We're juggling two books at the moment, one on Bonaventure, the other on the nature of vertical causation, and as usual, connections are forming like filamentous hyphae in the great underground Mycelial Network. Let's formally introduce the two and check out the mushrooming conversation under my cap. From the first:
The pattern of Bonaventure's thought is "circular" -- we come from God, we exist in relation to God, and we are to return to God (Delio).
Agreed. Strange things are afoot in the Circle of (k). But they certainly beat the familiar existential alternative, which is to say, we come from nothing, exist in relation to nothing, and return nothing, i.e., that All we are is dust in the wind, dude.
Ontologism or existentialism, being or nothingness, open or closed cosmos, red- or bluepill, O or Ø.
The basis of this "circle" is the Trinity in which the Father who is the fountain-fullness of goodness communicates goodness to the Son who, in turn, loves the Father in the Spirit (ibid).
This also checks out, although one could describe this meta-cosmic spiral in more abstract terms so as to not shock the squares.
Just as the Father is the source and goal of the immanent emanations of the Trinity, so too the Father is the source and goal of all created reality. Thus, everything flows from the Father and ultimately returns to the Father (ibid).
Although that's a slightly linear way to describe the circle, since its beginning has no beginning and the end has no end.
Therefore, it is literally the case that any point on the circle is both beginning and end, source and goal; after all, there was never a time that the Father had no Son or the Son no Father; to which I would add that there has never been no Creator, Creativity, and Creation, but that's just my opinion. It's not mandatory, but nor is it entirely bogus.
It reminds me of modern physics, which tells us that because space got bent, a straight line will eventually wind up where it started. Except the real world isn't just two- or three- or four-dimensional; rather,
like water, it has many qualities and dimensions. Like the water of the ocean, the world has an overwhelming fullness as it flows from the depths of God.
Like the ocean, it is deep and contains many levels of meaning. Like the water of a river, the world flows in such fluidity and richness that it cannot be contained in any one form or category (Zachary Hayes, in Delio).
Be water, my friend!
Created existence, therefore, is a dynamic reality, directed in its inner core to a fulfillment and completion which is to be the mysterious fruit of its history (Hayes).
Wait. Why mysterious? Looks pretty obvious to me.
Get a clueprint, people!
The Trinity provides a "blueprint" for creation since the relationship between the Father and Son/Word, united in the Spirit, is the ground of all other relationships (Delio).
As Petey so often says, The ultimate ground is the final goround.
Cosmic Christology. A Raccoon has only to hear the term to know it's true.
Bonaventure offers a rich anthropology that is grounded in a cosmic Christology. His theology of Incarnation is much closer to the cosmic Christology of the Greek Fathers than to Anselm's doctrine of satisfaction, as he highlights the Incarnation as both a work of redemption and cosmic completion.
There's obviously nothing wrong with the former unless it is wrenched from its total metacosmic context and seen as the sole "motive" of the Incarnation -- as if the whole ongoing adventure of the Godman is because man was naughty. That's a little narrow-minded and self-interested, doncha think?
We'll resume the conversation later, but meanwhile,
Party on, Coons, and be excellent to each other.
2 comments:
...we come from nothing, exist in relation to nothing, and return nothing...
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
"Do you eat girls?" she said.
"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair
Huh. Apparently, in jolly old prehistoric England, there really was a sacred tree with its branches below and its roots aloft.
Of course, they probably sacrificed people there, but still interesting.
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