the Lord; that is lightful which is always made fruitful by the Holy Spirit; she overshadows her children as a hen her chicks, lest they yield to adversity, lest they fall away in persecution, lest they are endangered by the delay of the prize.



[1] The Hebrew root of the name Horeb-r-b—is also used in words meaning “wasteland,” “desolate,” “desert,” “dryness,” “drought,” etc.  Hence the name Horeb might have been chosen to mean the “mountain of the wilderness,” though Peter is focusing on the “dryness” connection.  See The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon (Peabody, MA: Henrickson Publishers, Inc., 2005), 351-352.

[2] In Latin, there is a pun here on saccum (“sackcloth”) and soccum.  Typically, soccum would be the accusative of soccus, meaning a slipper or a loose-fitting shoe, and, by extension, comedy, since comedians wore such shoes on stage.  (In the medieval era, the term became applied to stockings as well, hence the English sock.)  It seems Peter means it in the latter sense: instead of the tragic suffering of the Passion, Jesus would turn it into comedy.  In the medieval era, soccum or socum could sometimes be a form of socna or soca, meaning “a lord’s right to hold court in a jurisdiction,” but this was a specifically Anglo-Saxon usage, being derived from an Anglo-Saxon term.  See J.F. Niermeyer, Mediae Latinitatis Lexicon Minus (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1976), 975.  Saccus can refer to either the sack or the sacklcloth; thus the same word appears in the following (long) sentence to describe Benjamin’s sack. 

[3] Peter has a pun here between lusit (“played with”) and illusit (“made a game of,” “made sport of,” “mocked,” “fooled”). 

[4] A slight variant of a line from Virgil’s Georgics I.145-146: Labor omnia vincit / improbus.  Improbus typically has a negative connotation (poor quality, improper, wicked, dishonest, impudent, shameless, violent, excessive, immoderate, etc.); however, it can also mean “restless,” “persistent,” etc.  The latter sense is usually understood in regards to this saying, since it comes in the midst of Virgil’s dire praise of the hard work of farming: “Steady labor conquers all, and necessity urging in hard conditions…and unless you, with assiduous hoes, harass the grass and, with sound, frighten birds, and, with sickle, press upon the dark field’s shadows and, with vows, call upon the rain, alas! another’s great hoard you’ll behold in vain, and, beating the oak, you’ll soothe your hunger in the woods” (I.145-146, 155-159).

[5] Here Peter affirms the tradition that Elijah was not to escape death completely; rather, his death was “delayed” after being taken up by the fiery chariot.  Peter agreed with the tradition that Enoch and Elijah were the two witnesses of Rev 11, who are to come back at the end of time in order to finally die; at the very least, he mentions Elijah’s apocalyptic coming two paragraphs below.

[6] A reference to the two witnesses of Rev 11 who, by tradition, were Enoch and Elijah.

[7] This refers to the Siege of Jerusalem in 70 AD, which resulted in the destruction of the Temple.  Vespasian began the assault—whose goal was to suppress Jewish revolt—then, when he returned to Rome to be declared Emperor, he handed the reins of the assault over to his son Titus.

[8] A reference to the tents (or tabernacles) that Peter desired to set up on Mount Tabor (Mt 17:4).

[9] The grove described in this verse is one that is sacred to some deity (lucus in the Vulgate, though Peter uses nemus here); it is thus a prohibition against idolatry (modern translations often explain this grove as an “Asherah pole,” which was dedicated to a Canaanite goddess).  Peter focuses instead on the thick clustering of trees, likening it to a choking thicket of sophisms.

Translation ©2023 Brandon P. Otto.  Licensed via CC BY-NC.  Feel free to redistribute non-commercially, as long as credit is given to the translator.

Saturday, August 19, 2023

José Enrique Rodó: The Aristocratic Element in Democracy

 

Introduction and Commentary

 

                    José Enrique Rodó (1871-1917) was an Uruguayan philosopher and politician; unlike the authors I typically translate here, he was not Catholic.  Instead, he proudly declared himself a “freethinker,” though that in no way made him abhor religion: “Believe that nothing inspires more respect in me than religious sincerity, wherever it manifests itself, whatever be the dogmas to which it lives united…Free-thinking, as I conceive and profess it, is, in its most ultimate essence, tolerance; and fruitful tolerance has to be, not merely passive, but active as well; it has to be, not merely an apathetic attitude, disdainful consent, frigid leniency, but rather an exchange of stimuli and teachings, a relation of love, a power of sympathy that penetrates into the abysses of another’s conscience, of which an indifferent heart will never be capable.  And, more than any others, religious questions are those which require this high kind of tolerance, because they are the [questions] in which, in the greatest way, one enters into the unconscious and ineffable foundation of every spirit” (“The Religious Sentiment and the Critic,” in Obras completas, 289, 290-291). 

                    He had no qualms about drawing from religions if he found truth therein.  Thus, in the passage translated below, he strives to unite the idea of the equality of each person—drawn from Christianity—with the idea of “natural aristocracy.”  The basis of this idea is the simple recognition that different people have different skills, and that some have greater skill or aptitude, in a certain field, than others do.  Some are physically stronger than others; some are better jumpers; some are better at mathematics; some are better at persuading others via charisma, etc.  Going further, concepts of “natural aristocracy” try to build a society that takes these different skills into account, a society that, necessarily, becomes hierarchical, since those better skilled in any one field become leaders of the less-skilled.  (Proponents of “natural aristocracy” typically go further and say that even the political sphere should become a hierarchy based on general skillfulness: the truly best (aristoi) should rule.)  Yet it is easy for such a hierarchy to become a denigration and oppression of those with lesser skills, a caste system with a swath of “Untouchables.”  That is why Rodó tries to counteract this tendency by drawing on the Christian idea of equality and the universal dignity of every person, and even go so far as to declare—inspired by the image of the Cross—that “hierarchical superiority in an order ought to be nothing else but a superior capacity for love.”  It is this focus on love and on how hierarchy leads to the uplifting of all, that separates his view of “natural aristocracy” from a brutal, Darwinist dictatorship of the powerful.

                    Rodó the freethinker was not the only one to have such ideas; the ornery Colombian Catholic aphoristic philosopher Nicolás Gómez-Dávila (1913-1994) emphasized similar thoughts in his own pithy way.  Thus, he argues, hierarchy is not antithetical to freethinking, but necessary: “He who repudiates dogmatism has to choose between indifferentism and hierarchy” (Escolios a un texto implícito, 319).  Likewise, instead of suppressing the weak and unskilled, it supports them: “The hierarchical order is the only one that neither expels nor suppresses…In societies where everyone believes themselves equal, the inevitable superiority of some few makes the rest feel like failures.  Inversely, in societies where inequality is the norm, each one installs himself in his own difference, without feeling the urgency, nor conceiving the possibility, of comparing himself.  Only a hierarchical structure is compassionate towards the mediocre and the humble” (Escolios, 94, 424).  The very principle of hierarchy—as opposed to a pure dictatorship of the powerful—protects those on below.  It is also, he adds, blindly obvious: “Even among fanatical egalitarians, the briefest encounter re-establishes human inequalities…There exists no individual who, measuring himself unpreparedly, does not discover himself inferior to many, superior to few, equal to none” (Escolios, 204, 478).  This hierarchical principle, Gómez-Dávila argues, is basic to all of life, even in the understanding of Catholicism itself, for “Catholicism is the hierarchical structuring of the history of religions”—that is, it takes the elements and truths buried in all other religions (“it integrates magical rite as well as mystical contemplation, ethical behavior as well as theological reasoning”) and hierarchically structures them into the full, absolute truth (Escolios, 496). 

                    It is because of the development of this idea—the integration of hierarchy and universal human dignity—in writers like Gómez-Dávila that I decided to translate the following passage from a “freethinker” like Rodó.  This passage comes from Chapter IV of Rodó’s famous essay Ariel, a rallying cry for Latin-American modernism, which argues for embracing the truths of (continental) American democracy, without being subsumed by nordomanía, “Yankee mania,” the uncritical embrace of all the over-the-top, materialistic trends in U.S. society.  Oddly, the essay is written as an address to (continental) American youth by Ariel, the spirit from Shakespeare’s The Tempest; Rodó makes Caliban, from the same play, into a principle of evil, and he also wrote a separate essay collection entitled Prospero’s Viewpoint—evidently, the play struck a cord with him.

 

 

The Aristocratic Element in Democracy

José Enrique Rodó

(from Ariel, Ch. IV; Obras completas 223-226)

 

                    No distinction is more easily confused and negated in the spirit of the people than that which teaches that democratic equality can signify an ideal possibility, but never an ideal reality, of influence and prestige among the members of an organized society.  In all of them, there is an identical right to aspire to the moral superiorities which ought to be the reason for and foundation of effective superiorities, but only to those who have really taken possession of the former ought the prize of the latter to be conceded.  The truthful, the worthy concept of equality rests upon the thought that all rational beings are endowed, by nature, with faculties capable of a noble development.  The duty of the State consists in arranging all the members of the society in the indistinct conditions which tend towards their perfecting.  The duty of the State consists in predisposing the proper means for uniformly provoking the revelation of human superiorities, wherever they exist.  In a like manner, but far from this initial equality, every inequality will be justified, because it will be the sanction of the mysterious elections of Nature or of the meritorious force of the will.—When conceived in this way, democratic equality, far from opposing the selection of customs and of ideas, is the most efficacious instrument for spiritual selection, is the providential atmosphere of culture.  All that favors the predominance of intelligent energy will favor it.  In just the same way, I can agree with de Tocqueville that poetry, eloquence, graces of the spirit, splendors of the imagination, profundity of thought, “all those gifts of the soul, scattered haphazardly by heaven,” were collaborators in the work of democracy and served it, even when they were found on the side of its adversaries, because they all converged in putting into relief the natural, the non-inherited greatness, of which our spirit is capable.—Emulation, which is the most powerful stimulus among those which can overexcite vivacity of thought as well as the other human activities, needs, at times, equality as a starting-point, in order to be produced, and inequality, which gives the advantage to the most apt and the best, as final object.  Only a democratic regime can reconcile, in its bosom, those two conditions of emulation, when it does not degenerate into a flattening egalitarianism and limit itself to considering a future equivalence of men through their ascension to the same grade of culture as a beautiful idea of perfectibility.

                    Rationally conceived, democracy always admits an imprescriptible aristocratic element, which consists in establishing the superiority of the best, assuring it with the free consent of those associated.  Like aristocracies, it consecrates the distinction of quality, but it resolves it in favor of truly superior qualities—those of virtue, character, spirit—and, without pretending to immobilize them in classes constituted apart from others, which maintain, in their own favor, the execrable privilege of caste, it ceaselessly renews its ruling aristocracy in the living fonts of the people, and it makes them accept it through justice and love.  In a like manner, recognizing, in the selection and predominance of the greatest endowments, a necessity of all progress, it excludes from that universal law of life—in order to sanction it in the order of society—the effect of humiliation and suffering that lies in the concurrences of nature and in those of the other social organizations, the hard lot of the conquered.  “The great law of natural selection”—Fouillée[1] has luminously said—“will continue to be realized in the bosom of human societies only when it is realized more and more by way of liberty.”—The odious character of traditional aristocracies originated from their being unjust in their foundation and oppressive, inasmuch as their authority was an imposition.  Today we know that there exists no other legitimate limit for human equality than that which consists in the dominion of intelligence and virtue, consented to by the liberty of all.  But we also know that it is necessary that this limit exist in reality.—On the other hand, our Christian conception of life teaches us that moral superiorities, which are a motive for rights, are principally a motive for duties, and that every superior spirit has duties towards the rest in equal proportion to how it exceeds them in the capacity for realizing the good.  Nietzsche’s anti-egalitarianism—which causes so deep a furrow in what we might call our modern literature of ideas—brought to its powerful revindication of the rights that he considers implicit in human superiorities an abominable, a reactionary spirit: seeing that, negating all brotherhood, all piety, it places in the heart of the superman whom it deifies a satanic belittling of the disinherited and the weak; and, with logical resolution, it, in the end, comes to affirm that “society does not exist for itself, but rather for its elect.”—It is not, certainly, this monstruous conception which could be opposed, like a standard, to the false egalitarianism that aspires to the flattening of all through a common vulgarity. Fortunately, as long as there exists in the world the possibility of arranging two pieces of wood in the form of a cross—that is to say, always—humanity will continue believing that love is the foundation of every stable order and that hierarchical superiority in an order ought to be nothing else but a superior capacity for love!

                    A fountain of inexhaustible moral inspirations, a new science suggests to us, in order to clarify the laws of life, how the democratic principle can be reconciled, in the organization of human collectivities, with an aristarchy[2] of morality and culture.—On the one hand—as Henri Bérenger once noted in a sympathetic book[3]—the affirmations of science contribute to sanctioning and fortifying the spirit of democracy in society, revealing how great is the natural value of the collective force; how great the greatness of the work of the small; how immense the part of action reserved for the anonymous and obscure collaborator in any manifestation of universal development.  It raises, no less than revelation, the dignity of the humble, this new revelation, which attributes, in nature, to the work of the infinitely small, to the labor of the nummulite and bryozoan[4] in the obscure depth of the abyss, the construction of geological foundations; which causes all the ascendent impulse of organic forms from the vibration of the unformed and primitive cell; which manifests the powerful role that, in our psychical life, it is necessary to attribute to the more unapparent and vaguer phenomena, even to the fleeting perceptions of which we have no consciousness; and which, arriving at sociology and history, restores to heroism, often denounced by the crowds, the part that silence forbid it in the glory of the individual hero, and it makes clear the slow accumulation of the investigations which, across the centuries, in the shadow, in the workshop, or in the laboratory of forgotten workers, prepare the deeds of genius.

                    But, at the same time that it thus manifests the immortal efficacy of the collective force and dignifies the participation of the unknown collaborators in the universal work, science shows how, in the immense society of things and beings, hierarchical order is a necessary condition of all progress; how the relations of dependence and of subordination between the individual components of that society and between the elements of the organization of the individual are a principle of life; and, finally, how there is necessarily inherent in the universal law of imitation, if it is set in relation to the perfecting of human societies, the presence, in them, of living and influential models, which raise them up through the progressive generalization of their superiority.

                    In order to show, now, how both universal teachings of science can be translated into acts, being reconciled in the organization and in the spirit of society, it is enough to insist upon the conception of a noble, just democracy; of a democracy ruled by the notion and sentiment of true human superiorities; of a democracy in which supremacy of intelligence and virtue—the only limits for the meritorious equivalence of men—receives its authority and its prestige from liberty and descends upon the multitudes in a beneficial effusion of love.

                    At the same time that it reconciles those two great results of the observation of the natural order, it will realize, within a similar society—according to what Bérenger observes in the same book of which I spoke to you—the harmony of the two historical impulses that have communicated their essential characters to our civilization, the ruling principles of its life.—From the spirit of Christianity is born, effectively, the sentiment of equality, corrupted by a certain ascetic belittling of spiritual selection and culture.  From the inheritance of the classical civilizations is born the feeling of order, of hierarchy, and the religious respect for genius, corrupted by a certain aristocratic disdain for the humble and the weak.  The future will synthesize both suggestions from the past into an immortal formula.  Democracy, meanwhile, will have definitively triumphed.  And it, which, when it threatens with the ignobility of the flattening razor, justifies the irate protests and the bitter melancholy of those who believed that, through its triumph, every intellectual distinction, every dream of art, every delicacy of life was sacrificed, will have, even more than the old aristocracies, inviolable security for the cultivation of the flowers of the soul, would wilt and perish in the atmosphere of vulgarity and amid the impieties of mayhem!

 

Sources: José Enrique Rodó, Obras completas, ed. Emir Rodríguez Monegal (Madrid: Águilar, 1957).

Nicolás Gómez-Dávila, Escolios a un texto implícito (Girona: Atalanta, 2021).  

(Confusingly, the name Scholia to an Implicit Text is given both to Gómez-Dávila’s collected works and to his first two-volume book; this volume contains all of Gómez-Dávila’s aphoristic works, though all the passages I quoted are from that first two-volume work. )



[1] Alfred Jules Émile Fouillée (1838-1912), a French philosopher who strove to reconcile metaphysical idealism and positivistic science.

[2] Rodó is trying to distinguish aristocracy from aristarchy.  Both are related to rule by the best (aristos), but the second half of the names come from different Greek terms, kratos and arche.  Both can mean “rule,” but the former has a greater sense of ruling by force, by “might” or “power” (other translations of kratos), while the latter has more of a connotation of exercising authority or jurisdiction or leadership.

[3] Henri Bérenger (1867-1952) was a French senator for over thirty years (1912-1945), as well as, briefly (1926-1927), the French ambassador to the United States.  He was also a prolific author; Rodó is most likely referencing Bérenger’s 1895 book Intellectual Aristocracy.

[4] The nummulite is a single-celled protozoan famous for its tiny, coiled shells, which the ancient Egyptians used for currency (hence the name nummulite comes from the Latin nummulus, “little coin”).  A bryozoan is member of a phylum of aquatic, invertebrate animals.  Rodó is using both as examples of tiny, ancient, simple organisms whose cumulative acts caused large effects.

 

Translation ©2023 Brandon P. Otto.  Licensed via CC BY-NC.  Feel free to redistribute non-commercially, as long as credit is given to the translator.

 

Monday, August 7, 2023

Peter of Celle: Sermon 65: On the Transfiguration of the Lord #I

 Introduction

Peter (also known as Peter Cellensis) was born of noble parentage in Champagne, France, in the first half of the 12th century.  He was educated at the Monastery of St. Martin-des-Champs in Paris before he became a Benedictine.  In 1150, he was named abbot of the Abbey of La Celle, near Troyes.  He was later made abbot of the Abbey of St. Rémy at Rheims, in 1162, and in 1181, he became Bishop of Chartres, succeeding John of Salisbury.  He died a few years later, on February 20, 1183.  Peter wrote many epistles and sermons, as well as a few treatises, including On ConscienceOn the Discipline of the Cloister, and an explanation of the Mosaic tabernacle.

This is the first of two sermons on the Transfiguration.  The source is PL 202:840A-843A.  I also recently translated Peter's first sermon on St. Mary Magdalene.


Sermon 65: On the Transfiguration of the Lord #I

Peter of Celle (d. 1183)


    Like the eagle provoking its chicks to fly, etc. (Dt 32:11).

            Having made mention of His passion, lest the faith of the apostles—unto now middling and tender, like a mustard seed—be crushed by a heap and by such burdensome heaps, Jesus overcame sorrow with consolation, overcame sickness with remedy, overcame a bitter thing with sweetness, overcame, finally, the foulest death of the Cross with the glorious Transfiguration.  Indeed, the laborers are worthy of compensation (Lk 10:7), and everyone weighs it on the just balance of equity, the labor as much as the reward of the work, so that what is expended and what is demanded would run with equal steps, by diverse ways, yet they seek one crossroads.

            Clearly, different things are to honored and despised, glorified and reviled, yet, on one shoulder, Jesus bore both the Cross and the glorification of the Transfiguration; for the same face which shone like the sun in the Transfiguration suffered spittle and blows in the Passion.  If the face of the image of the glory of God assumed the sun’s splendor, this was not great.[1]  But who would not wither away, hearing that the filthiest perfidy of the Jews spat the venom of its breast into the face of God?  Who would not block up his ears, not rend asunder his faithful heart?  Yet the vestments, which become white as snow,[2] are taken away and distributed by lot among the soldiers.

            O patience of God, that what is scarcely believed worthy of angelic guards, what is most mercifully designated as an incomparable treasury for the Christian people, is handled by the unworthy hands of the crucifiers!  But the reason for this truth and variety lies in the mysteries hidden from the world.  While the boyhood of faith grows feathers, before it is exposed to the birds of prey, the doctrine of flying is laid down and expounded; for, when the Lord foretold His Passion, after six days, He took Peter and James and John, and He led them onto a high mountain and was transfigured before them (Mt 17:1-2).

            Flying away, to the eagle, is the Transfiguration to the Lord; for, as the eagle is raised up to the sun itself by most rapid flight, so the human nature assumed by the Word, most powerfully flying away, at that hour, cast off all mortal impediments from itself, not condemning the clarity of the sun or snow, but dressed in the clarity[3] which was in the Word before the world was, at which even angels long to peek.  For neither could the evangelist express how much the divine power was able to do; he spoke as a man could, in comparison, but God could do much more in operation than the human tongue in relation.

            Therefore, the hen led her chicks up to the high mountain, and—not like a hen, but like an eagle—provoked them to fly; for it is for hens to nourish chicks, not to fly; but it is for the eagle to fly, and to provoke to flight.  Therefore, Jesus was a hen in the fields, an eagle on the mountains; He taught morals in the fields, He revealed heavenly things on the mountains; He heals the sick in the fields, He teaches the Beatitudes on the mountains.  Jacob set down a stone in the fields (Gen 28:11), He erected a ladder on the mountains; He provokes with admiration, He provokes with delight, He provokes with paternal consolation, He provokes with promise, He provokes with compassion, since, if we suffer with Him,[4] we shall also reign with Him (2 Tim 2:12).

            And what does it mean that “He was transfigured,” not “in their presence,” but “before them” (Mt 17:2),[5] except that He will configure the body of our humility to be configured to the body of His clarity (Phil 3:21), so that we will be transferred from clarity to clarity, as by the Lord’s spirit (2 Cor 3:18)?  “Before them” as the head itself, and we, afterwards, as the members.  For members follow their head everywhere, be it unto death, be it unto life, whence He says: He who ministers to Me, let him follow Me, and where I am, there too will My minister be (Jn 12:26).

            Then follows the mode of transfiguration, like the single flight of an eagle, and difficult to imitate: and His face shone like the sun, and His vestments became white as snow (Mt 17:2); when the eagle grows old, he renews (Ps 103:5); when Jesus, as if fatigued to old age by the troubles of the world, and urged by a desire to finish the course, like Jacob (Gen 31:3), proposes to see his father and fatherland again, He is first transfigured, with face changed into the clarity of the sun, and clothing into the image of snow;[6] for the face of the old man ceases where the glory of the new approaches—You shall cast out the old, says Moses, when the new come upon you (Lev 26:10); but Jesus, having taken up the winnowing-fork, began to cleanse His threshing-floor when He changed the tent of Kedar into the curtain of Solomon (Sgs 1:5), that is, the old age of mortality into the glory of the Transfiguration.  And since there was nothing artificial in the Transfiguration, therefore, a comparison was taken from the sun, not from any sub-solar image; for who could touch the sun, so that he could exercise some deceptive art upon it?  Therefore, it was heavenly that, by divine power alone, the face of Jesus shone like the sun.

            In that comparison and this solemn mystery, there hides the fact that the sun always shines when it is not covered by a cloud, yet it retracts its rays when it is overshadowed by a thick and dense cloud; but the ignorance and malice of the Jews formed a thick cloud and a dark blinding, wherefore it is said that their malice blinded them (Wis 2:21).  Therefore, the blinded dashed against the stone of offense and the rock of scandal, attending to the covering cloud, not the hidden sun, since Isaac grew old, and could not clearly see the present (Gen 27:1), he who most truly prophesied about the future.  Jesus overshadowed Himself with the thin and clear cloud of flesh, but His persecutors tripled this by their evil, when, inculcating the devil’s venomous hatred and their own depraved sense, twined the triple cord of their own damnation; for they did not see the sun, since fire had fallen upon them (Ps 58:8), since their furor was according to the likeness of the serpent (Ps 58:4), etc.

            Certainly, the eagle was well able to fly away, so that in vain is a trap laid right before him, in the eyes of the fletchers, and he was well able to avoid their snares, but he inclined towards the bait, which is the will of His Father, wherefore My food is that I would do the will of My Father (Jn 4:34); therefore, he preferred to be caught in the trap than to remain fasting and without the bait of obedience.  He thinned the old face by fasting for forty days and forty days, that eagle who was to take up the new again in the kingdom of His Father, where He was to drink the new wine with His disciples and to eat the new bread with them (Mt 26:29).

            There follows: And His vestments became white as snow (Mt 17:2), distinguishing between sun and snow, between face and clothing; for the disciple is not above his master (Mt 10:24); but he will be perfect if he is like his master, not in equality, but in likeness, as snow is not compared to sun by dignity, but by a certain participation in its clarity.  For by the face is Christ Himself to be understood, through the vestments, His disciples; and note in this how the eagle provokes his chicks to flight, for the faithful will not be made equal to the Son of God, but they will be glorified with Him; and one is the clarity of the sun, another the clarity of the moon, another the clarity of the stars; for star differs from star in clarity; such will be the resurrection of the dead (1 Cor 15:41-42).

            Therefore, He provokes His chicks to flight, not to flying out or flying with, so that they would imitate Him, they who are of His part, in simplicity of life, in passion for the faith, in hope of the glory of the sons of God.  For snow is light in regards to simplicity, frigid in regards to passion, clear in regards to resurrection.  Compare the Gospel to the song:[7] Like an eagle provoking its chicks to fly, and flying above them (Dt 32:11).  And His face shone like the sun, and His vestments like snow—what does this mean except that He provokes His chicks to fly and flies above them?  Attend, He says, hanging on the Cross, and see if there is sorrow like my sorrow (Lam 1:12).  Behold, He flies above in sorrow.  He will not be compared to the dyed colors of India, gold from Ethiopia will not be equated to Him (Job 28:16,19).

            Behold how He flies above us in the splendor of wisdom and the swiftness of virtues; in the song there follows, He spread out his wings and took them up, etc. (Dt 32:11).  In the Gospel: And Moses and Elijah appeared, speaking with Him (Mt 17:3); who brought Moses from death and Elijah from the remotest region[8] except the eagle, Who spread the wings of His will and power and bore them on His shoulders, that is, by insuperable operations?  For He bears everything by the word of His power (Heb 1:3); by that word, with those shoulders, He, therefore, bore Moses and Elijah, so that they would be present at His Transfiguration.  There follows: And, behold, a lightful cloud overshadowed them (Mt 17:5); perhaps this is that cloud which took Jesus from the eyes of the Apostles (Acts 1:9), them seeing how He is also to come in judgment, according to this: So He will come, as you saw Him going into heaven (Acts 1:11).

            There follows: The Lord alone was his leader, and there was no alien God with him (Dt 32:12); in the Gospel, And there was a voice from the cloud saying, “This is My Son,” etc. (Mt 17:3).  Behold what the Apostle says: One is the God and Father of all, Who is over all, and through all, and in all of us, Who is God, blessed unto the ages (Eph 4:6, Rom 9:5).  For there are not two gods, Father and Son, but one God, one Lord, one faith, one Baptism (Eph 4:5); it was the voice of this Lord, namely, the Father, that came from the cloud, saying: “This is My Son, this is He Whom the Father signed and sent into the world; this, distinctly, is My Son; for all others are sons by adoption, He, by nature according to divinity, by a union of person according to humanity: this is My Son, beloved by generation, beloved by operation, beloved by death, beloved by resurrection, Who lives and reigns through all the ages of ages.”  Amen.


[1] By “great” here, Peter means “surprising” or “unexpected.” 

[2] Interestingly, though “white as snow” is found in the Vulgate of Mt 17:2, as well as certain versions of the Gospels in Syriac and Bohairic Coptic, it is only found in a single Greek manuscript: the rest of the Greek textual tradition instead reads “white as light.”  Possibly the “white as snow” reading was adapted from Mt 28:3, where the angel’s garment is thus described.

[3] In Latin, the word claritas can mean either “brightness” or “glory.”  Throughout this sermon, there is a constant play on words between the brightness associated with the Transfiguration (shining like the sun, vestments white as snow) and the glory that Jesus displayed then.  In order to not simplify the double meaning, I’ve translated claritas as “clarity” wherever it appears.

[4] The Latin word compassio (“compassion”) literally means “to suffer with,” and Peter uses the related verb (compatimur) here as a pun.

[5] Peter is commenting on the odd word choice in the Vulgate of this verse.  Instead of using the preposition coram, meaning “in the face of,” “in the presence of,” the Vulgate instead uses ante, which primarily means “before” in the temporal sense.  Peter takes this ante eos (‘before them”) in a properly temporal sense, so that the Evangelist is referring to the fact that, in the end, we, too, will be transfigured as Jesus was then.

[6] If Peter intends to relate Jesus’ transfiguration of His face and garments to some aspect of Jacob’s return to his father and fatherland, perhaps he is thinking of how Jacob had his household and followers wash themselves and change their clothes upon approaching Bethel (Gen 35:2).

[7] The passage in Deuteronomy (Dt 32:1-43) that Peter is drawing from is often called “the Song of Moses,” since Scripture itself describes Moses as speaking “the words of a song” (Dt 31:30, 32:44).  In the Greek tradition, this song is the second of the Nine Odes drawn from the Old and New Testaments, though, due to its severe nature, it is typically omitted in liturgical use.

[8] Scripture simply says that Elijah was taken up in a fiery chariot and seen no more (2 Kgs 2:11-12), not that he died.  There was thus a strong tradition claiming that Elijah, along with Enoch, who “walked with God and was seen no more, because God took him” (Gen 5:24), did not die but was to come again.  (Thus John could be described as “Elijah who was to come” (Mt 11:14).)  One explanation of the “two witnesses” in Rev 11 is that they are Elijah and Enoch, come back at the end of time in order to finally die.  It is due to this tradition that Peter says Elijah was brought “from the remotest region” and not, like Moses, “from death.”

Translation ©2023 Brandon P. Otto.  Licensed via CC BY-NC.  Feel free to redistribute non-commercially, as long as credit is given to the translator.