Other Ways To Evaluate The Assumption Of Mary

I've mentioned some of the contexts in which the early Christians could have discussed an assumption of Mary, if they thought she was assumed. See here, for example. Even lesser figures who were assumed to heaven, supernaturally transported from one location to another, or some such thing get mentioned in the early literature, like Habakkuk in Bel And The Dragon and the witnesses in Revelation 11:12. Figures like Enoch, Elijah, and Jesus get mentioned frequently (Luke 24:51; Hebrews 11:5; First Clement 9; Aristides, Apology, 2; etc.). From the second century onward, there are many discussions of Paul's being taken up to heaven in 2 Corinthians 12:2 (Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 2:30:7, 5:5:1; Clement of Alexandria, The Instructor, 1:6; etc.). I've come across several discussions of that incident in Paul's life in the writings of Origen alone. Eusebius, in his Church History, sometimes discusses events reminiscent of what's supposed to have happened at the end of Mary's life, such as Quadratus' reference to people who had survived down to his day who had been raised from the dead by Jesus (4:3:2) and a bishop and his wife who went missing and whose bodies were never found (6:42:3).

One of the Biblical passages to keep in mind in these contexts is 1 Corinthians 15:20. The early Christians sometimes discuss how Jesus is the first fruits of the resurrection and write about the implications for later resurrections that will occur (e.g., First Clement 24-26). They could have used Mary as an illustration, if they thought she'd already been resurrected in that manner.

Another context to consider is the earliest Christian art. Eventually, there were depictions of Mary being assumed. But I don't know of any examples in the earliest years when Christians were producing artwork that's extant. The early Christian opposition to the use of images in some contexts complicates the situation. (And offers more contradictions of Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox claims about church history, apostolic tradition, and so on.) Frederick Norris referred to a couple of depictions of Elijah being assumed in a chariot, one before the time of Constantine and the other in the fourth century (in Everett Ferguson, ed., Encyclopedia Of Early Christianity [New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1999], 368). I know that there are some depictions of Jesus' resurrection and ascension in the early artwork (sometimes indirectly, it seems, such as by showing scenes from Jonah and the whale to represent Jesus' resurrection). There are depictions of the raising of various individuals from the gospels. The raising of Lazarus was a popular subject in early Christian art. I'm not aware of any depiction of a resurrection or assumption of Mary in the earliest centuries. By contrast, Mary does appear in other artistic contexts during that timeframe.

Navigating life with mirrors

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known (1 Cor 13:12).

This invites a comparison and contrast with Plato's famous allegory of the cave. In Plato, the observers are born in a cave, with their back to the opening. All they see are shifting shadows cast by a fire behind them, projected against the wall of the cave. They infer what the world is like from the shadowy images.

Plato's allegory is about epistemology, and the discrepancy between appearance and reality. In particular, the real timeless world of immutable ideas, abstract universals and archetypes compared to the fleeting, mutable, sensible world, which is a shifting, evanescent copy. Their perception of reality is distorted.

Paul uses a somewhat different metaphor to illustrate a different point. For Paul, this isn't about epistemology in general or sensory perception but about the mystery or inscrutability of providence and revelation. Through providence and revelation we have a representative sample of God's plan, as far as that goes, but not enough to be fully comprehensible from our sublunary perspective.

The point of contrast is not between seeing your face in a mirror and seeing your face directly. It isn't possible for humans to see their face directly. The point, rather, is the distinction between mediated and unmediated knowledge of other things. It's like trying to drive using wing mirrors and the rearview mirror to navigate. We perceive providence through partial reflections.

For Paul, the distinction goes back to Num 12:6-8. Most prophets experience God in dreams and visions but Moses encounters God face-to-face in the person of the theophanic Angel. Even that is mediated in the sense that God manifests himself to Moses by an angelophany.

In his poem "Lady of Shalott", Alfred Lord Tennyson has a character who was cursed to live in a tower where she can only safely see the outside world through a mirror. She finally succumbs to curious temptation and ventures outside to her death. Painters like John William Waterhouse, William Holman Hunt and Dante Rossetti illustrated the poem.

For Paul, the distinction isn't between time and timelessness, appearance and reality, or direct and indirect sensory perception, but between the present and future revelation, reflections that give way to a complete perspective.

For Paul, in addition, revelation is verbal as well as visual. Not just what we can piece together based on personal observation and experience, but divine clues–like a treasure hunt. Not enough to answer all our questions, but enough to guide us to the prize.

The mist

1. Just in passing, I'm sure everyone has already heard California has declared a state of emergency and is on mandatory lockdown. The governor mentioned the possibility of martial law, but later issued "clarifying remarks". I guess California is taking Italy's strategy.

2. It's interesting how life imitates art in our coronavirus pandemic. I'm sure examples could be multiplied.

A recent one is the film Five Feet Apart. I've only seen the trailer. The main characters appear to have cystic fibrosis, but that's where the analogy breaks down, because cystic fibrosis isn't infectious. Rather it's a genetic disease. But the social distancing fits.

3. Of course, movies like Contagion and Outbreak are obvious. There's likewise some overlap with the apocalyptic genre in general.

4. I suppose the pandemic has some parallels with Stephen King's The Stand. Thankfully COVID-19 isn't Captain Trips.

5. Perhaps one of the more apt parallels is Stephen King's The Mist.

Basically the film is about a group of strangers stuck together in a supermarket while an impending mist gradually surrounds them and traps them inside.

Man-eating monsters lurk outside in the mist. So people can't venture outside without taking their life into their own hands. Without risking death.

However, as scary as the mist and its monsters are, there are monsters lurking inside with them too: their fellow human beings. Which monsters are worse? Both are bad, but one is in the open, while the other is hidden. The difference between a massive fire-breathing dragon and a slithering snake in the grass.

We can sympathize with their confusions and frustrations at the beginning. No one seems to know or understand what's happening. They're thrust into their predicament after a storm hits the town.

Some immediately take on a "survival at any and all costs" mentality. Others are more selfless at first, but that changes too.

As the story progresses, we begin to sense increasing mistrust and distrust. We begin to see the heightened fear in their eyes.

We feel the growing panic. The fevered paranoia. It breaks out in yelling and screaming and fighting. People take sides. Form factions.

So, in the end, one by one, individuals are picked off. Either by the monsters outside or by the "monsters" inside, as people realize there's no escape. Death - or a worse fate - awaits them all.

6. In short, it's instructive to witness how some people are responding to this pandemic.

It's like they're stuck inside a locked gas chamber with the gas diffusing across the room and inching toward them by degrees. There's nowhere to run, but some people will still claw and scratch one another to savor a few more moments in the corner farthest away from the steadily approaching poison.

It's also somewhat reminiscent of Camus' The Plague as well as Sartre's No Exit.

By contrast, Christians need not fear death. We know this life isn't all there is. Death isn't the end - or worse. There is an exit. There is a door. His name is Jesus: "I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved..." (John 10:9).

Demons are real and Jesus saves

Catholic camouflage

Recently I saw some interior shots of a modern Presbyterian church. It was studiously Spartan. Imagine the impact on someone used to that who goes inside a Gothic cathedral or Byzantine basilica for the first time. The contrast is overwhelming. 

They may feel cheated. This is what they've been missing all those years. That's one reason it's a mistake for evangelicals to be gratuitously Spartan when it comes to worship. That defiantly invites defection.

I myself basically have a high-church aesthetic along with a low-church ecclesiology and sacramentology. Mind you, I'm selective about high-church aesthetics. I don't care for ostentation. That's not even good art but bad taste masquerading as piety. 

But here's a different point: impressive art is a great way to camouflage vacuity. If you have nothing, you make it look like something through externals. If the wine is just wine, that's offset by using a fancy chalice. If the wafer is just a dry piece of bread, you conceal that by putting it inside a fancy tabernacle, on a fancy altar, with lots of other glittery trappings. If the priest doesn't actually have transformative powers, but is just a bloke like you and me, you mask that by swathing him with fancy vestments. The less you have, the more you compensate. 

The externals, the sensory overload, deflect attention away from the fact that there's nothing there. Layers upon layers to hide the vacuity at the core. Overpowering the senses is a savvy tactic to disarm the critical faculties. 

Or to put this in reverse, if there really was something there, something manifestly supernatural, then all the showy art, architecture, music, gilt and brocade, would be unnecessary. Indeed, if there really was something to it, all the wrappings would obscure it.  

The Storm on the Sea of Galilee

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, "Let us go across to the other side." And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, "Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?" And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" (Mk 4:35-41)

Music, dreams, and architecture

There's an interesting contrast between music and architecture, specially in the modern era. If you want to experience a Gothic cathedral, you have to go there because it won't come to you. 

But in the age of recorded music, music comes to you. You can listen to it whenever and wherever you like. When your walking or driving. 

There are some disadvantages to recorded music. There are some voices that you need to hear live in the spacious acoustic of an opera house to fully appreciate. The microphone doesn't do them justice. Studio recordings don't do them justice. Likewise, watching a performance of King's College Chapel Choir is not as enthralling as attending the service.  

But there are tradeoffs. Recorded music provides higher-quality performances than you can ever expect to hear live in most localities. Moreover, you can repeat the experience–unlike a live performance. 

Another example is dreams. In the real world or waking world, we must go places to see things, but when we sleep, the dreamscape comes to us. That can be good or bad depending on the dream, but it's the closest thing to magic most folks encounter in this life: like snapping your fingers to make something appear out of thin air. 

For the saints, the world to come will combine the best of both worlds. Access to the best of everything at your fingertips. 

Veiling women

I'm going to comment on this post:

https://bnonn.com/head-coverings-1/

The danger of my commenting on Bnonn's post is that it's the first installment of a series with however many parts, which may work itself into a book, so Bnonn might steal my blindingly brilliant observations, claiming that he already addressed those concerns in a later installment. I won't get any credit! Humor aside:

Providence and Pointillism

One of the challenges in theodicy is the seemingly arbitrary nature of providence. Why the apparently random distribution of blessing and bane? Why is one prayer answered while another prayer goes unanswered? While is one person healed while another person is not?

However, the appearance of randomness can be illusory. To take a comparison, consider Seurat's La Grande Jatte. Seen up close, it appears to be utterly haphazard. There's no discernible image. But seen from a certain distance, the hidden pattern emerges. Indeed, Seurat was obsessed with composition. An architectural harmony. Far from being random, he made many preliminary sketches and drawings. The painting is the end-result of painstaking forethought. Paradoxically, what seems to be haphazard can be the end-product of minute design. If anything, the painting suffers from static precision. A lack of spontaneity. 

Yet there is a sense in which, below a certain threshold, it really is random. That's because the individual constituents weren't meant to be meaningful in isolation. They only become meaningful in their overall relationships, which can only be perceived at a higher scale of organization. The pattern lies in the ensemble. By the same token, the impression that divine providence is arbitrary is in fact consistent with meticulous planning and execution. 

Echoes of Eden

There are many things in art and nature that evoke a lost and longed for golden age. 

I. Historic Eden

Gen 2 is the locus classicus. Elements include:

• An orchard with fruit trees, watered by a river

• A fertile couple

• Nudity (perhaps related to the climate)

• Tame animals

• The tree of knowledge

• The tree of life

• Some sort of barrier with an entrance (Gen 3:24)

• Located in upper or lower Mesopotamia

In popular imagination, Eden was an idyllic tropical paradise, but in reality it may have been a hot, rugged place in general, like an oasis with shade trees hugging the river banks. It would be up to Adam, Eve, and their posterity to use the river to irrigate Eden beyond a natural green strip along the river banks.  

Modern Joseph and Mary

I've seen some Christians calling the above modern-day Joseph and Mary artwork "blasphemous". They argue it's "blasphemous" due to "political expediency" and because it's "disgusting" to depict the holy family in a plain manner.

1. Political expediency.

   a. I don't know that the artist's intention is about politics at all. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. However, I wouldn't be able to tell based on the art alone. At most, I could see some hints, but it's not entirely clear to me.

   b. If the artwork is about politics, then presumably it's in light of illegal immigration and/or refugees. If so, then I'd disagree that illegal immigrants and refugees across the border are in the same situation as Joseph and Mary. At the very least, the artist arguing for a parallel between the two would need to present an argument, but I don't see any argument presented.

   c. However, even if the artist's intention is to parallel Joseph and Mary with illegal immigration, it's possible to divorce the image from its political connotations. At least it's possible to have the same kind of image which is apolitical.

   d. And even if it's somehow immoral to parallel Joseph and Mary with illegal immigrants or political refugees seeking asylum in the United States, how is that necessarily blasphemous too? It's unethical for me to steal, but theft isn't blasphemous, per se.

2. It's "disgusting" to depict Mary and Joseph as plain.

   a. There's a visceral reaction in the use of the word "disgusting". What's that based on? Besides, something can be disgusting, but not blasphemous.

   b. I don't see what's necessarily wrong with depicting "the holy family" as more homely than we might imagine. Aren't most people average-looking? Nothing wrong with that.

   I take it most Christians believe Isaiah 53 is messianic prophecy. Isa 53:2b describes the Messiah as one who "had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him". As such, it seems Jesus had at best average looks. Typically children tend to look like their parents. If a child has average looks, then it's likely their parents have average looks too. I'm speaking a general rule, but of course there may be exceptions.

   Should we expect Joseph to look as handsome as Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Chris Hemsworth, or Jaime Dornan? Should we expect Mary to look as beautiful as Margot Robbie, Scarlett Johansson, Jennifer Lawrence, or Alison Brie?

   c. Suppose it's somehow immoral to depict Mary and Joseph as plain. Even so, not all things that are unethical are necessarily blasphemous too.

   Let's take me as an example. I don't want to brag, but objectively speaking I'm so devastatingly handsome, tall, and well-built that beautiful women swoon at the sight of me irl. I know, I know, it's a curse. At any rate, it would be inaccurate to have an uglier actor like Henry Cavill play my part. What's more, perhaps it might even be unethical (arguendo) to inaccurately depict me as uglier than I am. Nevertheless, I don't see how it's likewise necessarily blasphemous. For one thing, I'm just a human being.

   Wouldn't that be the case for Joseph and Mary too? Can one commit blasphemy against other humans?

   Does having Jesus as their child somehow change what it means to blaspheme?

Sometimes a light surprises

"Sometimes a Light Surprises: The Treasured Gift of a Troubled Soul" (Paxson Jeancake).

Some might be interested in Paxson and Allison Jeancake's rendition of William Cowper's hymn too.

Christ in the House of his Parents

Here's an interesting painting:

This was a revolutionary, landmark painting at the time, breaking free from iconographic conventions. If you look closely, it's rich with symbolism. The sheep in the background are Christian emblems. The dove on the ladder and boyish John the Baptist with a bowl of water foreshadow the baptism of Christ, while the wood, nails, and bleeding hand wound foreshadow the crucifixion. 

It was, however, controversial at the time because it offended Victorian sensibilities. They found the depiction of the Holy Family irreverent and indecorous. Too down-to-earth. That's a good example of how religious piety can become far removed from the original reality. 

Modesty

I'm not an art historian, so it's possible that some of the my generalizations in this post are overgeneralizations. 

1. Standards of modesty are culturally relative. At one extreme are Muslims. To my knowledge, Islam even has nudity taboos about members of the same sex. They also have hangups about showing skin in general. At the opposite extreme is Classical Greek and Indian art. Some Indian statues are overtly erotic. There's also the phallic symbol (lingam). Greek art is characterized by both male and female nudity. Some Greek art is explicitly pornographic. The Greek cult of homosexuality presumably contributes to the prominence of the male nude in Greek art. 

2. Christians agree that modesty is a virtue, but disagree on what constitutes modesty. It's ironic that Catholic theology makes a big deal about concupiscence, yet nudity is a prominent theme among Catholic sculptors and painters. In addition, Marian iconography gave Catholic artists a pretext to paint gorgeous women. Likewise, artistic depictions of martyrdom are sometimes an excuse for sadistic eroticism. Since, moreover, a lot of Catholic art was sponsored by popes and prelates, it can't all be chalked up to randy laymen. 

3. Botticelli, Bernini, Raphael, Ingres, Renoir, and Dante Rossetti are artists paradigmatic for celebrating the female form. It's my impression that generally speaking, French and Italian artists celebrate physical perfection (especially female) in a way that many Northern European artists do not. English artists split the difference. 

One reason may simply be that warm sunny climates are less inhibited about exposing skin than chilly climates. That may be a partial explanation for the exuberant nudity in Greek, Roman, Italian, and Indian art. 

It's amusing that after his "conversion," Botticelli switched from Classical to Christian themes, yet his Madonnas look just like the women who populate his Classical paintings. The setting and outfit has changed, but the women remain the same! Nothing wrong with that. Beauty is universal. 

Although Rembrandt paints nudes, they're not beautiful women. Rather, they're the women he loved. 

4. In Christian art, male nudity seems to be more confined to depictions of Adam and the Day of Judgment. You also have artists like Michaelangelo and Eakins. That raises questions about their "sexual orientation"–although Eakins also did female nudes. 

5. To my limited knowledge, skinny-dipping was the norm until the Victorian invention of swimwear, although I assume it was usually sexually segregated. The public Roman baths were unisex, but that reflected pagan mores. 

6. In traditional Western art, there seems to be a tacit code about pubic hair. Artistic nudity is permissible so long as pubic hair is brushed out. I don't know the rationale for that convention. Was it an arbitrary custom in which pubic hair was deemed to be too realistic and therefore obscene, whereas full-frontal nudity was permissible so long as the artist omitted that detail? Or did it trade on the "innocence" of prepubescent nudity? Of course, if the nude model is evidently sexually mature, then that's a ruse. 

One exception to this unspoken rule is a 5C Byzantine ivory diptych of Adam in paradise (in the Museo nazionale del Bargello in Florence). Perhaps that dates back to a time before the later tradition became entrenched.  

7. In Christian ethics, the notion of modesty revolves around the concept of lust. Standard prooftexts include Prov 6:25, Mt 5:28, Rom 1:24,27, and 2 Tim 2:22.

i) In context, Prov 6:25 refers to prostitution

ii) In context, Rom 1:24,27 has reference to homosexual attraction (and behavior).

iii) In 2 Tim 2:22, does "lust" refer to something in the mind (attraction, imagination) or behavior? In the 1C Roman empire, sexual immorality covers premarital sex, extramarital sex, promiscuity, prostitution, rape, incest, sodomy, lesbianism, pederasty, and abortion. Christians were obligated to foreswear that behavior. 

iv) Mt 5:28. This is the locus classicus:

a) A problem with the traditional interpretation is that lust comes in degrees, so on that interpretation, the text offers no concrete guidance on where you cross the line. 

b) In addition, the traditional interpretation has been challenged: 

http://triablogue.blogspot.com/2010/12/lusting-in-your-heart.html

8. Of course, lust can't be entirely detached from sexual misconduct since that's the motivation. They are asymmetrically related. It's possible to lust without acting on your impulses, but lust provides the incentive for the corresponding behavior. 

9. Then there's the question of how to define lust. Consulting a Greek or Hebrew lexicon isn't the answer, since that will simply give you an English synonym. One issue is whether the concept of lust can be determined by Scripture, or whether Bible writers expect the reader to have a cultural preunderstanding of lust based on human experience, especially against the pervasive backdrop of heathen sexual mores. 

10. There's the additional question of whether there's a more restrictive (indeed, exclusive) standard for married couples than for singles, especially in the realm of the imagination. Sex outside of marriage is forbidden for both groups, but what about art or fantasies? The alienation of affections is a danger in marriage. 

11. Modesty is a broader category. Take Christ in the House of His Parents, by Millais. That was quite controversial in its time. It offended conventional Victorian piety. Not because there was anything slightly erotic about it, but critics considered it an indecorous way to represent the Holy Family. Too down-to-earth. The hostile reaction reflect the artificiality of some religious sensibilities. 

12. In Christian theology, the human body is both a divine gift as well as God's handiwork. A marvel of engineering. Man is the apex of creation in our solar system. Perhaps in the entire universe. If it's permissible to make artistic depictions of lesser things in nature, why not the greater? Take athleticism. When I watch joggers, some men and women are natural runners while others are manifestly not. They have no idea how to hold their arms or coordinate their arms and legs. By contrast, young runners with innate coordination have an elegant gait. It's enjoyable to watch the natural grace of a good runner. Beauty can be simple. Wildlife photographers take pictures of cheetahs chasing down antelope. It's exhilarating to watch. Art it motion. And of course, we have a special affinity for the human body.  

13. Even if we consider artistic nudity to be permissible, there are ancillary issues. Take Renoir's Les Grandes Baigneuses. Consider the girl in the water, painted from behind, who's splashing the women on the riverbank. She appears to be in her mid-teens. Fresh ingenue beauty, projecting playful, unaffected innocence. But I assume she was a real person, like the other two women. What's the fate of models when their springtime bloom wears off? What happened to that girl? Did she die of old age? Did she die young, from TB or influenza? Did she die in poverty? Did she contract venereal disease and die on the streets? In the painting, she's frozen in time, in the flower of youth, but she lived and died. Do viewers every wonder what became of them? I'm reminded of Anton Chekhov's short story about the model exploited by art students and medical students ("Anyuta"). Used, passed around, then discarded. That's fictional, but based on real-life examples.

Blank canvas

1. I've discussed this before. It's a perennial issue in apologetics. I'm going to use a different example to illustrate a point I've made before.

To my knowledge, there's overwhelming scientific evidence for the antiquity of the universe, from multiple interlocking data points. 

From what I've read, the most impressive scientific objection to conventional dating is the preservation of soft tissue in dinosaurs. I'm not qualified to assess that, but it's intriguing. 

That generates a paradox: due to the interlocking nature of the scientific evidence for the antiquity of the universe, if it turns out that there's no scientific explanation for the preservation of soft tissue in dinosaurs, over tens of millions of years, then that invalidates the entire dating scheme. 

If, however, YEC chronology is correct, it's odd that nearly all of the scientific evidence points to the antiquity of the universe while precious little points in the opposite direction. You'd expect the evidence to be more consistent one way or the other.

In general then, I think the effort to defend YEC chronology on scientific grounds is probably a losing argument. That doesn't mean it's necessarily a lost cause–just that if you try to make the argument from scientific evidence, I expect that's doomed to fail. Nevertheless, the anomaly of soft tissue in dinosaurs is fascinating. 

2. A limitation on appeals to scientific evidence is that science operates within a particular framework. But the act of creation lies outside that framework. The scientific framework is the result of creation. So beyond a certain point, you can't extrapolate from the framework to the set up. 

To take a comparison, a painter begins with a blank canvas. There are almost no limitations on what he can put on the canvas. There's no natural starting-point. Rather, he's working from scratch. 

Likewise, a filmmaker begins with a roll of blank film. There's nothing on the frames. He can film whatever he wants. 

The medium imposes almost no restrictions on his range of options. The medium offers no direction. What the artist paints or films is wide open. There's nothing in the medium to indicate where to begin. 

Different painters with a blank canvas paint different scenes. Indeed, the same painter paints different scenes. Give him 50 blank canvases, and he'll paint 50 different scenes. 

Hand different filmmakers a roll of blank film, and they will make different films using the same roll of blank film. Indeed, the same filmmaker will make different films using  rolls of blank film. Nothing in the medium constrains the choice of plot, setting, characters, or dialogue. And in the digital age, it's even mere flexible.  

What's put on film or put on the canvas doesn't derive from the medium but from the mind of the artist. It comes from outside the medium. In that regard, the choice is arbitrary.

That doesn't make it absolutely arbitrary. In a movie with a good plot, there's dramatic logic to where the story begins and where it ends. However, that's internal to the narrative. The medium itself doesn't point in any particular direction. 

Mature creation has antecedent appeal because it parallels the nature of human creativity. And the comparison is even stronger in reference to the divine creator, because God is freer than human agents. He creates the medium. Not only is this an argument by analogy, but an argument from the lesser to the greater. So I find the idea of mature creation powerfully appealing. 

Adoration of the lamb

Cathedrals and mosques

I've seen some pundits complain that the Notre Dame fire got far more attention than China bulldozing the Keriya mosque. A few quick observations:

i) Different people have different reasons for what they value. Many people who aren't Catholic or Christian love Notre Dame as an architectural masterpiece. Many people love Paris. 

ii) At the risk of stating the obvious, there's nothing hypocritical about a Christian feeling greater attachment to Christian art than Muslim art or Buddhist art or Hindu art. As Christians, we naturally have more affinity with Christian art. 

iii) For that matter, we can also make discriminations within Christian art and architecture. If First Baptist Dallas burned to the ground, that would bother me far less than if York, Reims, Amiens, or Vézelay burned to the ground. 

iv) In addition, many westerners are naturally more familiar with western art than Muslim art. 

v) Then there's the question of whether it's wrong to destroy the art of a religion you disapprove of. That's separate from (ii). As a rule, I don't support the destruction of non-Christian art and architecture. But that doesn't mean I'd feel the same sense of loss. 

These are just elementary distinctions. But progressives can't keep more than one idea in their head at a time. 

Church architecture

The fire at Notre Dame raises theological questions about the value of Christian art. At one end of the spectrum is the Puritan position. I disagree with that. It's a principled position, and I respect the Puritans, but it's reactionary. Nevertheless, it merits a respectful hearing. 

A sketchy Christian argument for high art might go like this: We should save the best for the best. We should reserve the best art, music, architecture, poetry, &c. for what's most important. That's a way to remind ourselves of what is truly significant. Insofar as religion is intrinsically the most important thing in life, and the thing that lends value to everything else, insofar as religion is the good that makes everything else good that is good, we should lavish some of our greatest talent on Christian expression. 

Now, I don't necessarily mean in the narrow sense of worship or God directly. The principle includes that, but is broader. Insofar as religion consecrates life in general, we are warranted in lavishing some of our best our talent on other things as well. Take a Christian filmmaker whose movies reflect a Christian worldview. They aren't generally set in church, although there might be scenes of worship. He can bring a Christian touch to everyday life. As a rule, we experience God through the medium of what he has made. 

But to treat everything alike flattens and trivializes what is most important. Many things are ephemeral or inconsequential. 

There's still a place for the plain style. There's a beauty and nobility distinctive to simplicity as well as a beauty and nobility distinctive to complexity. 

Too much high art runs the risk of artificiality, where it becomes too far removed from normal experience. Likewise, there's the danger–often a reality–of substituting aesthetics for sanctity. Moreover, great art (or good art) shouldn't be confused with ostentation. But it's needful to have something higher for mind and heart to aspire to, which lifts us out of the drudgery and humdrum–not to mention ugliness–of ordinary life. So it's a question of balance. Like climbing a mountain for the view. Not necessarily the best place to live year round, but life needs peaks as well as plains. 

Notre Dame fire

I'll use the Notre Dame fire as a launchpad to reflect on some related issues. Why do many people become attached to handsome historic buildings?

One reason is that when you step into a building like Notre Dame, you step into the past. It's like a time machine. Not as good as a time machine, but since they only exist in science fiction, it's the next best thing. 

Humans take an interest in the past. We're born into an ongoing story, and many of us are curious about other times and places. So ancient buildings connect us to the past. And that has a certain counterfactual appeal. It appeals to our imagination: what if I lived back then? What was it like to be around back then? 

On a related note, it reminds us that human life is fleeting. People pass through the lifecycle but the building remains, It was there before you were born and it will still be there after you die. Walking through a Redwood forest can have a similar effect.

Depending on your worldview, that can be good or bad. If you deny the afterlife, then ancient buildings accentuate the insignificance of individual human lives. We're replaceable. Our absence, in death, is barely noticed. 

On another related note, many people have visited sites like Notre Dame. They have fond memories. And these are shared memories. It's like popular movies. A common frame of reference.

So buildings like Notre Dame connect us to other people across time and space. Finally, many people find Gothic church architecture edifying. 

At the time of writing I don't know the extent of the damage. Suppose the stained glass windows are intact. Then the damage should be reparable. It's a case of restoring the cathedral.

But suppose some of stained glass were destroyed. Then it can't be repaired or restored. At best, it can be rebuilt or replicated. Every square inch of the church has been studied and photographed. Of course, it would lose of the charm walking into a medieval cathedral. You wouldn't be stepping into the past, but stepping into a modern simulation of the past.

Why do a I mention this comparison? Because it parallels different models of the resurrection of the body. I don't mean the resurrection of Christ, where there's an intact body with minimal necrosis. 

If a human body has disintegrated, then it can't be repaired or restored, in a straightforward sense. And it's hard to see how the original parts can be reassembled. The atoms recycled into other things. They are now constituents of other things. They can't be removed and reallocated without destroying what they currently constitute. 

Mind you, even in the case of a living body, there's a turnover in the atoms, organic molecules, and cells that compose the body. A body is a dynamic system in flux. It's just that "solid" objects vibrate at a slower pace than fluid objects (as it were). The difference between solid and fluid is a difference in degree rather than kind. 

So it may be necessary to replace the old mortal body with a duplicate. Not even a strict duplicate. It will have some enhancements or improvements.  

The appeal of Catholicism

I think the appeal of Catholicism for some cradle Catholics and converts to Catholicism is that you can lose yourself in Catholicism because it's so all-encompassing. There are Catholic philosophers, novelists, poets, painters, playwrights, composers, sculptors, filmmakers, mystics, architects, ethicists, &c. In that regard, Catholicism is one-stop shopping. There's a sense in which you could be intellectually and aesthetically fulfilled without ever leaving the Catholic compound, because there's Catholic everything. You'd never know what you were missing, because every slot has Catholic representation. So you never run out of Catholic trails to explore. You just keep going deeper into Catholicism. In a human lifespan, it's inexhaustible. Mind you, there are some problems with that:

i) It's quite possible for someone to be eclectic and cherry-pick the best from every culture. You can mix and match. You can like a lot of stuff by Catholics without any commitment to Catholic theology. We do that with ancient Greek and Roman art and literature, which is often pagan on the face of it. 

ii) A very impressive edifice can be built on nonsense. If there's enough talent feeding into Catholicism, it will build an impressive edifice, even if the foundation is legendary embellishment.

For instance, I enjoy Poulenc's Stabat Mater. Especially the performance conducted by Georges Prêtre with Régine Crespin as soloist. From somebody with my musical sensibilities, it's a powerful experience. The tonal aura of a dying world. Yet the text he set to music is pious nonsense. In principle, he could set a Buddhist poem to the same kind of music with the same elegiac effect. 

iii) In addition, you can lose yourself in something to the point where you never find your way out of the forest. You keep walking in circles, impervious to correctives, because you stopped reading the critics. You just go ever-deeper into error.