O friends, O friends, I wish for you the most excellent of evenings! It has come to my attention of late that I have not been finishing anything I start for the weblog. I have no fewer intentions for it than usual, but they are simply not following though to their respective conclusions. I have two hypotheses as to why this might be the case. The first is that I might be taking the weblog too seriously. If this be the case, let this very posting mark the end of that! The second is that I have been priveleged to engage you friends in person more often in person, which lessens the importance of this outlet of communication with you. In that case, how happy I am to say less via weblog! I think the second is quite true, and I do not know about the first. See how, once I was free of the Academy at Oxnard, my posting suddenly decreased. Clearly I had less reason to ramble.
That said, that was not my purpose in writing this evening. This evening I shall turn my quill upon one of my earlier subjects, that of education. Many things are often said on the subject of education, and as far as I can tell little is ever learnt by saying any of these things. What little is learnt, I think, can be summarized in the fact that hot air rises. This, after all, is how balloning works, at least for ballooners. This is not how ballooning spiders pursue their craft; however, for ballooning spiders merely glide. Spiders have no need for education, but they often have many more eyes than the average ballooner, who does have use for education. Indeed, to float so far by hot air, the ballooner must be in great need of education. Nothing indicates a lack of education like senseless talk of education, so nothing gives rise to more hot air. Spiders do not speak, so they do not run this risk.
Now, how shall we speak of education without becoming lost among the clouds? Furthermore, what is really wrong with being lost in the clouds? I tell you, there is nothing wrong with it, so there must be two kinds of hot air: right hot air and wrong hot air. The former leads to fantastic adventure, the latter leads to humdrum and frustrated wandering. How, then, can we achieve the fantastic over the humdrum? Why, by fine and beautiful education, of course! And what is a fine and beautiful education? It is an adventurous education, but one wrought with difficulty and noble suffering, in conjunction with wonder and cameraderie. Only then will the ballooners see what ballooning is all about. Spiders will never see this.
28 December 2008
21 December 2008
Merry Solstice!
Merry Solstice, my friends! Today is the turning point in the great battle betwixt the gods of light and the gods of darkness. It is this very night, when our hope for the light is at its lowest, seeming to be all but lost, the tide shall turn, and the darkness shall begin its retreat. The reconquest of the sun is at hand, and our cattle shall graze in its warm glow, and our fields and our vineyards shall bear fruit! Alas, not yet, for this remains our darkest hour, but not our saddest. Our saddest hour, of course, is Samhain, for that is a day of dread. The Solstice is a day of hope, on which we may begin the great chase of the giants, the trolls, and dark faerie-creatures back whence they came. In order to ensure the celestial victory of the light, however, we must do all we can to welcome the gods of light. We must show them green things! Deck the halls! We must bring light and warmth to the world! Light fires in both field and hearth! We must display the bounty of life! Let there be feasting and dancing! Let the gods bear witness to our charity! Give gifts to them and to one another! Sacrifice! Sacrifice! How anxious we are for Beltaine!
10 December 2008
The Rabbis and the Bar Kokhba Revolt
The rabbinic attitude toward the Bar Kokhba Revolt of 132 might be considered to be a bit ironic. On the one hand, it was an enormous failure on the part of the Jews to resist Roman authority, and it resulted in disastrous prohibitions of the Jewish people not least among them the expulsion of Jews from Jerusalem and the renaming of Judea to Palestine. On the other, this was in effect being the final separation of the Jews from their holy city as they knew it, and as a result the rabbis were able to fill the resulting gap in the Jewish religion. Thus while the Bar Kokhba Revolt meant that the Judaism of the Temple would not see restoration in the foreseeable future, it also meant a need for some institution like the rabbis if Judaism itself was to survive. There are two main subjects that warrant attention thus far: the historical background of the revolt, and the rabbinic relationship to it, especially their responses in succeeding generations. The Bar Kokhba revolt is not at all well documented, so factual details are scarce. The sources consist of the Historia Romana of Cassius Dio, the Historia Augusta, and the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius. Archaeological discoveries have also revealed the “Bar Kokhba Letters” and other material artifacts from the time surrounding the revolt. From these sources shall the history be gleaned, and in the Midrash Rabbah on Lamentations the rabbinic response is exhibited.
Cassius Dio states in the Historia Romana LXIX 12.1 that the cause of the Bar Kokhba revolt was Hadrian’s construction of Aelia Capitolina on the site of Jerusalem and the construction of a temple to Jupiter on the Temple mount. Shaye Cohen notes in From the Maccabees to the Mishnah that thanks to the archaeological evidence provided by the coinage of Rome and of the rebels, “the city was indeed established before the outbreak of the rebellion, and but whether the construction caused the rebellion is a point that cannot be confirmed” (Cohen 25). Such an action could not have been well received, but still there are other matters worth consideration.
The Historia Augusta attributes the Bar Kokhba Revolt to the Emperor Hadrian’s toughening of Roman legislation against genital mutilation, including circumcision, saying, “At this point the Jews began war, because they were forbidden to practice circumcision” (14.2). The earlier historian Suetonius mentions the existing legislation of Domitian that “He prohibited the castration of males, and kept down the price of eunuchs that remained in the hands of slave dealers” (7.1). Whether the law was simply amended before the war or after it is uncertain, however, since the Historia Augusta is known to be unreliable, and Hanan Eshel, while advocating the probability of the change taking place before the revolt, acknowledges that hypotheses on both sides are inconclusive (107-108). Regardless, the ban on circumcision, whether it was before or after the beginning of the revolt, was a blow to Jewish tradition.
So far it is fairly certain that Aelia Capitoliana was at least a factor before the revolt, and it is arguably probable that a ban on circumcision was also an issue. Significantly, this runs contrary to the statement of Eusebius of Caesarea in his Ecclesiastical History, which places the foundation of Aelia Capitolina after the beginning of the revolt and makes no mention of circumcision (4.6). What other causes, then, might have contributed to the revolt, so that the likes of Eusebius have an explanation? Eusebius seems to indicate messianism, and in addition more recent historians have pointed out the lingering issues of the previous revolts. First is the latter, which can be summed up by the seizure of land by the Romans after the war of 66 to 74. This, says Cohen, “created a large number of landless poor in Judaea, and this group seems to have provided Bar Kokhba with the bulk of his support” (25). Eshel also points this out as “a possible economic decline—a shift from landowning to sharecropping,” mentioning in addition the “nationalistic agitation” lingering from earlier incidents (106). Perhaps all of this, however, can be linked to the messianic ideal, for as Cohen points out, “Seventy years after the destruction of the First Temple, the Second Temple was built in fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy. The Jews had no doubt the prophecy would be fulfilled again” (25). In short it was not fulfilled again, and Hadrian banished the Jews from Jerusalem. Still, the appointed year was fast approaching, and messianism was in the air, and here it is apt to consider the rabbis.
Rabbi Akiba, a contemporary of the revolt, certainly made the most famous pronouncement on Bar Kokhba. According to the Midrash Rabbah on Lamentations, he declared nothing less than, “This is the king Messiah!” (II.2, 4). In this messianic view of things, Numbers 24:17 factors in very heavily: “There shall step forth a star out of Jacob,” and Bar Kokhba means “son of a star.” In fact, this was a play on the rebel leader’s real name, Simon bar Koziba. The later rabbis, given hindsight, however, would not be particularly inclined to agree with this assessment, though apparently Akiba was for the most part an exception among his contemporaries as well. Indeed, much of the text at hand consists of the responses to Akiba and the responses to these responses. These are the words that reveal the rabbinic view of Bar Kokhba.
The text as a whole pertains to Lamentations 2:2, “The LORD hath swallowed up unsparingly all the habitations of Jacob.” It is the commonality of Jacob, it seems, that compels Rabbi Johanan to bring up Numbers 24:17 and the Bar Kokhba Revolt. In so doing, he proposes that Bar Koziba would be best rendered “Bar Kozab,” which means “son of a lie” (II.2, 4). It is this statement that introduces the messianic pronouncement of Akiba, which is torn to shreds by the proceeding commentary. Later, though, Rabbi Johanan does give a small defense of Akiba’s extraordinary view of the rebel leader, citing Bar Kokhba’s ability to “catch the missiles from the enemy’s catapults on one of his knees and hurl them back…On that account R. Akiba made his remark” (II:2 4). In this text, Akiba without question stands alone in his doomed hopes for Bar Kokhba.
The first response comes from Rabbi Johanan ben Tortha, and it says, “Akiba, grass will grow in your cheeks and he still will not have come” (II.2, 4). So much for any imminent messianism after the revolt in the view of Rabbi Johanan ben Tortha. Such is to be expected, though, since the revolt so thoroughly dashed all immediate hopes for the reestablishment of the Temple. How could there be a messiah without a Jewish homeland, and how could there be a homeland when Hadrian had expelled the Jews and repopulated it with Gentiles, changing its very name to Palestine? It was a rational attitude for the Rabbi to develop, that there would be no messiah in the lifetimes of Akiba or himself or even long afterward. This says something about the rabbis’ view of themselves. They were to be the saviors of Judaism, not Bar Kokhba or anyone else. This is further advanced by Rabbi Johanan.
Rabbi Johanan responds next by citing Genesis 27:22, “The voice is the voice of Jacob,” considering the voice to be a cry of distress, and it is the cry of the people at Bethar when Bar Kokhba is recorded to have been defeated there. Rabbi Jusdah proceeds to relate a story of Bar Kokhba’s followers, saying that Bar Kokhba “had with him two hundred thousand men with an amputated finger,” which he demanded be cut off as a test of fortitude (II.2, 4). The “Sages” did not approve, so they advised him to adopt a new test, uprooting a cedar of Lebanon. The Sages, of course, are equivalent to the rabbis, and this story demonstrates the authority to which the rabbis are laying claim, authority even to correct the rebel leader. That said, in the view of Rabbi Johanan, they still recognized that there was trouble with Bar Kokhba, for he writes of the battle cry of the rebels: “[O God], neither help us nor discourage us!” citing Psalm 60:20, “Has not Thou, O God, cast us off? And go not forth, O God, with our hosts.” Thereafter the doom of the revolt is expounded.
It seems that in the history according to Rabbi Johanan, the only reason the revolt went on without being utterly crushed was the fact that Rabbi Eleazar of Modim “continually wore sackcloth and fasted, and he used to pray daily, ‘Lord of the Universe, sit not in judgment to-day!’ so that [Hadrian] thought of returning home” (II.2, 4). This says much of the rabbis’ view of themselves, that it is they who link the Jewish people to God, and they alone, for that very reason, were able turn back the Romans. There is clearly a dichotomy between Bar Kokhba and Rabbi Eleazar at work here, for while Bar Kokhba proudly requests that God have no involvement whatsoever in his battles, Rabbi Eleazar continually beseeches God to have mercy on the people, and Rabbi Johanan leaves no doubt which was successful.
The final defeat of Judea came when Rabbi Eleazar was removed from the picture. According to Rabbi Johanan, a Roman agent identified that without Rabbi Eleazar, the Jews would fall. Even the Romans identified the power of the Rabbi in sustaining the survival of the Jews. This agent, though, was able to persuade Bar Kokhba that Rabbi Eleazar was about to betray the city of Bethar to the Romans, and with a kick to the head, Bar Kokhba killed him. This prompted a Bath Kol to issue forth, proclaiming the words of Zechariah 11:17, “Woe to the worthless shepherd that leaveth the flock! The sword shall be upon his arm, and upon his right eye.” Such Bar Kokhba brought on Israel, so it would befall him. In the words of Rabbi Johanan, “the sins [of the people] caused Bethar to be captured” (II.2, 4). Just as the actions of Bar Kokhba clearly allowed for the final destruction of the land at the hands of the Romans, it is also made clear that this was the just wrath of God. Supposedly a snake was found around the neck of the dead Bar Kokhba after his defeat, prompting Hadrian to say, “If his God had not slain him who could have overcome him?” and Deuteronomy 32:30 is cited: “Except their Rock had given them over.” Without Rabbi Eleazar, Bar Kokhba and all the people faced the wrath of God without intercession, and so this is extrapolated to the Rabbis in general. Without them, the people face separation from God.
The destruction of Bethar, according to Rabbi Johanan, was a bloodbath of hyperbolic proportions, perhaps even with sacrificial implication, and Hadrian furthered the gruesomeness of his conquest by fencing in a large vineyard of his with dead bodies from Bethar, which were not to be removed until a certain king commanded it (II.2, 4). Rabbi Huna comments on this wall, using it to explain the origin of the benediction, “Who art kind and dealest kindly,” for the bodies did not rot and they were eventually allowed to be buried, corresponding to the respective halves of the benediction (II.2, 4). Since dead and decaying things are clearly designated as unclean in the Torah, a wall of death would have been a serious issue, so this partly accounts for the rabbis’ interest in postulating such a thing. Perhaps the best interpretation of this is symbolic, in that the revolt caused the Romans to separate the Jewish people from their land, thereby defiling it, and their God, who gives the land and His people life through Judaism, hence the vineyard to which Hadrian laid claim. The emergence of the blessing upon the removal of this barrier is arguably a simple affirmation of the survival of the vineyard of Judaism apart from the land, via the rabbis. Hadrian failed to banish the people from the true vineyard.
Rabbi Johanan next approaches the sins of Bethar that warranted its annihilation at the hands of the Romans, and the great sin was that “the inhabitants kindled lamps [to manifest their joy] over the destruction of the Sanctuary” (II.2, 4). They did this because of mockery and fraud on the part of the Jerusalemites. Rabbi Johanan records that “when one of the inhabitants of Bethar went up there to pray, he would be asked by [the Councilors of the city], ‘Do you wish to become a councilor?’…[and], ‘Do you wish to be a city magistrate?’” (II.2, 4). These things were asked of him to imply that his interest was in the city and not in prayer. It was then asked whether he would sell his estate, for which the Jerusalemite would proceed to forge a deed and send it to estate’s steward (II.2, 4). This persuaded the Betharites to wish ill on Jerusalem and the Temple, but Rabbi Johanan notes Proverbs 17:5, “He that is glad at calamity shall not be unpunished” (II.2, 4). Such explains the wrath that was poured out upon Bethar itself, not just Bar Kokhba and his followers. Justice yet called for satisfaction, and Bethar was to be sacrificed to that end, flooding the city with its own blood and spilling a sanguinary river for miles into the sea.
According to Rabbi Johanan, it is recorded that “The brains of three hundred children [were dashed] upon one stone, and three hundred baskets of capsules of phylacteries were found in Bethar” (II.2, 4). Rabbi Simeon ben Gamaliel continues with some grandiose numbers: “There were five hundred schools in Bethar, and the smallest of them had not less than three hundred children.” Gamaliel then enumerates the fate of those he says were his former schoolfellows, saying that they were all wrapped in their scrolls and burnt. This is perhaps the ultimate attack on Rabbinic Judaism, for not only were the pupils destroyed en masse, so too were just as many Torah scrolls. With one fire, both the written law and the oral law were lost in Bethar, except in Simeon ben Gamaliel. Like the wall of bodies around the vineyard, again the Romans, in the view of these rabbis, attempted to separate the Jewish people from Judaism with death.
The final episode in the text records two brothers in Kefar Haruba, whose death parallels that of Bar Kokhba himself. Of these brothers it is said that they “did not allow any Roman to pass there but they killed him” (II.2, 4), leading them to decide that they must take Hadrian’s crown for themselves. This, like the styling of Bar Kokhba, is reminiscent of messianism, in the sense that a messiah would free Judea from the Romans and, at this point, restore the Temple. They also provide the same quotation regarding the involvement of the Deity in their quest, “Let Him neither help us nor discourage us!” This, though courageous, did not serve to help Bar Kokhba as the rabbis present him, and in this parallel it does no better. The brothers died violently for this attitude, and Hadrian responds to their bodies and the snakes around their necks the same as he did Bar Kokhba. Deuteronomy 32:30 again applies (II.2, 4). Interestingly, they spoke thus in response to the well wishes of an old man, saying, “May the Creator be your help against him!” Most probably, this seems to be an explanation of the rabbinic attitude toward the revolt; specifically, that the rabbis hoped that God would see to it that Bar Kokhba, whose heroism they at least tended to admire, succeeded, but Bar Kokhba would not heed the old man, representing the rabbis, and turn to God. For this reason he and the rest of Judaea faced justice rather than deliverance from Rome.
The rabbis view with frustration the conditions that allowed them to prosper, namely the loss of the Jewish homeland as such and the defeat of most immediate hope for the reconstruction of the Temple. There would be schemes to rebuild it, especially the attempt to do so under Julian the Apostate in the middle of the fourth century, but just as that failed and the rabbinic institution became more important as far as Jewish practice goes. At least the rabbis do not hesitate to ascribe importance to themselves, whether as the voice of reason in the face of sin and chaos or as the keepers of Torah, without whom Judaism as they knew it would collapse. With this in mind, though the facts of the Bar Kokhba revolt are few, the rabbis derived no shortage of commentary from it.
Cassius Dio states in the Historia Romana LXIX 12.1 that the cause of the Bar Kokhba revolt was Hadrian’s construction of Aelia Capitolina on the site of Jerusalem and the construction of a temple to Jupiter on the Temple mount. Shaye Cohen notes in From the Maccabees to the Mishnah that thanks to the archaeological evidence provided by the coinage of Rome and of the rebels, “the city was indeed established before the outbreak of the rebellion, and but whether the construction caused the rebellion is a point that cannot be confirmed” (Cohen 25). Such an action could not have been well received, but still there are other matters worth consideration.
The Historia Augusta attributes the Bar Kokhba Revolt to the Emperor Hadrian’s toughening of Roman legislation against genital mutilation, including circumcision, saying, “At this point the Jews began war, because they were forbidden to practice circumcision” (14.2). The earlier historian Suetonius mentions the existing legislation of Domitian that “He prohibited the castration of males, and kept down the price of eunuchs that remained in the hands of slave dealers” (7.1). Whether the law was simply amended before the war or after it is uncertain, however, since the Historia Augusta is known to be unreliable, and Hanan Eshel, while advocating the probability of the change taking place before the revolt, acknowledges that hypotheses on both sides are inconclusive (107-108). Regardless, the ban on circumcision, whether it was before or after the beginning of the revolt, was a blow to Jewish tradition.
So far it is fairly certain that Aelia Capitoliana was at least a factor before the revolt, and it is arguably probable that a ban on circumcision was also an issue. Significantly, this runs contrary to the statement of Eusebius of Caesarea in his Ecclesiastical History, which places the foundation of Aelia Capitolina after the beginning of the revolt and makes no mention of circumcision (4.6). What other causes, then, might have contributed to the revolt, so that the likes of Eusebius have an explanation? Eusebius seems to indicate messianism, and in addition more recent historians have pointed out the lingering issues of the previous revolts. First is the latter, which can be summed up by the seizure of land by the Romans after the war of 66 to 74. This, says Cohen, “created a large number of landless poor in Judaea, and this group seems to have provided Bar Kokhba with the bulk of his support” (25). Eshel also points this out as “a possible economic decline—a shift from landowning to sharecropping,” mentioning in addition the “nationalistic agitation” lingering from earlier incidents (106). Perhaps all of this, however, can be linked to the messianic ideal, for as Cohen points out, “Seventy years after the destruction of the First Temple, the Second Temple was built in fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy. The Jews had no doubt the prophecy would be fulfilled again” (25). In short it was not fulfilled again, and Hadrian banished the Jews from Jerusalem. Still, the appointed year was fast approaching, and messianism was in the air, and here it is apt to consider the rabbis.
Rabbi Akiba, a contemporary of the revolt, certainly made the most famous pronouncement on Bar Kokhba. According to the Midrash Rabbah on Lamentations, he declared nothing less than, “This is the king Messiah!” (II.2, 4). In this messianic view of things, Numbers 24:17 factors in very heavily: “There shall step forth a star out of Jacob,” and Bar Kokhba means “son of a star.” In fact, this was a play on the rebel leader’s real name, Simon bar Koziba. The later rabbis, given hindsight, however, would not be particularly inclined to agree with this assessment, though apparently Akiba was for the most part an exception among his contemporaries as well. Indeed, much of the text at hand consists of the responses to Akiba and the responses to these responses. These are the words that reveal the rabbinic view of Bar Kokhba.
The text as a whole pertains to Lamentations 2:2, “The LORD hath swallowed up unsparingly all the habitations of Jacob.” It is the commonality of Jacob, it seems, that compels Rabbi Johanan to bring up Numbers 24:17 and the Bar Kokhba Revolt. In so doing, he proposes that Bar Koziba would be best rendered “Bar Kozab,” which means “son of a lie” (II.2, 4). It is this statement that introduces the messianic pronouncement of Akiba, which is torn to shreds by the proceeding commentary. Later, though, Rabbi Johanan does give a small defense of Akiba’s extraordinary view of the rebel leader, citing Bar Kokhba’s ability to “catch the missiles from the enemy’s catapults on one of his knees and hurl them back…On that account R. Akiba made his remark” (II:2 4). In this text, Akiba without question stands alone in his doomed hopes for Bar Kokhba.
The first response comes from Rabbi Johanan ben Tortha, and it says, “Akiba, grass will grow in your cheeks and he still will not have come” (II.2, 4). So much for any imminent messianism after the revolt in the view of Rabbi Johanan ben Tortha. Such is to be expected, though, since the revolt so thoroughly dashed all immediate hopes for the reestablishment of the Temple. How could there be a messiah without a Jewish homeland, and how could there be a homeland when Hadrian had expelled the Jews and repopulated it with Gentiles, changing its very name to Palestine? It was a rational attitude for the Rabbi to develop, that there would be no messiah in the lifetimes of Akiba or himself or even long afterward. This says something about the rabbis’ view of themselves. They were to be the saviors of Judaism, not Bar Kokhba or anyone else. This is further advanced by Rabbi Johanan.
Rabbi Johanan responds next by citing Genesis 27:22, “The voice is the voice of Jacob,” considering the voice to be a cry of distress, and it is the cry of the people at Bethar when Bar Kokhba is recorded to have been defeated there. Rabbi Jusdah proceeds to relate a story of Bar Kokhba’s followers, saying that Bar Kokhba “had with him two hundred thousand men with an amputated finger,” which he demanded be cut off as a test of fortitude (II.2, 4). The “Sages” did not approve, so they advised him to adopt a new test, uprooting a cedar of Lebanon. The Sages, of course, are equivalent to the rabbis, and this story demonstrates the authority to which the rabbis are laying claim, authority even to correct the rebel leader. That said, in the view of Rabbi Johanan, they still recognized that there was trouble with Bar Kokhba, for he writes of the battle cry of the rebels: “[O God], neither help us nor discourage us!” citing Psalm 60:20, “Has not Thou, O God, cast us off? And go not forth, O God, with our hosts.” Thereafter the doom of the revolt is expounded.
It seems that in the history according to Rabbi Johanan, the only reason the revolt went on without being utterly crushed was the fact that Rabbi Eleazar of Modim “continually wore sackcloth and fasted, and he used to pray daily, ‘Lord of the Universe, sit not in judgment to-day!’ so that [Hadrian] thought of returning home” (II.2, 4). This says much of the rabbis’ view of themselves, that it is they who link the Jewish people to God, and they alone, for that very reason, were able turn back the Romans. There is clearly a dichotomy between Bar Kokhba and Rabbi Eleazar at work here, for while Bar Kokhba proudly requests that God have no involvement whatsoever in his battles, Rabbi Eleazar continually beseeches God to have mercy on the people, and Rabbi Johanan leaves no doubt which was successful.
The final defeat of Judea came when Rabbi Eleazar was removed from the picture. According to Rabbi Johanan, a Roman agent identified that without Rabbi Eleazar, the Jews would fall. Even the Romans identified the power of the Rabbi in sustaining the survival of the Jews. This agent, though, was able to persuade Bar Kokhba that Rabbi Eleazar was about to betray the city of Bethar to the Romans, and with a kick to the head, Bar Kokhba killed him. This prompted a Bath Kol to issue forth, proclaiming the words of Zechariah 11:17, “Woe to the worthless shepherd that leaveth the flock! The sword shall be upon his arm, and upon his right eye.” Such Bar Kokhba brought on Israel, so it would befall him. In the words of Rabbi Johanan, “the sins [of the people] caused Bethar to be captured” (II.2, 4). Just as the actions of Bar Kokhba clearly allowed for the final destruction of the land at the hands of the Romans, it is also made clear that this was the just wrath of God. Supposedly a snake was found around the neck of the dead Bar Kokhba after his defeat, prompting Hadrian to say, “If his God had not slain him who could have overcome him?” and Deuteronomy 32:30 is cited: “Except their Rock had given them over.” Without Rabbi Eleazar, Bar Kokhba and all the people faced the wrath of God without intercession, and so this is extrapolated to the Rabbis in general. Without them, the people face separation from God.
The destruction of Bethar, according to Rabbi Johanan, was a bloodbath of hyperbolic proportions, perhaps even with sacrificial implication, and Hadrian furthered the gruesomeness of his conquest by fencing in a large vineyard of his with dead bodies from Bethar, which were not to be removed until a certain king commanded it (II.2, 4). Rabbi Huna comments on this wall, using it to explain the origin of the benediction, “Who art kind and dealest kindly,” for the bodies did not rot and they were eventually allowed to be buried, corresponding to the respective halves of the benediction (II.2, 4). Since dead and decaying things are clearly designated as unclean in the Torah, a wall of death would have been a serious issue, so this partly accounts for the rabbis’ interest in postulating such a thing. Perhaps the best interpretation of this is symbolic, in that the revolt caused the Romans to separate the Jewish people from their land, thereby defiling it, and their God, who gives the land and His people life through Judaism, hence the vineyard to which Hadrian laid claim. The emergence of the blessing upon the removal of this barrier is arguably a simple affirmation of the survival of the vineyard of Judaism apart from the land, via the rabbis. Hadrian failed to banish the people from the true vineyard.
Rabbi Johanan next approaches the sins of Bethar that warranted its annihilation at the hands of the Romans, and the great sin was that “the inhabitants kindled lamps [to manifest their joy] over the destruction of the Sanctuary” (II.2, 4). They did this because of mockery and fraud on the part of the Jerusalemites. Rabbi Johanan records that “when one of the inhabitants of Bethar went up there to pray, he would be asked by [the Councilors of the city], ‘Do you wish to become a councilor?’…[and], ‘Do you wish to be a city magistrate?’” (II.2, 4). These things were asked of him to imply that his interest was in the city and not in prayer. It was then asked whether he would sell his estate, for which the Jerusalemite would proceed to forge a deed and send it to estate’s steward (II.2, 4). This persuaded the Betharites to wish ill on Jerusalem and the Temple, but Rabbi Johanan notes Proverbs 17:5, “He that is glad at calamity shall not be unpunished” (II.2, 4). Such explains the wrath that was poured out upon Bethar itself, not just Bar Kokhba and his followers. Justice yet called for satisfaction, and Bethar was to be sacrificed to that end, flooding the city with its own blood and spilling a sanguinary river for miles into the sea.
According to Rabbi Johanan, it is recorded that “The brains of three hundred children [were dashed] upon one stone, and three hundred baskets of capsules of phylacteries were found in Bethar” (II.2, 4). Rabbi Simeon ben Gamaliel continues with some grandiose numbers: “There were five hundred schools in Bethar, and the smallest of them had not less than three hundred children.” Gamaliel then enumerates the fate of those he says were his former schoolfellows, saying that they were all wrapped in their scrolls and burnt. This is perhaps the ultimate attack on Rabbinic Judaism, for not only were the pupils destroyed en masse, so too were just as many Torah scrolls. With one fire, both the written law and the oral law were lost in Bethar, except in Simeon ben Gamaliel. Like the wall of bodies around the vineyard, again the Romans, in the view of these rabbis, attempted to separate the Jewish people from Judaism with death.
The final episode in the text records two brothers in Kefar Haruba, whose death parallels that of Bar Kokhba himself. Of these brothers it is said that they “did not allow any Roman to pass there but they killed him” (II.2, 4), leading them to decide that they must take Hadrian’s crown for themselves. This, like the styling of Bar Kokhba, is reminiscent of messianism, in the sense that a messiah would free Judea from the Romans and, at this point, restore the Temple. They also provide the same quotation regarding the involvement of the Deity in their quest, “Let Him neither help us nor discourage us!” This, though courageous, did not serve to help Bar Kokhba as the rabbis present him, and in this parallel it does no better. The brothers died violently for this attitude, and Hadrian responds to their bodies and the snakes around their necks the same as he did Bar Kokhba. Deuteronomy 32:30 again applies (II.2, 4). Interestingly, they spoke thus in response to the well wishes of an old man, saying, “May the Creator be your help against him!” Most probably, this seems to be an explanation of the rabbinic attitude toward the revolt; specifically, that the rabbis hoped that God would see to it that Bar Kokhba, whose heroism they at least tended to admire, succeeded, but Bar Kokhba would not heed the old man, representing the rabbis, and turn to God. For this reason he and the rest of Judaea faced justice rather than deliverance from Rome.
The rabbis view with frustration the conditions that allowed them to prosper, namely the loss of the Jewish homeland as such and the defeat of most immediate hope for the reconstruction of the Temple. There would be schemes to rebuild it, especially the attempt to do so under Julian the Apostate in the middle of the fourth century, but just as that failed and the rabbinic institution became more important as far as Jewish practice goes. At least the rabbis do not hesitate to ascribe importance to themselves, whether as the voice of reason in the face of sin and chaos or as the keepers of Torah, without whom Judaism as they knew it would collapse. With this in mind, though the facts of the Bar Kokhba revolt are few, the rabbis derived no shortage of commentary from it.
07 December 2008
The Fantastic Christmas Village
Here it is! First we have the traditional Christmas tree, next the fantastic Christmas village in the light of the camera's flash, then another perspective of the fantastic Christmas village, and last the fantastic Christmas village in the dark. I produced this darkness by covering the camera's flashing light with my hand, as I could not figure out how to turn the flash off. It is of course much more fantastic in person. I should throw a feast so that the multitudes might gaze upon it in wonder. The snow is exceedingly fluffy this year, though.
03 December 2008
Orthodoxy, Heresy, and Controversy in the Byzantine Empire
Even as Christianity transformed the Roman Empire under Constantine, heresy had long been a problem for orthodox Christians, primarily in the forms of pagan influence and various Gnostic sects. With both the numerical growth of Christianity and the development of the Church as a Roman institution, though, controversy could come in much more nuanced forms. This essentially refers to the great Christological controversies that would persist until the seventh century and their various proposed solutions. After this, though, the Byzantine Empire would find itself in a much less complex but still highly significant struggle over iconoclasm, and when this disappeared upon the Seventh Ecumenical Council, so ended the final great controversy of the Eastern Empire.
The Arian controversy centered on the teaching of Arius, who in the early fourth century denied the eternity of Christ, His equality with the Father, and that the Father and the Son are of the same substance (Clouse 84). After the Donatists, the Arians were the second heretical group that Constantine faced, and so the Council of Nicaea was called in 325 to establish an orthodoxy that denounced Arianism. As far as the current context is concerned, the most significant result was the adoption of term homoousios, proposed by Constantine himself to describe the Father and the Son as being of the same substance (Frend 140). It is interesting here to note the authority asserted by Constantine, by no means a theologian, in thrusting his term upon the Council. In a sense, it is a sign of the imperial domination of the Eastern Church that is to be witnessed on many occasions by many Byzantine emperors to come.
Arianism was not vanquished by the Council of Nicaea; rather, it would take the later Council of Council of Constantinople in 381 to do that. Called by Theodosius I, it “affirmed the full divinity of …the Christian Trinity,” condemning Arianism in the Empire once and for all (Treadgold 29). Theodosius had called the council because, as a full member of the Church, he felt a particular need to involve himself in the affairs of the Church. Thus he deployed his authority to assemble a council and do away with a heresy in his realm.
Nestorianism arose in the early fifth century following the controversy produced by the objection Nestorius, Archbishop of Constantinople, to the use of the term Theotokos for the Virgin Mary, proposing instead Christokos. He argued that while Mary bore the body of Christ, she could not possibly have borne the Infinite God (Clouse 87). Though it is not what Nestorius proposed in this objection, Nestorianism is the separation of the two natures of Christ into two distinct persons. For the spread of this controversy and for the condemnation of Nestorius at both Rome and Alexandria, Theodosius II called the Council of Ephesus in 431. There, Cyril of Alexandria got Nestorius condemned before his supporters even arrived, but when they did, a Christological dispute broke out between the Alexandrians with Cyril and the Antiochenes with Nestorius. For this Theodosius II deposed both Cyril and Nestorius, though Cyril was able to regain power while Nestorius remained an exile until his death (Clouse 88). Here also the emperor displays complete authority over the bishops, but while Constantine guided their theology toward compromise to promote unity, Theodosius II determined who would be in office to avoid conflict.
Opposed to Nestorianism and far more significant to the development of Byzantine Orthodoxy is Monophysitism, the Christological view that Christ has only one nature, and it is divine. This view was espoused by a monk called Eutyches around the beginning of the fifth century (Clouse 88). Monophysitism was favored by Theodosius II, and so the “Robber Council” of Ephesus was allowed to take place in 449, over which Dioscoros, bishop of Alexandria, presided, showing all favor to Eutyches, “[seeing] to it that only documents favorable to his own cause were read” (Frend 229). It goes without saying that this council ended in favor of Eutyches and Monophysitism, but interestingly, Theodosius died in 450, and being dead his dominant influence was gone from the Church. In 451, therefore, the dyophysites Marcian and Pulcheria ordered the famed Council of Chalcedon, which established the Orthodox, Chalcedonian Christology over a Monophysite Christology, which it condemned with Eutyches (Frend 230-231). The emperor and the empress saw their view affirmed as Orthodoxy.
Despite the monumental statement of orthodox Christology at Chalcedon, Monophysitism was not prepared to disappear, and the number of Monophysite bishops remained high. Compromise was therefore sought, and the first instance of this was the Henotikon of the emperor Zeno, issued in 482. This attempted to unify the Church by leaving the Council of Chalcedon without approval or disapproval and upholding those of Nicaea, Constantinople, and Ephesus. This was an imperial decree, but it sought to establish Church doctrine, specifically the affirmation of the full humanity of Christ so as to achieve elimination of extreme monophysitism (Gregory 108). Naturally, it was the extreme monophysite party that immediately rejected it (Clouse 190). All it really achieved was the creation of the Akakian Schism, named for the Patriarch Akakios, who, as a creature of the emperor, accepted the decree (Gregory 108). The Pope did not, claiming that by ignoring Chalcedon the decree ignored the Tome of Leo, and he excommunicated Akakios (Clouse 190). Thus Zeno’s attempt at compromise led to nothing more than trouble with the West; the Akakian Schism would last until 519. Even if the emperor was able to exert his will over the Patriarch, this did not mean he could do so over the Church at large, especially not in the West.
The next important attempts at compromise on the Monophysite controversy would come under Justinian I, culminating in the Fifth Ecumenical Council at Constantinople in 553. First, however, there was the proposal of Theopaschitism, the belief that “one of the Holy Trinity suffered in the flesh,” as a compromise, which Gregory notes was clearly supported in a 533 law of Justinian. When the Monophysites refused this compromise, Justinian decided that persecution was the answer, so by these means Justinian attempted to develop a unified populace in terms of religious belief; however, this persecution failed, more probably resulting only in the dissemination of the Monophysites more thoroughly through the empire (Gregory 138). For this reason, after years of persecution, Justinian would try again to find a compromise.
The road to the Fifth Ecumenical Council began with an effort to appease the moderate Monophysite majority whose main qualm with Chalcedon was that it had been “tainted with Nestorianism.” The Monophysites demanded the condemnation of three Nestorian bishops, and so Justinian issued the Edict of the Three Chapters in the middle of the 540’s to do just that, and it was generally accepted, but not by the Pope (Treadgold 63). Still desiring the acceptance of the Edict, the Fifth Ecumenical Council, or the Second Council of Constantinople, was called in hopes of its ratification. The eastern bishops went along with the emperor’s wishes, and the Pope was pressured into accepting it at last (Treadgold 65). As for solving the problem of Monophysitism, however, and even for achieving any unity at all, the council was an utter failure. Justinian “had alienated the West, infuriated the Nestorians, and even failed to win over the Monophysites” (Clouse 191).
Even while Justinian was trying to unify the religious factions under his rule, Monophysitism continued to spread without regard for the attempted compromises and Chalcedonian orientation of the emperor. This is the Jacobite Church, led by the bishop Jacob Bardaeus, who as bishop of Edessa wandered the eastern regions of the empire, training and appointing large numbers Monophysite clergy, guaranteeing a lasting Monophysite character in the east. Justinian tried to arrest Bardaeus, but he was unsuccessful (Gregory 139). It would only be the loss of these regions to Islamic invaders that would rid the empire of its Monophysite population, and indeed the hostility of these Monophysites, especially in Egypt thanks to anger over monotheletism, caused many to welcome the change in regime when the Arabs came in 641 (Clouse 192).
Before this, though, much of the East was lost briefly to the Persians in the early seventh century, and it was recovered by Herakleios, who completed its reconquest in 630. Having done this, the bulk of the empire’s Monophysite population was back under the control of Constantinople, and this meant that Monophysitism needed to be addressed once more (Gregory 161). The compromise this time was ultimately Monotheletism, the belief that the two natures of Christ have a single will, but this was only after the Pope and the Patriarch of Jerusalem struck down the attempt of Herakleios and Patriarch Sergios to introduce Monoergism, the belief that the natures of Christ have but one “energy” in 633 (Treadgold 92-93). To advance this doctrine, the emperor published the Ekthesis in 648, declaring it to be imperial policy, but this met no success at all. Chalcedonians and Monophysties were brought no closer, and no beliefs were modified as a result of this imperial mandate (Gregory 161-162). Like Justinian’s attempts at both appeasement and persecution, all monotheletism achieved was schism when the pope condemned the belief in 647 (Clouse 192).
Under Constantine IV, the Sixth Ecumenical Council was called to Constantinople to deal with the issue of Monotheletism, and a Western delegation was also invited. Since the recent Arab conquests had done away with the bulk of the Monophysite influence, the council merely reaffirmed a Chalcedonian Christology without any possibility for Monotheletism or any other previously attempted compromise, and this spelled the end of the Christological controversies at last (Gregory 174). The council also managed to upset the Westerners, which caused the schism to continue until 710 (Clouse 193). So with the rise of Islam and the subsequent loss of much of the Byzantine Empire’s Eastern territory and the proponents of Monophysitism nearly all gone, the need for the Byzantine state to deal with Christology, indeed, most any complex theological issue, was greatly diminished. The consequence of this would be the next and final great controversy, iconoclasm.
The iconoclasm of the eighth century turned out to be the final great controversy of the Orthodox Church under the Byzantine Empire, and in this controversy are echoes of much of earlier Byzantine history. According to Warren Treadgold, “Most Byzantines…believed that their military and political misfortunes showed God’s anger against them” (116). In response to this supposed divine anger, the emperor Leo III outlawed the veneration of icons in 730, and he did so most likely because of “his belief that the veneration of ikons was wrong and that, as emperor, he had a responsibility to God and to his subjects to insist on correct religious practice” (Gregory 192). Thus the iconoclastic controversy began, with an emperor inventing a doctrine in a vain effort to appease God.
Neither the majority of the Byzantine people nor of the Orthodox ecclesiastics agreed with Leo that icons were a problem. Of course, the West was also adamantly opposed to iconoclasm, since icons and images were prominent in Western Christianity (Clouse 193). Notably, John of Damascus, immediately responded with his On Images, which basically argues that “the image is a memorial, just what words are to a listening ear” (Gregory 188), to quote the text itself. Rather than standing on theological grounds, Leo’s argument was largely based on flimsy reasoning from the Law and other admonitions against idol worship found in the Old Testament. Of course, this is no surprise considering the decline of the educational system in the time before the iconoclastic controversy, so much so that “iconoclasts and iconophiles were accusing each other, with reason, of ignorance of theology” (Treadgold 121). This was not the same sort of controversy as any preceding it. This was purely a matter of imperial meddling.
The meddling only grew worse under Leo’s son and successor, Constantine V, who began to openly persecute uncooperative iconophiles. To further complicate the matter, probably having identified the weakness of the earlier defenses of iconoclasm, Constantine V decided to draw Christology into the controversy. Under his rule, iconoclast theology advanced that, in order to venerate an icon, one must abandon a Chalcedonian Christology, for the icon cannot possibly represent both the human and the divine nature of Christ. In order to further legitimize his position, Constantine V called the Council of Hiera in 754, which was packed in order to affirm iconoclasm (Gregory 196). It did just that, according to the emperor’s wishes, even in the face of opposition from the likes of John of Damascus.
These emperors had ample reason to meddle in ecclesiastical affairs. The flourishing of popular religion, through such things as icons and hagiographies (Treadgold 117), was a threat to an emperor under whose rule the Eastern Church had always been subject. This new multitude of objects of veneration could not possibly encourage the veneration of the emperor, the representative of God, and so it is naturally concluded that God must not be receiving the proper veneration, either. Gregory grants the analogy some plausibility (192). It is not implausible to think the emperor would prefer to be the one representative of one god, rather than to allow for many representations of God, angels, saints, and so forth. In this way, the divide is almost like that between Christianity and paganism.
After these two emperors, the iconophiles regained control through Irene, the widow of Constantine V. She called the Seventh Ecumenical Council, the Second Council of Nicaea, to meet in 787. There, iconoclasm was “duly condemned,” but “Iconoclasts were allowed to repent” (Gregory 198). In 813, however, the iconoclast Leo V assumed the throne, and he immediately set about enforcing an iconoclastic program in the style of Leo III. He replaced the Patriarch Nikepherous with John Grammatikos, who acknowledged the Council of Hiera, which an emperor again demonstrated his power to do. Iconoclasm had begun its resurgence, but Leo V was assassinated in 820 (Gregory 205). The conspirator that then took control of the Byzantine Empire was Michael II, another iconoclaste. His heir was his son Theophilus, whose iconoclastic background had made its impact. His wife Theodora, however, was not of like mind, and after Theophilus’ death, iconoclasm was put down for good (Treadgold 130-131). Such is the triumph of Orthodoxy.
From the deep and difficult philosophical questions of Christology to the brute assertion of iconoclasm, the Orthodox Church of the Byzantine Empire faced constant difficulty. Emperors, even with the most pragmatic intentions of unifying the Eastern Church, continually exerted their authority over the Church, but this did not translate to an exertion of authority over belief. Thus lingering issues, especially Monophysitism, managed to persist, for better or for worse. Eventually, though, as the Byzantine state weakened and territory was lost, the smaller and more cohesive empire saw a semblance of the unity that the older emperors had sought for their much more widespread domains. By the ninth century, Orthodox belief had become mostly stable, but at great political expense on the part of the empire.
Bibliography
Clouse, Robert, Richard Pierard, and Edwin Yamauchi. Two Kingdoms. The Church and Culture through the Ages. Moody, Chicago: 1993.
Frend, W.H.C. The Early Church. Fortune Press, Minneapolis: 1982.
Gregory, Timothy. A History of Byzantium. Blackwell, Malden, MA: 2005.
Treadgold, Warren. A Concise History of Byzantium. Palgrave, New York: 2001.
The Arian controversy centered on the teaching of Arius, who in the early fourth century denied the eternity of Christ, His equality with the Father, and that the Father and the Son are of the same substance (Clouse 84). After the Donatists, the Arians were the second heretical group that Constantine faced, and so the Council of Nicaea was called in 325 to establish an orthodoxy that denounced Arianism. As far as the current context is concerned, the most significant result was the adoption of term homoousios, proposed by Constantine himself to describe the Father and the Son as being of the same substance (Frend 140). It is interesting here to note the authority asserted by Constantine, by no means a theologian, in thrusting his term upon the Council. In a sense, it is a sign of the imperial domination of the Eastern Church that is to be witnessed on many occasions by many Byzantine emperors to come.
Arianism was not vanquished by the Council of Nicaea; rather, it would take the later Council of Council of Constantinople in 381 to do that. Called by Theodosius I, it “affirmed the full divinity of …the Christian Trinity,” condemning Arianism in the Empire once and for all (Treadgold 29). Theodosius had called the council because, as a full member of the Church, he felt a particular need to involve himself in the affairs of the Church. Thus he deployed his authority to assemble a council and do away with a heresy in his realm.
Nestorianism arose in the early fifth century following the controversy produced by the objection Nestorius, Archbishop of Constantinople, to the use of the term Theotokos for the Virgin Mary, proposing instead Christokos. He argued that while Mary bore the body of Christ, she could not possibly have borne the Infinite God (Clouse 87). Though it is not what Nestorius proposed in this objection, Nestorianism is the separation of the two natures of Christ into two distinct persons. For the spread of this controversy and for the condemnation of Nestorius at both Rome and Alexandria, Theodosius II called the Council of Ephesus in 431. There, Cyril of Alexandria got Nestorius condemned before his supporters even arrived, but when they did, a Christological dispute broke out between the Alexandrians with Cyril and the Antiochenes with Nestorius. For this Theodosius II deposed both Cyril and Nestorius, though Cyril was able to regain power while Nestorius remained an exile until his death (Clouse 88). Here also the emperor displays complete authority over the bishops, but while Constantine guided their theology toward compromise to promote unity, Theodosius II determined who would be in office to avoid conflict.
Opposed to Nestorianism and far more significant to the development of Byzantine Orthodoxy is Monophysitism, the Christological view that Christ has only one nature, and it is divine. This view was espoused by a monk called Eutyches around the beginning of the fifth century (Clouse 88). Monophysitism was favored by Theodosius II, and so the “Robber Council” of Ephesus was allowed to take place in 449, over which Dioscoros, bishop of Alexandria, presided, showing all favor to Eutyches, “[seeing] to it that only documents favorable to his own cause were read” (Frend 229). It goes without saying that this council ended in favor of Eutyches and Monophysitism, but interestingly, Theodosius died in 450, and being dead his dominant influence was gone from the Church. In 451, therefore, the dyophysites Marcian and Pulcheria ordered the famed Council of Chalcedon, which established the Orthodox, Chalcedonian Christology over a Monophysite Christology, which it condemned with Eutyches (Frend 230-231). The emperor and the empress saw their view affirmed as Orthodoxy.
Despite the monumental statement of orthodox Christology at Chalcedon, Monophysitism was not prepared to disappear, and the number of Monophysite bishops remained high. Compromise was therefore sought, and the first instance of this was the Henotikon of the emperor Zeno, issued in 482. This attempted to unify the Church by leaving the Council of Chalcedon without approval or disapproval and upholding those of Nicaea, Constantinople, and Ephesus. This was an imperial decree, but it sought to establish Church doctrine, specifically the affirmation of the full humanity of Christ so as to achieve elimination of extreme monophysitism (Gregory 108). Naturally, it was the extreme monophysite party that immediately rejected it (Clouse 190). All it really achieved was the creation of the Akakian Schism, named for the Patriarch Akakios, who, as a creature of the emperor, accepted the decree (Gregory 108). The Pope did not, claiming that by ignoring Chalcedon the decree ignored the Tome of Leo, and he excommunicated Akakios (Clouse 190). Thus Zeno’s attempt at compromise led to nothing more than trouble with the West; the Akakian Schism would last until 519. Even if the emperor was able to exert his will over the Patriarch, this did not mean he could do so over the Church at large, especially not in the West.
The next important attempts at compromise on the Monophysite controversy would come under Justinian I, culminating in the Fifth Ecumenical Council at Constantinople in 553. First, however, there was the proposal of Theopaschitism, the belief that “one of the Holy Trinity suffered in the flesh,” as a compromise, which Gregory notes was clearly supported in a 533 law of Justinian. When the Monophysites refused this compromise, Justinian decided that persecution was the answer, so by these means Justinian attempted to develop a unified populace in terms of religious belief; however, this persecution failed, more probably resulting only in the dissemination of the Monophysites more thoroughly through the empire (Gregory 138). For this reason, after years of persecution, Justinian would try again to find a compromise.
The road to the Fifth Ecumenical Council began with an effort to appease the moderate Monophysite majority whose main qualm with Chalcedon was that it had been “tainted with Nestorianism.” The Monophysites demanded the condemnation of three Nestorian bishops, and so Justinian issued the Edict of the Three Chapters in the middle of the 540’s to do just that, and it was generally accepted, but not by the Pope (Treadgold 63). Still desiring the acceptance of the Edict, the Fifth Ecumenical Council, or the Second Council of Constantinople, was called in hopes of its ratification. The eastern bishops went along with the emperor’s wishes, and the Pope was pressured into accepting it at last (Treadgold 65). As for solving the problem of Monophysitism, however, and even for achieving any unity at all, the council was an utter failure. Justinian “had alienated the West, infuriated the Nestorians, and even failed to win over the Monophysites” (Clouse 191).
Even while Justinian was trying to unify the religious factions under his rule, Monophysitism continued to spread without regard for the attempted compromises and Chalcedonian orientation of the emperor. This is the Jacobite Church, led by the bishop Jacob Bardaeus, who as bishop of Edessa wandered the eastern regions of the empire, training and appointing large numbers Monophysite clergy, guaranteeing a lasting Monophysite character in the east. Justinian tried to arrest Bardaeus, but he was unsuccessful (Gregory 139). It would only be the loss of these regions to Islamic invaders that would rid the empire of its Monophysite population, and indeed the hostility of these Monophysites, especially in Egypt thanks to anger over monotheletism, caused many to welcome the change in regime when the Arabs came in 641 (Clouse 192).
Before this, though, much of the East was lost briefly to the Persians in the early seventh century, and it was recovered by Herakleios, who completed its reconquest in 630. Having done this, the bulk of the empire’s Monophysite population was back under the control of Constantinople, and this meant that Monophysitism needed to be addressed once more (Gregory 161). The compromise this time was ultimately Monotheletism, the belief that the two natures of Christ have a single will, but this was only after the Pope and the Patriarch of Jerusalem struck down the attempt of Herakleios and Patriarch Sergios to introduce Monoergism, the belief that the natures of Christ have but one “energy” in 633 (Treadgold 92-93). To advance this doctrine, the emperor published the Ekthesis in 648, declaring it to be imperial policy, but this met no success at all. Chalcedonians and Monophysties were brought no closer, and no beliefs were modified as a result of this imperial mandate (Gregory 161-162). Like Justinian’s attempts at both appeasement and persecution, all monotheletism achieved was schism when the pope condemned the belief in 647 (Clouse 192).
Under Constantine IV, the Sixth Ecumenical Council was called to Constantinople to deal with the issue of Monotheletism, and a Western delegation was also invited. Since the recent Arab conquests had done away with the bulk of the Monophysite influence, the council merely reaffirmed a Chalcedonian Christology without any possibility for Monotheletism or any other previously attempted compromise, and this spelled the end of the Christological controversies at last (Gregory 174). The council also managed to upset the Westerners, which caused the schism to continue until 710 (Clouse 193). So with the rise of Islam and the subsequent loss of much of the Byzantine Empire’s Eastern territory and the proponents of Monophysitism nearly all gone, the need for the Byzantine state to deal with Christology, indeed, most any complex theological issue, was greatly diminished. The consequence of this would be the next and final great controversy, iconoclasm.
The iconoclasm of the eighth century turned out to be the final great controversy of the Orthodox Church under the Byzantine Empire, and in this controversy are echoes of much of earlier Byzantine history. According to Warren Treadgold, “Most Byzantines…believed that their military and political misfortunes showed God’s anger against them” (116). In response to this supposed divine anger, the emperor Leo III outlawed the veneration of icons in 730, and he did so most likely because of “his belief that the veneration of ikons was wrong and that, as emperor, he had a responsibility to God and to his subjects to insist on correct religious practice” (Gregory 192). Thus the iconoclastic controversy began, with an emperor inventing a doctrine in a vain effort to appease God.
Neither the majority of the Byzantine people nor of the Orthodox ecclesiastics agreed with Leo that icons were a problem. Of course, the West was also adamantly opposed to iconoclasm, since icons and images were prominent in Western Christianity (Clouse 193). Notably, John of Damascus, immediately responded with his On Images, which basically argues that “the image is a memorial, just what words are to a listening ear” (Gregory 188), to quote the text itself. Rather than standing on theological grounds, Leo’s argument was largely based on flimsy reasoning from the Law and other admonitions against idol worship found in the Old Testament. Of course, this is no surprise considering the decline of the educational system in the time before the iconoclastic controversy, so much so that “iconoclasts and iconophiles were accusing each other, with reason, of ignorance of theology” (Treadgold 121). This was not the same sort of controversy as any preceding it. This was purely a matter of imperial meddling.
The meddling only grew worse under Leo’s son and successor, Constantine V, who began to openly persecute uncooperative iconophiles. To further complicate the matter, probably having identified the weakness of the earlier defenses of iconoclasm, Constantine V decided to draw Christology into the controversy. Under his rule, iconoclast theology advanced that, in order to venerate an icon, one must abandon a Chalcedonian Christology, for the icon cannot possibly represent both the human and the divine nature of Christ. In order to further legitimize his position, Constantine V called the Council of Hiera in 754, which was packed in order to affirm iconoclasm (Gregory 196). It did just that, according to the emperor’s wishes, even in the face of opposition from the likes of John of Damascus.
These emperors had ample reason to meddle in ecclesiastical affairs. The flourishing of popular religion, through such things as icons and hagiographies (Treadgold 117), was a threat to an emperor under whose rule the Eastern Church had always been subject. This new multitude of objects of veneration could not possibly encourage the veneration of the emperor, the representative of God, and so it is naturally concluded that God must not be receiving the proper veneration, either. Gregory grants the analogy some plausibility (192). It is not implausible to think the emperor would prefer to be the one representative of one god, rather than to allow for many representations of God, angels, saints, and so forth. In this way, the divide is almost like that between Christianity and paganism.
After these two emperors, the iconophiles regained control through Irene, the widow of Constantine V. She called the Seventh Ecumenical Council, the Second Council of Nicaea, to meet in 787. There, iconoclasm was “duly condemned,” but “Iconoclasts were allowed to repent” (Gregory 198). In 813, however, the iconoclast Leo V assumed the throne, and he immediately set about enforcing an iconoclastic program in the style of Leo III. He replaced the Patriarch Nikepherous with John Grammatikos, who acknowledged the Council of Hiera, which an emperor again demonstrated his power to do. Iconoclasm had begun its resurgence, but Leo V was assassinated in 820 (Gregory 205). The conspirator that then took control of the Byzantine Empire was Michael II, another iconoclaste. His heir was his son Theophilus, whose iconoclastic background had made its impact. His wife Theodora, however, was not of like mind, and after Theophilus’ death, iconoclasm was put down for good (Treadgold 130-131). Such is the triumph of Orthodoxy.
From the deep and difficult philosophical questions of Christology to the brute assertion of iconoclasm, the Orthodox Church of the Byzantine Empire faced constant difficulty. Emperors, even with the most pragmatic intentions of unifying the Eastern Church, continually exerted their authority over the Church, but this did not translate to an exertion of authority over belief. Thus lingering issues, especially Monophysitism, managed to persist, for better or for worse. Eventually, though, as the Byzantine state weakened and territory was lost, the smaller and more cohesive empire saw a semblance of the unity that the older emperors had sought for their much more widespread domains. By the ninth century, Orthodox belief had become mostly stable, but at great political expense on the part of the empire.
Bibliography
Clouse, Robert, Richard Pierard, and Edwin Yamauchi. Two Kingdoms. The Church and Culture through the Ages. Moody, Chicago: 1993.
Frend, W.H.C. The Early Church. Fortune Press, Minneapolis: 1982.
Gregory, Timothy. A History of Byzantium. Blackwell, Malden, MA: 2005.
Treadgold, Warren. A Concise History of Byzantium. Palgrave, New York: 2001.
30 November 2008
Christmas Decoration Day
Good afternoon, my friends. I would like to greet you with, "Happy Christmas Decoration Day!" or "Happy First Day of Christmas!" but I was too busy celebrating that day to offer all the greetings I should like to have offered.
In my view, there are several holidays that supersede all others, Christmas being chief among them. That being the case, I find the First Day of Christmas, always the day after Thanksgiving, to be a particularly joyous occasion, certainly among my favorite holidays. On this day the Christmas decorations come out, and in discussing them I shall focus on the traditional Christmas tree. The traditional Christmas tree is not a real tree, but this does hold the traditional value of being the same tree every year for as long as I remember. Apparently, until I was two years old, we put up a real tree, but that year there was an issue with leaking water that persuaded us to acquire a fake tree. Many times we have considered returning to the real tree, but three factors have persuaded us otherwise, the first being the one I just mentioned. The second is fear of fire, especially considering the length of time between the First Day of Christmas and Christmas itself. The third is the fantastic Christmas village, which shall receive mention soon.
The Christmas tree has a base, a pole, and branches that must be applied individually each year. The base is bent and slightly mangled, and it must be wrestled if the pole is to stand straightly. From the branches, the pseudo pine needles fall off in number, making a festive mess on the floor, and these branches scratch the hands and arms, leaving festive scratches and rashes that itch with the Christmas spirit. I am perfectly serious when I say that I love it. Once the branches are applied, the star is mounted on top, which I understand many people feel should be done last. These people are wrong to trust such feelings; they have no fantastic Christmas village.
Once the tree is assembled in such a way that it looks like a real tree, it cries out for need of lights and beads. First come the delightfully colorful lights and then come strings of red, wooden beads. Lights, you see, are safer than candles, but candles do smell better. Alas, fir trees are no place for candles, whether they are real or not. As for the beads, I think they might be equivalent to the strange practice of stringing popping corn and wrapping it around the tree. Popping corn strikes me as a vulgar thing to put on something so proud and glorious as a Christmas tree, but these beads, among other stringable things I am sure, do ample justice to the aesthetics of Christmas. Now, one might suspect that ornaments would come next, but anyone like that does not have a fantastic Christmas village.
The fantastic Christmas village proved to be a bit minimalistic this year, but at no expense to fantasy. You see, the traditional Christmas tree is usually in a corner, but some furniture rearrangements necessitated that it move down the wall this year, at the expense of space around its base. Since the fantastic Christmas village stands at the base of the tree, the challenge presented by a diminished space is obvious, for over the last ten or more years a great many buildings have been accumulated. The first thing that had to be done, then, was to select the ones that would be included and the ones that would resume their places in the closet. These are those that I included this year: the clock tower, the train station, the city hall, the courthouse, the cathedral, the school, the book shop, the toy shop, the florist, the country store, the water mill, the barn, and a few houses, including one to accompany the barn. The municipal buildings and the train station are in the front. To their left are the shops, and to their right are the houses. In the back in the hills is the country, including such institutions as the farm, the water mill, and the school, for it is an old timey schoolhouse. The country store stands between the shops and the country. There are also tiny people and tiny trees to populate the fantastic Christmas village, from happy children to a happy snowman. It is truly fantastic.
Last of all are the ornaments, which generally consist of utterly meaningless trinkets, merely aesthetic objects, commemorations of memories and meaningful things, and family photographs. There is also one that never got its intended picture, but it just has the picture that came with it (which is pretty awful). I like to place it inconspicuously on the back of the tree.
Apart from the traditional tree, I would like to mention the small battalion of nutcrackers that guard the house at Christmastime. My personal nutcracker is naturally my favorite. He wears a kilt and holds a set of bagpipes. That of my brother is a golfer, clearly from Scotland. Two others are perfectly ordinary, and one is a monkey.
This is not all, but it is all I mean to relate. There are lights that go around the deck of the good ship house, livening up the river valley with Christmas spirit. There is the auxiliary tree, which lives next to the piano in the part of the house that takes itself more seriously. There are also poinsettias and a nativity to grace the mantle, divers candles and things to lurk in all places, and festive towels for drying the hands. These things I mention for a greater completeness, that the entirety of the Christmastime decor might be grasped. Lastly, we have a new snow globe this year, which I find particularly pleasing, as far as snow globes go. I conclude here, vanishing like a polar bear eating marshmallows in a blizzard.
Merry Christmastime!
In my view, there are several holidays that supersede all others, Christmas being chief among them. That being the case, I find the First Day of Christmas, always the day after Thanksgiving, to be a particularly joyous occasion, certainly among my favorite holidays. On this day the Christmas decorations come out, and in discussing them I shall focus on the traditional Christmas tree. The traditional Christmas tree is not a real tree, but this does hold the traditional value of being the same tree every year for as long as I remember. Apparently, until I was two years old, we put up a real tree, but that year there was an issue with leaking water that persuaded us to acquire a fake tree. Many times we have considered returning to the real tree, but three factors have persuaded us otherwise, the first being the one I just mentioned. The second is fear of fire, especially considering the length of time between the First Day of Christmas and Christmas itself. The third is the fantastic Christmas village, which shall receive mention soon.
The Christmas tree has a base, a pole, and branches that must be applied individually each year. The base is bent and slightly mangled, and it must be wrestled if the pole is to stand straightly. From the branches, the pseudo pine needles fall off in number, making a festive mess on the floor, and these branches scratch the hands and arms, leaving festive scratches and rashes that itch with the Christmas spirit. I am perfectly serious when I say that I love it. Once the branches are applied, the star is mounted on top, which I understand many people feel should be done last. These people are wrong to trust such feelings; they have no fantastic Christmas village.
Once the tree is assembled in such a way that it looks like a real tree, it cries out for need of lights and beads. First come the delightfully colorful lights and then come strings of red, wooden beads. Lights, you see, are safer than candles, but candles do smell better. Alas, fir trees are no place for candles, whether they are real or not. As for the beads, I think they might be equivalent to the strange practice of stringing popping corn and wrapping it around the tree. Popping corn strikes me as a vulgar thing to put on something so proud and glorious as a Christmas tree, but these beads, among other stringable things I am sure, do ample justice to the aesthetics of Christmas. Now, one might suspect that ornaments would come next, but anyone like that does not have a fantastic Christmas village.
The fantastic Christmas village proved to be a bit minimalistic this year, but at no expense to fantasy. You see, the traditional Christmas tree is usually in a corner, but some furniture rearrangements necessitated that it move down the wall this year, at the expense of space around its base. Since the fantastic Christmas village stands at the base of the tree, the challenge presented by a diminished space is obvious, for over the last ten or more years a great many buildings have been accumulated. The first thing that had to be done, then, was to select the ones that would be included and the ones that would resume their places in the closet. These are those that I included this year: the clock tower, the train station, the city hall, the courthouse, the cathedral, the school, the book shop, the toy shop, the florist, the country store, the water mill, the barn, and a few houses, including one to accompany the barn. The municipal buildings and the train station are in the front. To their left are the shops, and to their right are the houses. In the back in the hills is the country, including such institutions as the farm, the water mill, and the school, for it is an old timey schoolhouse. The country store stands between the shops and the country. There are also tiny people and tiny trees to populate the fantastic Christmas village, from happy children to a happy snowman. It is truly fantastic.
Last of all are the ornaments, which generally consist of utterly meaningless trinkets, merely aesthetic objects, commemorations of memories and meaningful things, and family photographs. There is also one that never got its intended picture, but it just has the picture that came with it (which is pretty awful). I like to place it inconspicuously on the back of the tree.
Apart from the traditional tree, I would like to mention the small battalion of nutcrackers that guard the house at Christmastime. My personal nutcracker is naturally my favorite. He wears a kilt and holds a set of bagpipes. That of my brother is a golfer, clearly from Scotland. Two others are perfectly ordinary, and one is a monkey.
This is not all, but it is all I mean to relate. There are lights that go around the deck of the good ship house, livening up the river valley with Christmas spirit. There is the auxiliary tree, which lives next to the piano in the part of the house that takes itself more seriously. There are also poinsettias and a nativity to grace the mantle, divers candles and things to lurk in all places, and festive towels for drying the hands. These things I mention for a greater completeness, that the entirety of the Christmastime decor might be grasped. Lastly, we have a new snow globe this year, which I find particularly pleasing, as far as snow globes go. I conclude here, vanishing like a polar bear eating marshmallows in a blizzard.
Merry Christmastime!
20 November 2008
Vigilante Dialogue
Happy World Philosophy Day, my friends! Today I will celebrate by composing a philosophical dialogue between Thomas Nagel, of "What is it like to be a bat?" fame, and Batman, of Batman fame.
Introduction.
It is nighttime. Thomas Nagel is sitting in his office at New York University. All is silent, but a shadow flashes across the room. Suddenly Professor Nagel is face to face with Batman, who hangs from the ceiling.
Batman: (always intensely) You don't know anything about being a bat, Nagel.
Nagel: (frightened) That was the point, and neither do you.
Batman: That's where you're wrong.
Nagel: Consciousness is a subjective experience, and you are no bat.
Batman: (lifting Nagel by his shirt) What does that have to do with it?
Nagel: You cannot know what it is like to be a bat without being one!
Batman: Who is more bat-like than me? I'm hanging from the ceiling! I spend my time in the Batcave, often on the Batcomputer! I'm nocturnal! I dress in black! I have wing extensions for gliding! I talk on the Batphone! I drive the Batmobile! I know what it's like to be a bat.
Nagel: No, you know what it is like for you to do bat things!
Batman: (throws Nagel down and leaps to the floor, landing on his feet) Doing bat things tells me what it's like to be a bat, Nagel. I am Batman!
Nagel: Yes, Batman...
Batman: (strikes Nagel across the face) I am Batman, and I know what it's like to be a bat.
Nagel: You are a man who knows what it is like to do bat things!
Batman: (strikes Nagel again) What I do defines who I am! I am Batman!
Nagel: (bleeding out the nose and mouth) Regardless of what you do, you have a subjective consciousness!
Batman: (kicks Nagel across the floor, into a wall) If you want to keep your subjective consciousness, concede that I know what it's like to be a bat.
Nagel: (moans in agony)
Batman: (stepping toward Nagel) Last chance.
Nagel: (cowering) You know what it is like...
Conclusion.
Batman disappears as silently as he entered.
Introduction.
It is nighttime. Thomas Nagel is sitting in his office at New York University. All is silent, but a shadow flashes across the room. Suddenly Professor Nagel is face to face with Batman, who hangs from the ceiling.
Batman: (always intensely) You don't know anything about being a bat, Nagel.
Nagel: (frightened) That was the point, and neither do you.
Batman: That's where you're wrong.
Nagel: Consciousness is a subjective experience, and you are no bat.
Batman: (lifting Nagel by his shirt) What does that have to do with it?
Nagel: You cannot know what it is like to be a bat without being one!
Batman: Who is more bat-like than me? I'm hanging from the ceiling! I spend my time in the Batcave, often on the Batcomputer! I'm nocturnal! I dress in black! I have wing extensions for gliding! I talk on the Batphone! I drive the Batmobile! I know what it's like to be a bat.
Nagel: No, you know what it is like for you to do bat things!
Batman: (throws Nagel down and leaps to the floor, landing on his feet) Doing bat things tells me what it's like to be a bat, Nagel. I am Batman!
Nagel: Yes, Batman...
Batman: (strikes Nagel across the face) I am Batman, and I know what it's like to be a bat.
Nagel: You are a man who knows what it is like to do bat things!
Batman: (strikes Nagel again) What I do defines who I am! I am Batman!
Nagel: (bleeding out the nose and mouth) Regardless of what you do, you have a subjective consciousness!
Batman: (kicks Nagel across the floor, into a wall) If you want to keep your subjective consciousness, concede that I know what it's like to be a bat.
Nagel: (moans in agony)
Batman: (stepping toward Nagel) Last chance.
Nagel: (cowering) You know what it is like...
Conclusion.
Batman disappears as silently as he entered.
19 November 2008
I Dream of Zombies
My friends, as long as we speak of interesting dreams, let me relate one of mine. This one passed through my thoughts on Sunday night, but my memory of it is imperfect. Some real people besides myself were there, but I do not recall their precise functions or locations, just as I no longer remember any context of the point at which I shall begin.
Where, then, shall I begin? Why at a swimming pool, of course! This, however, is no ordinary swimming pool. This one has a chair submerged about a third of the way down from the shallow end, which I add is about a foot in depth. The chair has thick and stout legs, a square seat, and an equally thick and stout back. I wonder for what purpose it is there. I suppose it must be for sitting. Now I am underwater with the chair. I wonder how one might sit in it for a long period of time, but I know that it is possible to do so. This question is never answered. The chair transforms into a platform structure of some kind. Now moving to the back of the swimming pool, I observe the depth markings. One says 300 ft. The next and last one says 400 ft. I wonder whether or not diving is permitted, not that I have any desire to go diving. I determine that 400 ft. is just the right depth to permit safe diving. The pool, however, is not safe for diving at all, since I notice that the 400 ft. deep deep end is only about two feet wide, with an enormous drop immediately beforehand. This is not cause for alarm, though, since there is a rope between the safe 400 ft. depth and the unsafe 300 ft. depth. Suddenly, though some fault of my own, the pool begins to drain, and all persons therein (whose numbers are few) must scramble out. At the bottom of the deepest part of the pool there are undead things, but since the water is drained, I am congratulated for having defeated them. On a side note, zombies in the pool was a real childhood fear of mine, so perhaps I am recalling something.
Having defeated this menace of the depths, I am struck with the realization that I must also defeat the menace above, which I suspect means there will be bats. I understand somehow that this means purging the attic of evil, never mind that there has been no attic anywhere thus far. Regardless, some dream people and I find our way to a house inhabited by a kindly old woman. It is violet in color and rather tall. The roof is covered in green shingles. We tell her that the attic must be purged of evil, so she brings out a metal extension ladder. There is an overhang over her front door, so we climb onto that. From there we raise the ladder up to the circular window of the attic, but we are forbidden entry. Fortunately, the kindly old woman knows what to do. We all climb down to the ground, and we notice that it is storming. The kindly old woman is making her way across her yard, which is a very dark green in color, toward a tree of similar hue. We urge her to return to us until the storm passes, but she is adamant. She refuses to even look back at us. Suddenly, lightening strikes, and I fear the worst. The woman was holding a fully extended, metal extension ladder vertically in the air, after all. Miraculously and irrationally, the lightening had struck the ground two feet or so to her left, and she did not even flinch. At last, she places the ladder against the tree, which I know will lead to the attic.
Climbing the ladder again, this time up into a secret passage high in a lonely tree, there emerges first a flying thing, resembling a bat, which quickly disappears, and a number of green people with oddly shaped noses from within the tree and behind me. The kindly old woman is gone. They are identified as Venezuelan futbol (that is, soccer) players, but it is not certain whether they form a team. At first they seem threatening, then they offer us some massive slices of what appears to be garlic bread from out their bubbling cauldron, the kind witches and cannibals use. We eat it, but it tastes strange, so it is my conclusion that we are eating the transubstantiated flesh of the kindly old woman. Thus we go back several steps in time so as to undo this tragedy, but we fall for the same trick. We do it again as the visions fade and I wake up.
I am not making this up. I could not do so if I tried.
Where, then, shall I begin? Why at a swimming pool, of course! This, however, is no ordinary swimming pool. This one has a chair submerged about a third of the way down from the shallow end, which I add is about a foot in depth. The chair has thick and stout legs, a square seat, and an equally thick and stout back. I wonder for what purpose it is there. I suppose it must be for sitting. Now I am underwater with the chair. I wonder how one might sit in it for a long period of time, but I know that it is possible to do so. This question is never answered. The chair transforms into a platform structure of some kind. Now moving to the back of the swimming pool, I observe the depth markings. One says 300 ft. The next and last one says 400 ft. I wonder whether or not diving is permitted, not that I have any desire to go diving. I determine that 400 ft. is just the right depth to permit safe diving. The pool, however, is not safe for diving at all, since I notice that the 400 ft. deep deep end is only about two feet wide, with an enormous drop immediately beforehand. This is not cause for alarm, though, since there is a rope between the safe 400 ft. depth and the unsafe 300 ft. depth. Suddenly, though some fault of my own, the pool begins to drain, and all persons therein (whose numbers are few) must scramble out. At the bottom of the deepest part of the pool there are undead things, but since the water is drained, I am congratulated for having defeated them. On a side note, zombies in the pool was a real childhood fear of mine, so perhaps I am recalling something.
Having defeated this menace of the depths, I am struck with the realization that I must also defeat the menace above, which I suspect means there will be bats. I understand somehow that this means purging the attic of evil, never mind that there has been no attic anywhere thus far. Regardless, some dream people and I find our way to a house inhabited by a kindly old woman. It is violet in color and rather tall. The roof is covered in green shingles. We tell her that the attic must be purged of evil, so she brings out a metal extension ladder. There is an overhang over her front door, so we climb onto that. From there we raise the ladder up to the circular window of the attic, but we are forbidden entry. Fortunately, the kindly old woman knows what to do. We all climb down to the ground, and we notice that it is storming. The kindly old woman is making her way across her yard, which is a very dark green in color, toward a tree of similar hue. We urge her to return to us until the storm passes, but she is adamant. She refuses to even look back at us. Suddenly, lightening strikes, and I fear the worst. The woman was holding a fully extended, metal extension ladder vertically in the air, after all. Miraculously and irrationally, the lightening had struck the ground two feet or so to her left, and she did not even flinch. At last, she places the ladder against the tree, which I know will lead to the attic.
Climbing the ladder again, this time up into a secret passage high in a lonely tree, there emerges first a flying thing, resembling a bat, which quickly disappears, and a number of green people with oddly shaped noses from within the tree and behind me. The kindly old woman is gone. They are identified as Venezuelan futbol (that is, soccer) players, but it is not certain whether they form a team. At first they seem threatening, then they offer us some massive slices of what appears to be garlic bread from out their bubbling cauldron, the kind witches and cannibals use. We eat it, but it tastes strange, so it is my conclusion that we are eating the transubstantiated flesh of the kindly old woman. Thus we go back several steps in time so as to undo this tragedy, but we fall for the same trick. We do it again as the visions fade and I wake up.
I am not making this up. I could not do so if I tried.
16 November 2008
The Wisdom of Mme. Faux-Sophiste
As "Pheidippotamus" might have indicated, it is a semi-goal of mine to build myself a little world around "Velocipedes and Dirigibles." A couple of Wednesdays ago I made another addition to the literature, but I neglected to post it. It is this:
The Wisdom of Mme. Faux-Sophiste
Know you not what knowing not will do
for knowing what to see
and knowing how and knowing who
knows how and what to be
besides a knowing one who knows
no seeing but a thought
of one who sees and then burrows
to know what has been wrought
not seeing but not knowing much
but one and all to know:
not foxes, but hedgehogs and such,
and an armadillo?
The Wisdom of Mme. Faux-Sophiste
Know you not what knowing not will do
for knowing what to see
and knowing how and knowing who
knows how and what to be
besides a knowing one who knows
no seeing but a thought
of one who sees and then burrows
to know what has been wrought
not seeing but not knowing much
but one and all to know:
not foxes, but hedgehogs and such,
and an armadillo?
03 November 2008
I believe in fires at midnight.
"Me, I'll sit and write this love song, as I all too seldom do, build a little fire this midnight, it's good to be back home with you." -"Fire at Midnight," Jethro Tull
In reverie of the splendorous nighttime and of its splendid array of stars and of the smiling moon ascending over the treetops, I present a musical composition for solo pianoforte. Furthermore, let me commemorate therewith the the grand fire almost-at-midnight and its plumes of steam illuminated by the moonlight and the feel and the scent of the calm and cold night from the fire to the field to the swing set. Also, let me ignore, as I did at the time, the horseplay of the rabble. In short, I reflect on a good memory, the glorious conclusion of an excellent day, and on returning, far beyond expectation, to the profound and pleasing sight on which I mused in March.
This musical composition is a nocturne, which my handy pocket music dictionary assures me is a "dreamy and romantic" composition or "a piece resembling a serenade, to be played at night in the open air." Of course, it is nothing like a serenade, for serenades can be accomplished by greasy mariachi bands and nocturnes cannot possibly be accomplished thus. Of course, that is not to say a nocturne is not suitable for serenading; indeed, I think its character is far more suitable for serenading than a serenade could ever hope to be.
The story of this nocturne begins on the way home from the middle of the woods, which really is an accurate description of the place. Besides the road and the few houses thereupon, there were truly nothing but trees for a few miles around. The satellite maps told me so. This was a happy thing to learn, I thought, and I still think. Now, in the car, besides watching the rest of the convoy, exchanging words with my comrades, and reading the ridiculous names of certain towns and roads on the way, there was time for quiet reflection. In the course of this quiet reflection, I got out my book of notes and letters to write out a brief plan for the musical composition that I have now finished. In the course of the next week I would begin work on it, throw most of it out, abandon most of the lunatic (that is, lunar) plan (as I knew I would), and finally find the direction the music at last took, which would take a second week to see to its conclusion. Last Wednesday I scrivened the last of the shorthand in blue ink (my chosen color for this piece, because of the moonlight), and on Friday began to put all the actual notes into the computer, editing as many shortcomings I could see to improve. This was done with immense care, for I long ago (relatively speaking) ceased to consider myself to be working for myself.
If I may digress for a moment, I saw two enormous turkey vultures today from a mere several feet away. It was pretty neato, but I shall compose them neither a nocturne nor a diurne. This happened because I was so smooth in grooving over to them.
Now, without further ado, and there has been much ado, here is the music, which can be heard by following the link on the left of the page under Mine Artistry, but I advise listening over hearing:
In reverie of the splendorous nighttime and of its splendid array of stars and of the smiling moon ascending over the treetops, I present a musical composition for solo pianoforte. Furthermore, let me commemorate therewith the the grand fire almost-at-midnight and its plumes of steam illuminated by the moonlight and the feel and the scent of the calm and cold night from the fire to the field to the swing set. Also, let me ignore, as I did at the time, the horseplay of the rabble. In short, I reflect on a good memory, the glorious conclusion of an excellent day, and on returning, far beyond expectation, to the profound and pleasing sight on which I mused in March.
This musical composition is a nocturne, which my handy pocket music dictionary assures me is a "dreamy and romantic" composition or "a piece resembling a serenade, to be played at night in the open air." Of course, it is nothing like a serenade, for serenades can be accomplished by greasy mariachi bands and nocturnes cannot possibly be accomplished thus. Of course, that is not to say a nocturne is not suitable for serenading; indeed, I think its character is far more suitable for serenading than a serenade could ever hope to be.
The story of this nocturne begins on the way home from the middle of the woods, which really is an accurate description of the place. Besides the road and the few houses thereupon, there were truly nothing but trees for a few miles around. The satellite maps told me so. This was a happy thing to learn, I thought, and I still think. Now, in the car, besides watching the rest of the convoy, exchanging words with my comrades, and reading the ridiculous names of certain towns and roads on the way, there was time for quiet reflection. In the course of this quiet reflection, I got out my book of notes and letters to write out a brief plan for the musical composition that I have now finished. In the course of the next week I would begin work on it, throw most of it out, abandon most of the lunatic (that is, lunar) plan (as I knew I would), and finally find the direction the music at last took, which would take a second week to see to its conclusion. Last Wednesday I scrivened the last of the shorthand in blue ink (my chosen color for this piece, because of the moonlight), and on Friday began to put all the actual notes into the computer, editing as many shortcomings I could see to improve. This was done with immense care, for I long ago (relatively speaking) ceased to consider myself to be working for myself.
If I may digress for a moment, I saw two enormous turkey vultures today from a mere several feet away. It was pretty neato, but I shall compose them neither a nocturne nor a diurne. This happened because I was so smooth in grooving over to them.
Now, without further ado, and there has been much ado, here is the music, which can be heard by following the link on the left of the page under Mine Artistry, but I advise listening over hearing:
31 October 2008
Samhain
Unhappy New Year, O friends! Here passes the glorious season of Light into the season of Darkness. I hope that we are all paying the proper homage to Cromm Cruaich by sacrificing a third of our local, healthy children. Failing to do so, as we are all aware, will lead to a very harsh winter for ourselves and for our cattle. For it was on this day that the Fomorian King Morc delivered a monumental slaughter upon the people of Nemed, purging them from the land of Eire forever. The valiant struggle of the people of Nemed is not to be forgotten, though, as they defied the oppression of the Fomors in refusing to sacrifice two-thirds of their children, instead facing the doomed battle that resulted in their wholesale slaughter. Thus won the Fomors, the gods of Darkness. With the coming of Beltaine, however, the Tuatha de Dannan would arrive, ushering in a new age of Light, and this is to be remembered throughout the wintertime. Though on this day the gods of Darnkess wax strong over the gods of Light, the gods of Light shall see victory again, and we shall feast on their plentiful bounty with the coming of the sun.
Alas, tonight the faeries and the pixies are out, not least among them the Samhanach, and these demand immediate appeasement. Thus one must consult the local Bard or Druid to find out what rites and libations are demanded by the local bogeys. Surely you know where to find the Boreadae, and heed their lamenting songs, accompanied on the Irish harp or the crwth* or the pipes. They shall have the bonfires lit, and their wicker and bone cages shall hold their own, grand sacrifices of man and cattle alike. With the combined efforts of each individual and of the Boreadae, after the bloodbath we can surely awake in the morning unafraid of the faeries and assured of the well-being of the cattle for the duration of the season of Darkness.
------------
*That is actually how it is spelled. Apparently the earliest violin-type instruments are Welsh. I found it when looking for interesting musical terms in my music dictionary today.
Alas, tonight the faeries and the pixies are out, not least among them the Samhanach, and these demand immediate appeasement. Thus one must consult the local Bard or Druid to find out what rites and libations are demanded by the local bogeys. Surely you know where to find the Boreadae, and heed their lamenting songs, accompanied on the Irish harp or the crwth* or the pipes. They shall have the bonfires lit, and their wicker and bone cages shall hold their own, grand sacrifices of man and cattle alike. With the combined efforts of each individual and of the Boreadae, after the bloodbath we can surely awake in the morning unafraid of the faeries and assured of the well-being of the cattle for the duration of the season of Darkness.
------------
*That is actually how it is spelled. Apparently the earliest violin-type instruments are Welsh. I found it when looking for interesting musical terms in my music dictionary today.
29 October 2008
The Development of Byzantine Orthodoxy through Ecumenical Councils
Preface: I just want to say that I wrote this in five and one half hours today, from 11:00 am to 4:30 pm. This is a record-shattering event. Someone should erect a monument. I should also note that it is due at 6:30 pm today, this same day.
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In the first decades of the fourth century, the Emperor Constantine would alter history forever. Not only did he found the “New Rome” of Constantinople, soon to be the heart of the Byzantine Empire, but he also was the first Christian emperor of Rome. Christianity and Byzantium, then, were linked from the very origins of Byzantine prominence, and it is certainly a fruitful venture to observe the concurrent development of Christian orthodoxy after its acquisition of state support and the devleompent of this new city, founded for a Christian empire. Chronologically, this search for orthodoxy can first be seen in the circumstances surrounding the Council of Nicaea in 325. The developments of the fourth century, however, led to the Council of Constantinople in 381. The First Council of Ephesus in 431 came next, and the Second “Robber” Council of Ephesus took place in 449. At last, the monumental Council of Chalcedon would leave its long-standing mark on orthodoxy in 451. It is through the ecumenical councils that the development of orthodoxy can be most definitively seen.
Before the Council of Nicaea, Constantine saw it fit to find a settlement between his theologically discordant subjects. This meant dealing with the Donatists and the Arians. First of all, the Donatists were products of the Great Persecution of Diocletian. Donatus was a Carthaginian priest who would not tolerate the reinstatement of those who lapsed under persecution, and so he and his followers responded to the latter practice when it arose under Archbishop Caecilian of Carthage, by declaring Donatus archbishop (Gregory 53). This left Carthage with a schism between two archbishops, so when Constantine tried in 313 to restore the property of the Church in North Africa, each was a claimant. Initially Constantine encouraged the parties to come to a peaceful solution between themselves, but when this failed he was persuaded against the Donatists by the councils he called for guidance on the matter, and he used the army to persecute them, which itself was an utter failure (53). It was the case, then, that though the North African church remained split, the beginnings of a state-linked orthodoxy had appeared with Constantine’s councils, and this orthodoxy was opposed to Donatism. So much for Constantine’s first attempt at unifying the Christians of his domain.
A decade later in 325, Arianism was highly controversial in Alexandria, which had fallen into Constantine’s hands with the defeat of Licinius, a victory that had unified the empire once again. Arianism can be simply defined by the belief that Christ, as the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, was created by the Father, and that He is less fully God than God the Father (Gregory 54). In fact, it was the furor of this controversy that compelled Licinius to resume persecution of the Church in 320, which was itself the impetus for Constantine’s conquest of the Eastern Empire. Still desiring unity among his Christian subjects, Constantine reacted to this issue much the same way as he did to the Donatists: he implored the parties to get along. Failing to see this realized, Constantine decided it would be best to seek unity with an ecumenical council, calling bishops from across the empire (54).
The Council of Nicaea met at the aforesaid location in 324 in order to deal with the Arian controversy. Though it had been Constantine’s intention in calling the council to find unity in the universal church of his empire, the bishops themselves immediately set about excluding their Arian colleagues from the orthodoxy they were to establish (Frend 140). Constantine, however, was not to be stopped by this resolve, seeking then to find as inclusive a doctrine as he could. Thus Constantine proposed the use of the term homoousios, denoting that the Father and the Son are “of the same substance,” and this was accepted (140). The Nicene Creed was formulated on this basis, and Arianism was condemned as a heresy, but this did not stop Constantine from showing plenty of favor to the Arians, eventually allowing for the reinstatement of Arius (who suddenly and mysteriously died immediately beforehand) and being clinically baptized by the Arian bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia (Treadgold 23-24). The conflict between imperial designs of unity and ecclesiastical politics is plainly evident even from the beginnings of the Christian empire, which might be emphasized by the fact that the questioning of homoousios was largely delayed until Constantine’s passing (Frend 140).
Almost sixty years would pass before the next great council, that at Constantinople in 381, would be called. In that time, the empire would see its final pagan emperor, Julian “the Apostate,” who ruled from 361 until 363. It was he who undid many of the policies set down by Constantine, severing the link betwixt church and state which, for better or for worse, would not return with the strength it had heretofore known. His successor, the Christian Jovian, would merely eliminate Julian’s anti-Christian legislation (Gregory 76). This indeed turned out to be the last hurrah of Roman paganism, for as the remainder of the fourth century progressed, Christianity would unquestionably become the prevailing view of the empire (90). Now in the West, Nicene Christianity was generally stable, but in the East, the Arians still opposed the pronouncements at Nicaea, and Theodosius I, a Spaniard by birth, was very much a Westerner when he was proclaimed emperor in 379 (Frend 175). Coming to Constantinople, then, the Arian controversy was seen as something that needed attention, hence an edict that delivered its “death blow” in early 381, successfully demanding and enforcing Nicene Christianity, except among the Germans, where the missionary bishop Ulfilas was converting Goths in droves to Arian Christianity (175-76). Just a few months later, Theodosius saw the need to call an ecumenical council at Constantinople, which would denounce Arianism among other heresies.
The Council of Constantinople was called in 381 mostly to deal with Arianism, but it highlights above all else the growing conflict between Eastern and Western Christianity, an unfortunate side effect of Christianity’s rise to prominence in the empire. Whether the opposed attitudes of East and West are attributed to administrative divide, linguistic divide, or some other set of causes, there is no denying this friction after 381. The conflict at Constantinople pertained largely to the respective authorities of the bishops of Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria. In the end, though, it was the Alexandrians who were disaffected, thanks to two canons in particular, one preventing meddling in other ecclesiastical provinces, the other granting the Bishop of Constantinople “primacy of honor after the Bishop of Rome” (Frend 176). Such became the relationship among the cities for decades to come. Of course, this no to neglect the denunciation of heresies like Arianism, which was definitively achieved with the backing of the emperor (Treadgold 29), something Constantine had not provided at Nicaea. The Council of Constantinople enjoyed widespread acceptance for its specific pronouncements, in a sense confirming the Council of Nicaea as being orthodox, and this was its success, but it provided no permanent peace for the church, especially not with the Alexandrians left as they were.
How appropriate, then, that Bishop Cyril of Alexandria would be the instigator of the next round of councils, from the two at Ephesus to their resolution at Chalcedon in 451. Arianism, having been effectively purged from the empire, was no longer the arch-heresy, but the questions of Christology were far from resolved. Monophysitism was on the rise in the east, thanks to its opposite extreme, Nestorianism. Because the first Council of Ephesus in 431 was rooted in the Nestorian controversy, a summary of Nestorianism is warranted. Nestorius was appointed Bishop of Constantinople by Theodosius II in 428, and it did not take him long to raise the ire of Cyril of Alexandria. The controversy arose when Nestorius objected to the use of the term Theotokos, or “God-bearer,” to refer to the Virgin Mary. Instead, he argued for the use of Christotokos, or “Christ-bearer,” on the grounds that Mary could only have borne Christ the man, not God Himself (Gregory 103). At least, this is the description we have from mostly hostile sources. Now, being that Nestorius had been selected for his position by the Emperor Theodosius II, he had the emperor’s support, but that was not enough to stop Cyril from getting a council at Ephesus in 431. With papal backing, Cyril was able to seize control of the council (Frend 217) so that Nestorius was condemned as a heretic and exiled, being accused of presenting a Christology of two persons, which was unacceptable. Cyril had his way, but the emperor was disappointed (Treadgold 34). More importantly, though, the stage was set for the controversy to continue.
The 431 Council of Ephesus precipitated an entirely new Christological debate, raising the question of whether or not Christ had two natures, and if so, is the human nature fully human, for to deny full divinity is to reverse the orthodoxy established at Nicaea (Treadgold 34). Some, like the Theodosius’ Grand Chamberlain Chrysaphius, adopted the Monophysite position to which Theodosius tended as he grew older (34). Monophysitism is the belief that Christ possesses only the divine nature at the expense of his humanity, and it gained prominence in the 440’s under the monk Eutyches in fear of a revival of Nestorianism (Gregory 104). The new Bishop of Alexandria, Dioskoros, favored this view, but Flavian, the Bishop of Constantinople, was opposed to it (104). Flavian, investigating Eutyches, found cause to excommunicate him, but Theodosius, being friendly to the views of Eutyches and the Alexandrians, sought a council to tend to the matter (Frend 228). As the first Council of Ephesus had to contend with an extreme separation of the natures of Christ, the second had to contend with the diminishment of the human nature.
In 449 the Second Council of Ephesus, the “Robber Council,” was called by Theodosius II to deal (favorably) with Eutyches and the issues he raised. Dioskoros of Alexandria presided, and he did so in such a way as to ensure the victory of Eutyches, his “Alexandrian fathers,” and Monophysite Christology (Frend 229). To further the matter, Theodosius II was firmly allied to the Alexandrian and Monophysite cause, and as such was able to condone and encourage the dishonest proceedings carried out by Dioskoros. Indeed, the pronouncements of the Imperial court received attention first as it was decided that Eutyches should be reinstated, Flavian deposed, and Monophysitism considered the most compatible position given Nicaea (Frend 230). It was Flavian of Constantinople and Pope Leo I against the Imperial court of Constantinople and the Alexandrians, and the latter two were in control. Leo had even composed his famous Tome, which advanced a Diophysite Christology without sinking into Nestorianism, the orthodox position in the West, and as far as Leo was concerned, what was intended by Nicaea (Frend 231). The Tome was not read at Ephesus. It was Leo, then, who denounced this council as the “Robber Council,” and when Theodosius II died in a hunting accident in 450, he and his fellow Diophysites saw their chance to reverse the shenanigans of 449.
The Council of Chalcedon, the largest ecumenical council to date, was called by Pulcheria (the sister of Theodosius) and Marcian, the Byzantine rulers after Theodosius, in 451, and it would be the single most influential doctrinal pronouncement for the proceeding centuries of Byzantine history. Under the direction of the emperor and the empress, Flavian’s condemnation of Eutyches was declared orthodox, and Eutyches was once again condemned. Only Dioskoros and several others refused to go with the council on this matter, and they themselves were excommunicated (Frend 231). The Tome of Leo was also given attention at last, and it was reviewed for orthodoxy. Minor issues arose relating to latent Monophysite tendencies in some of the bishops, but at last the Chalcedonian Christology of Christ in two natures, both fully human and fully divine, was established (231). Interestingly, Nestorians and perhaps even Nestorius himself (who was still alive) felt a touch of absolution by this compromise of Christ being “a single person in two natures” (Frend 233). All the same, though, Chalcedon did effectively isolate the Egyptian Church, where the Monophysitism of Dioskoros was dominant, and by no means did it establish unity of belief in the empire, hearkening back to the dreams of Constantine. Chalcedon may have clarified the orthodoxy on Christology, but Monophysitism did not go away, remaining a significant influence even during the reign of Justinian and Theodora, the latter being a Monophysite herself. If anything, the establishment of this orthodoxy merely defined the terms for the long lasting conflict between the orthodox Chalcedonians and the unorthodox Monophysites for the centuries to come.
What, then, did orthodoxy mean in the Byzantine world? In the West, under such popes as Leo I, Chalcedon might rightly be considered the common belief, but in the East, such conflicts as that between the Antiochene and Alexandrian schools of exegesis and theology made for a much more complex situation. Indeed, this made vague compromises a frequent necessity in any statements on orthodoxy, lest trouble ensue. It certainly did not help that the more theologically consistent West frequently preferred greater specificity of belief from Constantinople, so, at the risk of tautology, variety is not conducive to unity. That said, the Byzantine Empire was still a unit, and unity was necessary, and even from Constantine, it seems that the establishment of orthodoxy was always an attempt to find a unified stance for the Christian world. The trouble was that the Christian world would not be unified for the convenience of the emperor, or scarcely even for its own good.
Bibliography
Frend, W.H.C. The Early Church. Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1982.
Gregory, Timothy. A History of Byzantium. Blackwell, Malden, MA: 2005.
Treadgold, Warren. A Concise History of Byzantium. Palgrave, New York: 2001.
------------
In the first decades of the fourth century, the Emperor Constantine would alter history forever. Not only did he found the “New Rome” of Constantinople, soon to be the heart of the Byzantine Empire, but he also was the first Christian emperor of Rome. Christianity and Byzantium, then, were linked from the very origins of Byzantine prominence, and it is certainly a fruitful venture to observe the concurrent development of Christian orthodoxy after its acquisition of state support and the devleompent of this new city, founded for a Christian empire. Chronologically, this search for orthodoxy can first be seen in the circumstances surrounding the Council of Nicaea in 325. The developments of the fourth century, however, led to the Council of Constantinople in 381. The First Council of Ephesus in 431 came next, and the Second “Robber” Council of Ephesus took place in 449. At last, the monumental Council of Chalcedon would leave its long-standing mark on orthodoxy in 451. It is through the ecumenical councils that the development of orthodoxy can be most definitively seen.
Before the Council of Nicaea, Constantine saw it fit to find a settlement between his theologically discordant subjects. This meant dealing with the Donatists and the Arians. First of all, the Donatists were products of the Great Persecution of Diocletian. Donatus was a Carthaginian priest who would not tolerate the reinstatement of those who lapsed under persecution, and so he and his followers responded to the latter practice when it arose under Archbishop Caecilian of Carthage, by declaring Donatus archbishop (Gregory 53). This left Carthage with a schism between two archbishops, so when Constantine tried in 313 to restore the property of the Church in North Africa, each was a claimant. Initially Constantine encouraged the parties to come to a peaceful solution between themselves, but when this failed he was persuaded against the Donatists by the councils he called for guidance on the matter, and he used the army to persecute them, which itself was an utter failure (53). It was the case, then, that though the North African church remained split, the beginnings of a state-linked orthodoxy had appeared with Constantine’s councils, and this orthodoxy was opposed to Donatism. So much for Constantine’s first attempt at unifying the Christians of his domain.
A decade later in 325, Arianism was highly controversial in Alexandria, which had fallen into Constantine’s hands with the defeat of Licinius, a victory that had unified the empire once again. Arianism can be simply defined by the belief that Christ, as the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, was created by the Father, and that He is less fully God than God the Father (Gregory 54). In fact, it was the furor of this controversy that compelled Licinius to resume persecution of the Church in 320, which was itself the impetus for Constantine’s conquest of the Eastern Empire. Still desiring unity among his Christian subjects, Constantine reacted to this issue much the same way as he did to the Donatists: he implored the parties to get along. Failing to see this realized, Constantine decided it would be best to seek unity with an ecumenical council, calling bishops from across the empire (54).
The Council of Nicaea met at the aforesaid location in 324 in order to deal with the Arian controversy. Though it had been Constantine’s intention in calling the council to find unity in the universal church of his empire, the bishops themselves immediately set about excluding their Arian colleagues from the orthodoxy they were to establish (Frend 140). Constantine, however, was not to be stopped by this resolve, seeking then to find as inclusive a doctrine as he could. Thus Constantine proposed the use of the term homoousios, denoting that the Father and the Son are “of the same substance,” and this was accepted (140). The Nicene Creed was formulated on this basis, and Arianism was condemned as a heresy, but this did not stop Constantine from showing plenty of favor to the Arians, eventually allowing for the reinstatement of Arius (who suddenly and mysteriously died immediately beforehand) and being clinically baptized by the Arian bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia (Treadgold 23-24). The conflict between imperial designs of unity and ecclesiastical politics is plainly evident even from the beginnings of the Christian empire, which might be emphasized by the fact that the questioning of homoousios was largely delayed until Constantine’s passing (Frend 140).
Almost sixty years would pass before the next great council, that at Constantinople in 381, would be called. In that time, the empire would see its final pagan emperor, Julian “the Apostate,” who ruled from 361 until 363. It was he who undid many of the policies set down by Constantine, severing the link betwixt church and state which, for better or for worse, would not return with the strength it had heretofore known. His successor, the Christian Jovian, would merely eliminate Julian’s anti-Christian legislation (Gregory 76). This indeed turned out to be the last hurrah of Roman paganism, for as the remainder of the fourth century progressed, Christianity would unquestionably become the prevailing view of the empire (90). Now in the West, Nicene Christianity was generally stable, but in the East, the Arians still opposed the pronouncements at Nicaea, and Theodosius I, a Spaniard by birth, was very much a Westerner when he was proclaimed emperor in 379 (Frend 175). Coming to Constantinople, then, the Arian controversy was seen as something that needed attention, hence an edict that delivered its “death blow” in early 381, successfully demanding and enforcing Nicene Christianity, except among the Germans, where the missionary bishop Ulfilas was converting Goths in droves to Arian Christianity (175-76). Just a few months later, Theodosius saw the need to call an ecumenical council at Constantinople, which would denounce Arianism among other heresies.
The Council of Constantinople was called in 381 mostly to deal with Arianism, but it highlights above all else the growing conflict between Eastern and Western Christianity, an unfortunate side effect of Christianity’s rise to prominence in the empire. Whether the opposed attitudes of East and West are attributed to administrative divide, linguistic divide, or some other set of causes, there is no denying this friction after 381. The conflict at Constantinople pertained largely to the respective authorities of the bishops of Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria. In the end, though, it was the Alexandrians who were disaffected, thanks to two canons in particular, one preventing meddling in other ecclesiastical provinces, the other granting the Bishop of Constantinople “primacy of honor after the Bishop of Rome” (Frend 176). Such became the relationship among the cities for decades to come. Of course, this no to neglect the denunciation of heresies like Arianism, which was definitively achieved with the backing of the emperor (Treadgold 29), something Constantine had not provided at Nicaea. The Council of Constantinople enjoyed widespread acceptance for its specific pronouncements, in a sense confirming the Council of Nicaea as being orthodox, and this was its success, but it provided no permanent peace for the church, especially not with the Alexandrians left as they were.
How appropriate, then, that Bishop Cyril of Alexandria would be the instigator of the next round of councils, from the two at Ephesus to their resolution at Chalcedon in 451. Arianism, having been effectively purged from the empire, was no longer the arch-heresy, but the questions of Christology were far from resolved. Monophysitism was on the rise in the east, thanks to its opposite extreme, Nestorianism. Because the first Council of Ephesus in 431 was rooted in the Nestorian controversy, a summary of Nestorianism is warranted. Nestorius was appointed Bishop of Constantinople by Theodosius II in 428, and it did not take him long to raise the ire of Cyril of Alexandria. The controversy arose when Nestorius objected to the use of the term Theotokos, or “God-bearer,” to refer to the Virgin Mary. Instead, he argued for the use of Christotokos, or “Christ-bearer,” on the grounds that Mary could only have borne Christ the man, not God Himself (Gregory 103). At least, this is the description we have from mostly hostile sources. Now, being that Nestorius had been selected for his position by the Emperor Theodosius II, he had the emperor’s support, but that was not enough to stop Cyril from getting a council at Ephesus in 431. With papal backing, Cyril was able to seize control of the council (Frend 217) so that Nestorius was condemned as a heretic and exiled, being accused of presenting a Christology of two persons, which was unacceptable. Cyril had his way, but the emperor was disappointed (Treadgold 34). More importantly, though, the stage was set for the controversy to continue.
The 431 Council of Ephesus precipitated an entirely new Christological debate, raising the question of whether or not Christ had two natures, and if so, is the human nature fully human, for to deny full divinity is to reverse the orthodoxy established at Nicaea (Treadgold 34). Some, like the Theodosius’ Grand Chamberlain Chrysaphius, adopted the Monophysite position to which Theodosius tended as he grew older (34). Monophysitism is the belief that Christ possesses only the divine nature at the expense of his humanity, and it gained prominence in the 440’s under the monk Eutyches in fear of a revival of Nestorianism (Gregory 104). The new Bishop of Alexandria, Dioskoros, favored this view, but Flavian, the Bishop of Constantinople, was opposed to it (104). Flavian, investigating Eutyches, found cause to excommunicate him, but Theodosius, being friendly to the views of Eutyches and the Alexandrians, sought a council to tend to the matter (Frend 228). As the first Council of Ephesus had to contend with an extreme separation of the natures of Christ, the second had to contend with the diminishment of the human nature.
In 449 the Second Council of Ephesus, the “Robber Council,” was called by Theodosius II to deal (favorably) with Eutyches and the issues he raised. Dioskoros of Alexandria presided, and he did so in such a way as to ensure the victory of Eutyches, his “Alexandrian fathers,” and Monophysite Christology (Frend 229). To further the matter, Theodosius II was firmly allied to the Alexandrian and Monophysite cause, and as such was able to condone and encourage the dishonest proceedings carried out by Dioskoros. Indeed, the pronouncements of the Imperial court received attention first as it was decided that Eutyches should be reinstated, Flavian deposed, and Monophysitism considered the most compatible position given Nicaea (Frend 230). It was Flavian of Constantinople and Pope Leo I against the Imperial court of Constantinople and the Alexandrians, and the latter two were in control. Leo had even composed his famous Tome, which advanced a Diophysite Christology without sinking into Nestorianism, the orthodox position in the West, and as far as Leo was concerned, what was intended by Nicaea (Frend 231). The Tome was not read at Ephesus. It was Leo, then, who denounced this council as the “Robber Council,” and when Theodosius II died in a hunting accident in 450, he and his fellow Diophysites saw their chance to reverse the shenanigans of 449.
The Council of Chalcedon, the largest ecumenical council to date, was called by Pulcheria (the sister of Theodosius) and Marcian, the Byzantine rulers after Theodosius, in 451, and it would be the single most influential doctrinal pronouncement for the proceeding centuries of Byzantine history. Under the direction of the emperor and the empress, Flavian’s condemnation of Eutyches was declared orthodox, and Eutyches was once again condemned. Only Dioskoros and several others refused to go with the council on this matter, and they themselves were excommunicated (Frend 231). The Tome of Leo was also given attention at last, and it was reviewed for orthodoxy. Minor issues arose relating to latent Monophysite tendencies in some of the bishops, but at last the Chalcedonian Christology of Christ in two natures, both fully human and fully divine, was established (231). Interestingly, Nestorians and perhaps even Nestorius himself (who was still alive) felt a touch of absolution by this compromise of Christ being “a single person in two natures” (Frend 233). All the same, though, Chalcedon did effectively isolate the Egyptian Church, where the Monophysitism of Dioskoros was dominant, and by no means did it establish unity of belief in the empire, hearkening back to the dreams of Constantine. Chalcedon may have clarified the orthodoxy on Christology, but Monophysitism did not go away, remaining a significant influence even during the reign of Justinian and Theodora, the latter being a Monophysite herself. If anything, the establishment of this orthodoxy merely defined the terms for the long lasting conflict between the orthodox Chalcedonians and the unorthodox Monophysites for the centuries to come.
What, then, did orthodoxy mean in the Byzantine world? In the West, under such popes as Leo I, Chalcedon might rightly be considered the common belief, but in the East, such conflicts as that between the Antiochene and Alexandrian schools of exegesis and theology made for a much more complex situation. Indeed, this made vague compromises a frequent necessity in any statements on orthodoxy, lest trouble ensue. It certainly did not help that the more theologically consistent West frequently preferred greater specificity of belief from Constantinople, so, at the risk of tautology, variety is not conducive to unity. That said, the Byzantine Empire was still a unit, and unity was necessary, and even from Constantine, it seems that the establishment of orthodoxy was always an attempt to find a unified stance for the Christian world. The trouble was that the Christian world would not be unified for the convenience of the emperor, or scarcely even for its own good.
Bibliography
Frend, W.H.C. The Early Church. Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1982.
Gregory, Timothy. A History of Byzantium. Blackwell, Malden, MA: 2005.
Treadgold, Warren. A Concise History of Byzantium. Palgrave, New York: 2001.
28 October 2008
Pheidippotamus
Hither! thunder hither
thence, thou grandest of all steeds.
Prance with all thy graces
from out the river-reeds.
See we have been summoned
by the princess to the ball!
Dance with all thy splendor
into the royal hall!
Thither! thunder thither
hence, and gallop all the way.
Thy patter on the plains
must fall without delay!
for agog awaiting
stays the princess for a glance
at thy flowing frolic
and thy grey countenance.
thence, thou grandest of all steeds.
Prance with all thy graces
from out the river-reeds.
See we have been summoned
by the princess to the ball!
Dance with all thy splendor
into the royal hall!
Thither! thunder thither
hence, and gallop all the way.
Thy patter on the plains
must fall without delay!
for agog awaiting
stays the princess for a glance
at thy flowing frolic
and thy grey countenance.
27 October 2008
Better Living through Behaviorism
Let's jive.
Stimulus: Good evening.
Response: It is a good evening, isn't it?
Now it is plain that this Response is, in fact, reciprocating a stimulus right back. I hereby illustrate this, color coding each speaker.
Stimulus: Indeed, and how good do you suppose it was?
Response: Well, it exhibited cool and pleasant temperatures, and a grey, overcast sky.
Stimulus: So what does this indicate about its goodness?
Response: Nothing but that the day was stimulated to behave as it did.
Stimulus: Then why do you say the day was good?
Response: You stimulated me to say it.
Stimulus: I think I understand.
Response: I do not see that you "understand."
Stimulus: How would you see that I understand?
Response: You would behave accordingly.
Stimulus: How would I, understanding behave?
Response: Do not "trouble" me with absurd questions about inner states.
Stimulus: I do not understand.
Response: Exactly.
------------
Now behave.
Stimulus: Good evening.
Response: It is a good evening, isn't it?
Now it is plain that this Response is, in fact, reciprocating a stimulus right back. I hereby illustrate this, color coding each speaker.
Stimulus: It is a good evening, isn't it?
Response: Yes, it is a good evening, and it was a beautiful day, also.
Response: Yes, it is a good evening, and it was a beautiful day, also.
Stimulus: Yes, it is a good evening, and it was a beautiful day, also.
Response: It was a good day, wasn't it?Stimulus: It was a good day, wasn't it?
Response: Indeed, and how good do you suppose it was?
Response: Indeed, and how good do you suppose it was?
Stimulus: Indeed, and how good do you suppose it was?
Response: Well, it exhibited cool and pleasant temperatures, and a grey, overcast sky.
Stimulus: Well, it exhibited cool and pleasant temperatures, and a grey, overcast sky.
Response: So what does this indicate about its goodness?
Response: So what does this indicate about its goodness?
Stimulus: So what does this indicate about its goodness?
Response: Nothing but that the day was stimulated to behave as it did.
Stimulus: Nothing but that the day was stimulated to behave as it did.
Response: Then why do you say the day was good?
Stimulus: Then why do you say the day was good?
Response: You stimulated me to say it.
Stimulus: You stimulated me to say it.
Response: I think I understand.
Stimulus: I think I understand.
Response: I do not see that you "understand."
Stimulus: I do not see that you "understand."
Response: How would you see that I understand?
Stimulus: How would you see that I understand?
Response: You would behave accordingly.
Stimulus: You would behave accordingly.
Response: How would I, understanding, behave?
Response: How would I, understanding, behave?
Stimulus: How would I, understanding behave?
Response: Do not "trouble" me with absurd questions about inner states.
Stimulus: Do not "trouble" me with absurd questions about inner states.
Response: I do not understand.
Response: I do not understand.
Stimulus: I do not understand.
Response: Exactly.
------------
Now behave.
12 October 2008
Breathe the Free Air Again
Dear [Your Representative or Senator]:
Let me begin by introducing myself. I am a Citizen of your constituency, concerned for the continued Prosperity of our Republic and the subsequent Prosperity of my fellow Citizens. As such, I argue that we can no longer stand idly by as blind and irresponsible toleration of misdeeds allows certain villains among us to continually act unjustly toward not only fellow Citizens, but to the world at large, also. For is it not unjust to knowingly engage in behavior that has proved to be both self-destructive and destructive to others, and not only some others, but to all others? Already, to be sure, the necessity of action against this injustice should be perfectly evident, but allow the most beautiful argument to persuade all the skeptical ones and perhaps even some among these unjust villains. Furthermore, I ask that you heed the conclusion of the most beautiful argument, which is the course that our Republic must take in defeating this injustice once and for all.
Before beginning the argument proper, the villainy at hand must be known, already having irrefutably established its gravity, and this villainy is the smoking of various poisons with divers instruments of cruelty, whose offense is bounded only by its diffusion into imperceptibility. It is this imperceptibility, however, that is a particular danger of the injustice, for its pollution, both environmental and ethical, is detectable only briefly and then forgotten. The damage then proceeds unseen and unheeded without intentional attention. Truly, this is a behavior exhibited only by villains in darkness, but the villain is here and now exposed. As a Patriotic Citizen of our Republic, I at least cannot stand for the idle allowance of malicious, traitorous, and seditious acts to manifest without inhibition, filling the air with both the substance and spirit of Death. You, being a Patriotic Citizen of our Republic also, must not stand for this either.
Let us now consider one of the greatest Citizens our Republic has ever known, our twenty-sixth president and a noted asthmatic, Theodore Roosevelt. This is one who devoted much to the Conservation of Life and the defiance of death, and as such can prove a strong historical ally to our cause, a cause of all truly Patriotic Citizens of our Republic. This was a man who, after being shot in the chest, proceeded to deliver the two hour or so long speech through whose text the assassin's bullet was brought to a stop. Before that even, this Patriot was willing to personally lead the Rough Riders in a cavalry charge against the Spanish, which nation had offended our Republic sufficiently cause war. Thus the lesser point of Roosevelt's defiance of death is established. Now we turn to the greater point of Roosevelt's Conservation of Life.
Significantly, it was Roosevelt who made Conservation an interest and an establishment of our Republic. Without him, the natural splendor of our country might be but the dream of a shadow of what it is. It is the assurance that such would not be the case, as it is not, that comes from Roosevelt's intense involvement in setting forth authorities, such as the United States Forest Service, to protect Life and its fine and beautiful nature, ensuring simultaneously thereby that our natural resources are put to efficient use, rather than pillaged with wanton disregard for the complexity of nature whence they are extracted. This was a balanced and rational policy, that of a brilliant and erudite individual, the likes of which are rarely seen in the course of our or any history. It is on similar grounds, following the lead of the great Nobel laureate and President Roosevelt, whose face graces Mt. Rushmore, that we might trust that our policy on this matter is a just one. For Roosevelt would never, knowing what we do about the matter, allow our Citizens do harm to themselves, to their fellows, and to all the world around.
Now we may recall the diplomatic adage of Theodore Roosevelt, "Speak softly, and carry a big stick." This is precisely how we just Citizens must treat the unjust traitors, who ought not be considered Citizens at all. It is my proposal that we Citizens be allowed to deal with offenders with both a soft voice and a big stick. Encountering an act of villainy, with the lead of a soft voice, cessation must be requested according to the most beautiful argument. Failure to cease this offense should warrant a single blow to the head with a big stick. This reverts the degree of harm maximally inward and cuts short the outward damage, and the bulk of the harm, at least in the short term, is not unjustly self-inflicted, but inflicted by another for the sake of justice. A better plan could hardly be conceived, and if one exists, it cannot be far from this one.
In conclusion, I realize that in our Republic, we hold to majority rule with minority rights, and surely the majority is not continually guilty of the villainy at hand. In this rule, however, majority rights cannot be neglected in favor of minority rights, for when minority rights encroach upon those of the majority, majority rule must be employed to grant the majority right over that of the minority. This is exactly the case in this matter. The minority has no right to inhale the substance of death, puffing outward into Nature that same deathly substance, depriving the majority of its right to breathe freely. If the very air is not free, how can we call our Republic free? For the preservation of Just Citizenship, I implore you to pursue the just according to the most beautiful argument. For if some are allowed to harm more without retribution, how far are we from greater manifestations of wanton and thoughtless cruelty?
Sincerely,
[Your Name Here]
Let me begin by introducing myself. I am a Citizen of your constituency, concerned for the continued Prosperity of our Republic and the subsequent Prosperity of my fellow Citizens. As such, I argue that we can no longer stand idly by as blind and irresponsible toleration of misdeeds allows certain villains among us to continually act unjustly toward not only fellow Citizens, but to the world at large, also. For is it not unjust to knowingly engage in behavior that has proved to be both self-destructive and destructive to others, and not only some others, but to all others? Already, to be sure, the necessity of action against this injustice should be perfectly evident, but allow the most beautiful argument to persuade all the skeptical ones and perhaps even some among these unjust villains. Furthermore, I ask that you heed the conclusion of the most beautiful argument, which is the course that our Republic must take in defeating this injustice once and for all.
Before beginning the argument proper, the villainy at hand must be known, already having irrefutably established its gravity, and this villainy is the smoking of various poisons with divers instruments of cruelty, whose offense is bounded only by its diffusion into imperceptibility. It is this imperceptibility, however, that is a particular danger of the injustice, for its pollution, both environmental and ethical, is detectable only briefly and then forgotten. The damage then proceeds unseen and unheeded without intentional attention. Truly, this is a behavior exhibited only by villains in darkness, but the villain is here and now exposed. As a Patriotic Citizen of our Republic, I at least cannot stand for the idle allowance of malicious, traitorous, and seditious acts to manifest without inhibition, filling the air with both the substance and spirit of Death. You, being a Patriotic Citizen of our Republic also, must not stand for this either.
Let us now consider one of the greatest Citizens our Republic has ever known, our twenty-sixth president and a noted asthmatic, Theodore Roosevelt. This is one who devoted much to the Conservation of Life and the defiance of death, and as such can prove a strong historical ally to our cause, a cause of all truly Patriotic Citizens of our Republic. This was a man who, after being shot in the chest, proceeded to deliver the two hour or so long speech through whose text the assassin's bullet was brought to a stop. Before that even, this Patriot was willing to personally lead the Rough Riders in a cavalry charge against the Spanish, which nation had offended our Republic sufficiently cause war. Thus the lesser point of Roosevelt's defiance of death is established. Now we turn to the greater point of Roosevelt's Conservation of Life.
Significantly, it was Roosevelt who made Conservation an interest and an establishment of our Republic. Without him, the natural splendor of our country might be but the dream of a shadow of what it is. It is the assurance that such would not be the case, as it is not, that comes from Roosevelt's intense involvement in setting forth authorities, such as the United States Forest Service, to protect Life and its fine and beautiful nature, ensuring simultaneously thereby that our natural resources are put to efficient use, rather than pillaged with wanton disregard for the complexity of nature whence they are extracted. This was a balanced and rational policy, that of a brilliant and erudite individual, the likes of which are rarely seen in the course of our or any history. It is on similar grounds, following the lead of the great Nobel laureate and President Roosevelt, whose face graces Mt. Rushmore, that we might trust that our policy on this matter is a just one. For Roosevelt would never, knowing what we do about the matter, allow our Citizens do harm to themselves, to their fellows, and to all the world around.
Now we may recall the diplomatic adage of Theodore Roosevelt, "Speak softly, and carry a big stick." This is precisely how we just Citizens must treat the unjust traitors, who ought not be considered Citizens at all. It is my proposal that we Citizens be allowed to deal with offenders with both a soft voice and a big stick. Encountering an act of villainy, with the lead of a soft voice, cessation must be requested according to the most beautiful argument. Failure to cease this offense should warrant a single blow to the head with a big stick. This reverts the degree of harm maximally inward and cuts short the outward damage, and the bulk of the harm, at least in the short term, is not unjustly self-inflicted, but inflicted by another for the sake of justice. A better plan could hardly be conceived, and if one exists, it cannot be far from this one.
In conclusion, I realize that in our Republic, we hold to majority rule with minority rights, and surely the majority is not continually guilty of the villainy at hand. In this rule, however, majority rights cannot be neglected in favor of minority rights, for when minority rights encroach upon those of the majority, majority rule must be employed to grant the majority right over that of the minority. This is exactly the case in this matter. The minority has no right to inhale the substance of death, puffing outward into Nature that same deathly substance, depriving the majority of its right to breathe freely. If the very air is not free, how can we call our Republic free? For the preservation of Just Citizenship, I implore you to pursue the just according to the most beautiful argument. For if some are allowed to harm more without retribution, how far are we from greater manifestations of wanton and thoughtless cruelty?
Sincerely,
[Your Name Here]
01 October 2008
Sunshiny Days
Ich kenne den Wert eines Königreichs nicht aber ich weiß, daß ich ein Glück erlangt habe,
das ich nicht verdiene und das ich mit nichts in der Welt vertauschen möchte.
My first Summertime plan was to have my hairs cut, and this I achieved with great success, having them cut not once, but thrice: once on 12 May, once on 18 July, and once on 12 September. The hairs-cut on 12 May was an enormous success, the one on 18 July was a monumental failure, and the one on 12 September was another enormous success.
My second Summertime plan involved the completion of an orchestral work about a mysterious subject that somehow relates to the Three Seasons (as I have now revealed). That is not the subject, but it is an integral part of it. I have some progress, but not much. On the whole, this plan was not followed very much at all.
My third Summertime plan involved the composition of music for the pianoforte. I finished nothing of this nature, but I started things that may or may not be finished one day.
My fourth Summertime plan was CIY/Move 2008, which was a joyous adventure without fail.
My fifth Summertime plan was to achieve mastery over the inane pianistic technical excercises that I absolutely do not improve in playing no matter how much I play them. As such, I failed miserably, but that does not matter any more, now that I no longer play the piano for the Academy. Freedom! Seriously, I have hardly been able to play the piano freely since the summer of 2007! Freedom!
My sixth Summertime plan was mastery of theory 101, which I achieved in full and beyond. In fact, I attended one meeting of Theory 201 at the Conservatory before transferring out, and I found that I would not be hearing anything I had not already studied until the year 2009 had significantly progressed. Of course, by that time, I had already begun the motions to leave, but it was certainly encouraging that I was doing better thing by leaving. One of the primary pitfalls of the Conservatory (and of any music department) is its domination by performers, so that those who given't a whit for performance are tormented by excessive demands thereabout and by inadequacy on the intellectual matters that are actually interesting to them (or rather us). I imagine that you, dearest of friends, are growing weary of my incessant criticism of the Conservatory and of Musical Education, and for that I say that I no longer have a source for such criticism, so these are merely the dregs if my frustration.
My seventh Summertime plan I sincerely hope turns out as well as our visions declare. We dove in blind! We could not have done this if we knew what we were doing! It is still probably the most fun I have ever enjoyed. I just hope that which remains is delightful and not an interference or irritation.
My eighth Summertime plan, to study the New Testament in Greek, I did not do at all. It is not easy to summon the will to drudge through a text, no matter what it is, in a language with which one knows only the simplest vocabulary and an understanding of the grammatical structures (which may or may not be remembered). I say, reading is what English is for, and speaking too. Seriously, though, I still would quite like to pick up this discipline. Perhaps my more monastic life at school will make it easier.
My ninth Summertime plan to read wonderful and interesting things went just fine, though it was often obscured and prevented by Summertime plan the seventh. If I choose to detail this, I shall do so in an independent posting.
My tenth Summertime plan was GenCon. That is all.
My eleventh Summertime plan to practice sport was not quite as successful as it ought to have been. I did engage in sport from time to time, but by no means regularly or frequently. I did spend a good deal of time outdoors, though, and that was half the purpose. At least I am still full of youth and vigor, hence many manful strengths.
My twelfth summertime plan involved the acquisition of bagpipes and the mastery of their performance. Needless to say, this was never more than a good dream.
At last, I come to my final point, and that is that this Summer was truly a time of extraordinary happiness, in whose origin I can take scarcely any responsibility, excepting my embrace of the discipline of happiness, though the ease with which happiness came can hardly allow me to count it as such. Indeed, this came of a dual origin: the Joy of Christ that is beyond circumstance and sensation, and circumstance itself; for indeed just as I did not give myself the former Joy, these peculiar circumstances originated without my meddling, as the greatest and most peculiar of circumstances tend to do. Perhaps I am a strutting and prancing fool, but I still pronounce my thankfulness here to my friends and to the Almighty God, without whom I likely would not have any friends. Happiness is a happy thing, but Joy is greater, and surely Joy is greater that we yet in mind perceive, and that too is happy.
Now, having said something of a perfectly sincere tone, I grow uncomfortable. I ought to get over that. Good night, dearest of friends.
24 September 2008
I've gone fishing over the rainbow.
I think I may have finally become legitimately insane. In response to dark and cold Frustration against brightly shining Revelation, I have elected to drop out of the Conservatory, ceasing all formal musical education forever, instead joining the College of Arts and Sciences to study History and probably Philosophy in addition. I just need to work out a few more details of the next year to year and a half of my life, for if I do not work it out now, it will take longer than a year to a year and a half.
Here is the issue: the Conservatory tells me I am a bizarre anomaly of a Freshperson with a Sophomore's credit in all but the area of Music History--my would-be major. Also, the Conservatory tells me that I must sing for one hour per day, thrice per week, in a choral group for all my three years of Conservatory training, one that meets from 4:00 to 4:50 in the afternoon, a thoroughly despicable time of day for doing something thoroughly unpleasant. I know I already discussed this, but I am discussing it some more, as it is just that infuriating. Also, having attended Conservatory classes today, I am greatly offended at the aforesaid institution, from which my adviser has been nothing but unkind to me and whose professors are graduate students. Heed this: that the Conservatory's undergraduate program, unless you are a mighty Performer, is vastly overrated, so with a smile, I say good-bye to the Conservatory and its clean and attractive building (except for the basement, which smells dirty, like Miami University).
So just as the Conservatory says I am a Freshperson with sophomoric tendencies, the Academy tells me that I am some kind of Super-Junior, and at the end of this quarter (December), I will be a Senior. Do you know what this means? Having looked at every single requirement for History majoring in detail, I have determined that I can easily graduate after the fall quarter of 2009, maybe a quarter more for a double major with Philosophy, which combination I am still working out, having also investigated every single requirement for a Philosophy degree. Regardless, I will graduate in less than three years total, that is, in no more than a year and a half from now, if all goes according to plan.
Let us summarize our prime points, then:
1. I am abandoning my musical education forever, despite having spent more than a year trying very hard to reach this point. This is defensible because I will continue to study music on my own as I always have (being unable to help it), having never taken a formal music course before, anyway. I am writing my own theory manual, by the way, and it will be the best theory manual ever.
2. I am becoming a History major (almost certainly with a double major in Philosophy), exactly what I was when I entered the Academy, then Miami University (which would not give me nearly as much AP credit as the University of Cincinnati because Miami University is a den of theives). This exhibits circularity, a staple in G.K. Chesterton's view of madness, with which I heartily agree.
3. I just accused the Miami University administration of thievery and meant it.
4. I would also like to accuse the Miami University student body of a self-absorbed and imagined sense of entitlement, a classic symptom of adolescent Bourgeoitis. They demonstrated this by demonstrating last week, embarrassing me for ever having associated myself with that school.
5. I see no red squiggle under Bourgeoitis, so my only hope is that they are not displaying right now. Also, Adolescent is a severe insult in my vocabulary.
6. I figured out how to earn a History degree by Spring of 2009, but I wouldn't survive.
7. Ergo, I must be insane. QED
I would now like to note that I am not full of just negative feelings, pessimism, blind fury, and unbearable frustration. In fact, I am not even full of all those things. There are many positives, such as my living arrangements and my nice roommate; they are simply not as exciting as my having become insane. In conclusion, I am planning a magical fishing trip.
Here is the issue: the Conservatory tells me I am a bizarre anomaly of a Freshperson with a Sophomore's credit in all but the area of Music History--my would-be major. Also, the Conservatory tells me that I must sing for one hour per day, thrice per week, in a choral group for all my three years of Conservatory training, one that meets from 4:00 to 4:50 in the afternoon, a thoroughly despicable time of day for doing something thoroughly unpleasant. I know I already discussed this, but I am discussing it some more, as it is just that infuriating. Also, having attended Conservatory classes today, I am greatly offended at the aforesaid institution, from which my adviser has been nothing but unkind to me and whose professors are graduate students. Heed this: that the Conservatory's undergraduate program, unless you are a mighty Performer, is vastly overrated, so with a smile, I say good-bye to the Conservatory and its clean and attractive building (except for the basement, which smells dirty, like Miami University).
So just as the Conservatory says I am a Freshperson with sophomoric tendencies, the Academy tells me that I am some kind of Super-Junior, and at the end of this quarter (December), I will be a Senior. Do you know what this means? Having looked at every single requirement for History majoring in detail, I have determined that I can easily graduate after the fall quarter of 2009, maybe a quarter more for a double major with Philosophy, which combination I am still working out, having also investigated every single requirement for a Philosophy degree. Regardless, I will graduate in less than three years total, that is, in no more than a year and a half from now, if all goes according to plan.
Let us summarize our prime points, then:
1. I am abandoning my musical education forever, despite having spent more than a year trying very hard to reach this point. This is defensible because I will continue to study music on my own as I always have (being unable to help it), having never taken a formal music course before, anyway. I am writing my own theory manual, by the way, and it will be the best theory manual ever.
2. I am becoming a History major (almost certainly with a double major in Philosophy), exactly what I was when I entered the Academy, then Miami University (which would not give me nearly as much AP credit as the University of Cincinnati because Miami University is a den of theives). This exhibits circularity, a staple in G.K. Chesterton's view of madness, with which I heartily agree.
3. I just accused the Miami University administration of thievery and meant it.
4. I would also like to accuse the Miami University student body of a self-absorbed and imagined sense of entitlement, a classic symptom of adolescent Bourgeoitis. They demonstrated this by demonstrating last week, embarrassing me for ever having associated myself with that school.
5. I see no red squiggle under Bourgeoitis, so my only hope is that they are not displaying right now. Also, Adolescent is a severe insult in my vocabulary.
6. I figured out how to earn a History degree by Spring of 2009, but I wouldn't survive.
7. Ergo, I must be insane. QED
I would now like to note that I am not full of just negative feelings, pessimism, blind fury, and unbearable frustration. In fact, I am not even full of all those things. There are many positives, such as my living arrangements and my nice roommate; they are simply not as exciting as my having become insane. In conclusion, I am planning a magical fishing trip.
22 September 2008
The Autumnal Equinox
Did you balance an egg, my friends? It is said among the sages that one can balance an egg on the Autumnal Equinox, and this is true; however, what is often neglected is the fact that one can just as easily balance an egg on any other day of the year. It is still a proud tradition, though, one to be acknowledged most fully.
Let me tell you now of my Equinox, as I believe it will make me feel better, 'cause the Man's got me down. On this Equinox, I was informed that my plans to fulfill the Conservatory's ensemble requirement are unacceptable, and this is the case on an entirely irrational basis. What am I to expect, though? Musicians are trained in music, not in rational thought, something that they predictably almost never exhibit. Thus they tell me that the only musical ensemble I can possibly join is an idiot choral group that meets at an idiotic time of day; however, investigation has yielded the knowledge that all the musical ensembles (excepting the one I had planned) meet far too frequently and at idiotic times of day. Curse you, the Man!
That is not the only thing the Man tells me on this Equinox. The Man also tells me that I am not allowed to pursue my studies with the vigor I would like. Instead they say that I proceed slowly according to the Code. I say, the Code is more like a guideline, and if I want to pursue my studies with exceptional vigor, any reasonable scholar ought to heed my most beautiful argument and let me learn. Unfortunately, we are not dealing with reasonable scholars that will understand the most beautiful (hence, true) argument. We are dealing with musicians, which can only follow the Code or be swayed by intense emotional experience. I think I will respond in my standard infuriated form saying, I will not take any of these futile courses; I shall study them independently. They are music history courses, so I am fairly certain I can do this. Such was my reaction when the previous Academy (that is, its music department) told me things I did not want to hear, not heeding the most beautiful argument. This is why Wednesday morning will be the first formal Music Theory course that I have ever taken.
EDIT: This is small because it is no longer true.
On the bright side of the Equinox, I have solved the problem of language, for I wish to take a language, but irreconcilable scheduling conflicts have prevented my continuing with Greek at the present juncture. Thus I have found that Hebrew fits very neatly into my morning, and so it shall be. There are two ways to take this course: the intense way and the half-as-intense way. The intense way meets every day and covers everything in one year. The half-as-intense way does the same in twice the time, but it is currently at its midpoint, so I must take Hebrew intensely.
Now, besides egg balancing, how should the Equinox have been celebrated? Why, by harvesting of course! Last Tuesday night, I witnessed a very lovely, orange harvest moon, and that day I ate of delicious tomatoes that had been harvested from my grandparents' garden. Thus the Equinox and the surrounding season is for harvesting and feasting on the harvested crop, in addition to the mandatory bonfires that any self-respecting person must build, lest the sacrifices be impossible. Happy Autumnal Equinox, but remember, the really big day is not until Samhain!
Let me tell you now of my Equinox, as I believe it will make me feel better, 'cause the Man's got me down. On this Equinox, I was informed that my plans to fulfill the Conservatory's ensemble requirement are unacceptable, and this is the case on an entirely irrational basis. What am I to expect, though? Musicians are trained in music, not in rational thought, something that they predictably almost never exhibit. Thus they tell me that the only musical ensemble I can possibly join is an idiot choral group that meets at an idiotic time of day; however, investigation has yielded the knowledge that all the musical ensembles (excepting the one I had planned) meet far too frequently and at idiotic times of day. Curse you, the Man!
That is not the only thing the Man tells me on this Equinox. The Man also tells me that I am not allowed to pursue my studies with the vigor I would like. Instead they say that I proceed slowly according to the Code. I say, the Code is more like a guideline, and if I want to pursue my studies with exceptional vigor, any reasonable scholar ought to heed my most beautiful argument and let me learn. Unfortunately, we are not dealing with reasonable scholars that will understand the most beautiful (hence, true) argument. We are dealing with musicians, which can only follow the Code or be swayed by intense emotional experience. I think I will respond in my standard infuriated form saying, I will not take any of these futile courses; I shall study them independently. They are music history courses, so I am fairly certain I can do this. Such was my reaction when the previous Academy (that is, its music department) told me things I did not want to hear, not heeding the most beautiful argument. This is why Wednesday morning will be the first formal Music Theory course that I have ever taken.
EDIT: This is small because it is no longer true.
On the bright side of the Equinox, I have solved the problem of language, for I wish to take a language, but irreconcilable scheduling conflicts have prevented my continuing with Greek at the present juncture. Thus I have found that Hebrew fits very neatly into my morning, and so it shall be. There are two ways to take this course: the intense way and the half-as-intense way. The intense way meets every day and covers everything in one year. The half-as-intense way does the same in twice the time, but it is currently at its midpoint, so I must take Hebrew intensely.
Now, besides egg balancing, how should the Equinox have been celebrated? Why, by harvesting of course! Last Tuesday night, I witnessed a very lovely, orange harvest moon, and that day I ate of delicious tomatoes that had been harvested from my grandparents' garden. Thus the Equinox and the surrounding season is for harvesting and feasting on the harvested crop, in addition to the mandatory bonfires that any self-respecting person must build, lest the sacrifices be impossible. Happy Autumnal Equinox, but remember, the really big day is not until Samhain!
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