“Hoc visibile imaginatum figurat illud invisibile verum cuius splendor penetrat mundum cum bis binis candelabris ipsius novi sermonis.”
“This visible image figures that invisible truth whose splendor penetrates the world with the twin candlesticks of the new word.”
—Hitda Codex, ca. AD 1000, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Darmstadt MS 1640, facsimile
One
of the things I've taken away from this class is the importance and sheer
amount of drawings depicting mystical religious scenes. Every day I would look
at the pictures Prof. Brown included in the slideshow and be totally mesmerized
by the scale and imagery presented in these paintings that have lasted hundreds
of years. Some were more recognizable, so to speak, with long-haired Jesus
glowing in a heavenly aura or the fiery landscape of hell, but others looked
totally “out of a comic book,” as Prof. Brown said last class. One particular image
from an illuminated manuscript featured the hounds of hell (looking quite like
the beasts from Where the Wild Things Are) and I found myself reflecting on the
mythical nature of these stories as well as the Bultmann reading from our first
class that has been in my mind ever since.
The image and idea of Judgement day is of course one of the most speculation, resulting in some very interesting potential depictions in art. It is sometimes solemn, sometimes hectic, sometimes terrifying, sometimes total relief. From our reading on Gothic art, “For this reason Vincent of Beauvais gave the account of the Last Judgement as epilogue to his book, and the sculptors carved the solemn drama of the Last Day on the tympanum of the great west doorway where it was lighted by the setting sun. History is thus brought to a close” (355). This image description, even without seeing the actual carving, shows how difficult it is to represent stories of the unknown and especially the more grandiose stories in the Bible. He describes the image of Judgement day as “solemn,” which most people would agree. It does indeed mark the end of humanity which is a depressing thought, but most Christians would be happy to be saved on Judgement day, but likely sad at the fact that some of humanity would not be saved. Thus, solemn seems appropriate. Male also speaks of the fact that Judgement Day was specifically non-specific, “Ye shall know neither the day nor the hour,” and discusses that speculation could be seen as impious (355, Male quoting the Bible).
This provides a different perspective on the “mythical” nature
of the Bible and the depictions of its images; any artworks or stories on
Judgement Day are inherently mythical because it is simply unknown. This is the
case for honestly every story in the Bible, few people were there to witness
the miracles and the direct word of God, so of course things are strung
together and the details are filled in. Even if you are one to place yourself
in the camp of believing that the stories of the Bible are totally literal, the
unknown-ness of the such a central idea of Judgement day means that there is
still some aspect of “mysticality” that you believe in. This specific
complication altered my perspective on Bultmann’s words and on the whole idea
of believing in the mythical stories in the Bible; I would have placed myself
squarely in the realm of thinking that the artworks were majority fiction,
myth, and meant to tell a story or moral rather than portray real history. It
is something that cannot be truly known, and part of the Christian faith is
knowing this and still choosing to believe it is true, but I think I have
become much more comfortable “believing” in these fantastical images when they
are viewed as representations of the unknown, which by nature cannot be “true”
or “untrue.”
Bultmann says, “But it is impossible to repristinate a past world picture by sheer resolve, especially a mythical world picture, not that all of our thinking is irrevocably formed by science” (3). There is this dichotomy present in modern thought between religion and science, that one is known and one is unknown, but taking into account some of my earlier realizations they are actually both more similar than I originally thought. There are things in science that we do know for fact that can be proved (weather patterns, DNA, treatment of diseases etc.) but there is so much that is theory, unknown enough to require some speculation (quark behavior, what happens in a black hole, what will happen when our sun expands).
This is exactly mirrored in religion; we know of saints and have some
of their physical remains, but things such as “what will happen on Judgement
day” are just as mystical as “what will happen when our sun expands.” We have
ideas and speculations about both, and both get represented in different ways. Some
people believe we are due for “the big one” any day, and others believe that
Judgement day is as imminent as ever. Both cause people to live their lives
differently, and in that way they become much more translatable than one might initially
think. Bultmann posits this question, “Can Christian proclamation today expect
men and women to acknowledge the mythical world picture as true? To do so would
be both pointless and impossible. It would be pointless because there is
nothing specifically Christian about the mythical world picture, which is
simply the world picture of a time now past that was not yet formed by scientific
thinking” (3). Bultmann would be unhappy to know that even in a current time
formed by scientific thinking, we still in some ways believe in a mythical
world picture. So much of religion stands upon the idea that we cannot know
everything, and scientific research has never been aimed at knowing everything
and quite literally cannot know everything. Both worldviews blend into each
other and become mystical in their own unique ways.
- CRC
As a Christian, it is expected that you believe what is in the Bible. In fact, that’s a pretty important part of the whole “going to heaven” thing. We believe in the teachings of Jesus Christ, in His crucifixion, in God’s love for us. So why is it so hard for us, in the 21st century, to wrap our heads around the Revelations? I believe this is largely because we are so habituated to a world judged by rationality and earthly order, and the narrative of the Revelations challenges this worldview in a way that the stories of Jesus’ preaching, for example, do not.
To believe what is contained in Revelations, one must first believe that Jesus is the Messiah, sent to earth to die for our sins. This “leap of faith”, while certainly difficult for many, is the first step, and we will presume to have taken it for the sake of this argument. Then, we must believe that the visions written by John, as told to him by Christ, are indeed that which will happen in the end times. As we discussed in class, some Christian scholars like Bultmann believe that this step is simply too hard for us moderns to undertake. Bultmann comes from the intellectual and scientific worldview that still grounds our world today. We seek to explain everything by our laws of rationality.
These laws are not always bad—they keep us away from danger. I am personally very grateful to “science” that I can live without asbestos in my walls, or get on a plane and know that, because its engineers followed certain rules based on axioms that function in the real world, I will not crash and die. Furthermore, this type of thinking has helped to produce some of the greatest Christian scholarship in the form of Scholastic thought.
And yet it seems foolish, even prideful, to try to measure the Divine by our own human systems of thought. It is natural for us to do so, to try and understand the beauty and the majesty of the world that God has created, and this impulse is not an inherently bad one. However, we ought to tread with more caution when analyzing the metaphysical world, and particularly when analyzing that which the Bible explicitly tells us not to.
Hugh of St Victor, in his On the Sacraments of the Christian Faith, points us to Acts 1 and 7 “No one can know the times which the Father hath put in his own power”, and writes that “Therefore to compute the times, that is ‘chronous’, that we may know when the end of this world of the coming of the Lord is, seems nothing else to me than to wish to know what He himself said that no one can know.” (452) I find Hugh of St. Victor to be very helpful in understanding how to approach the Revelations, particularly when considering his views on time. While we cannot know and should not seek to know more than that is for us to know, Hugh of St. Victor places his considerations within the context of biblical passages, using the word to interpret how we should understand the end times.
For example, in Book II part 17.IV “Why he will be freed at the very last”, Hugh of St. Victor explains that Satan cannot be freed until the end of times because the last persecution of the Holy Church will be persecuted by the whole city of the devil upon earth will occur at the end times. Therefore, Satan can only participate in his open persecution at this exact moment. (453). Here, Hugh of St. Victor does not claim to read into signs or happenings on earth as a sort of “empirical evidence” to explain the Bible, instead using the bounds of his human reason to contextualize the holy words.
Hugh of St. Victor also dedicates himself to understanding what it means for God to perform seemingly impossible actions, such as the instantaneous raising of the dead. I was particularly interested by how he applied human biological understanding to explain (but not necessarily to rationalize) how the final judgement might make sense to us. He writes in II.17.ix “And as the ray of our eye does not reach nearer objects more quickly, and more distant ones more slowly, but traverses both intervals with equal speed, so when in the twinkling of an eye, as the Apostle says (Cf. 1 Cor. 15, 52), the resurrection of the dead takes place, it is as easy for the omnipotence of God and for His ineffable will to raise all bodies recently dead as those which fell a long time ago”. (456) I particularly liked this explanation because I think it successfully uses a rational structure that we humans can understand (how vision works) to comprehend something divine and metaphysical without attempting to prove or disprove this divine act by our own human laws.
Of course, this measured and thoughtful contemplation is not as inviting for our modern minds as grabbing onto the ideas of someone who claims to have figured out the answers to everything, stirring us up into a frenzy about the end times. As we have learned again and again through our course, understanding even a fraction of God requires what all good and holy dedications ask of us: time, prayer, love, and devotion.
SHM
In one of our last classes we discussed The Tree of Life, and I wondered whether we need to follow this mystical path to be saved. Of course the answer is ‘no’, but then why should we care about it at all? Bonaventure often cited Aristotle – why should we care about Aristotle, or knowledge in general, if none of this is needed to be saved?
Perhaps it is no coincidence that one of the first professors at the first ever madrasa, al-Ghazali, grappled furiously with this issue; later in life, he reflected about when
“I pondered my professional duties, the best of which were tutoring and teaching, and found that I was engaged in inconsequential sciences, which were of no benefit when it came to the pursuit of the afterlife. After that, I reflected upon the intention behind my teaching and found that it was not done in the service of God Almighty, but rather that its entire motivation was the pursuit of fame and the impetus behind it was the enhancement of reputation. I became certain that I was on the edge of a dangerous precipice and on the verge of hellfire, if I did not devote myself to rectify my situation.”[1]
So what purpose does knowledge serve? In fact, the Fall tells us a bit more about this:
“For God doth know that in what day soever you shall eat thereof, your eyes shall be opened: and you shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil.”[2]
Universal knowledge and universal power are the same thing; or, if we want to be more precise, we can say that they are two different expressions of the same thing. This should be fairly obvious, but we can elucidate this point a bit more if necessary.
The modern west does not understand this fact explicitly, but rather implicitly. The emblematic example is given by Laplace: “perfect knowledge of an object’s position and momentum and the forces acting on it in the present will yield perfect knowledge of all its future permutations”.[3] The implication of this knowledge is clear: if we know ‘all future permutations of an object’, then we can control it, and can profit from its behavior, either materially or politically. Suppose, for example, that we know with total certainty how a politician thinks and behaves at any time – this information could be exploited. This is the type of knowledge that Aristotle and Machiavelli want to teach us. Indeed, it became the endeavor of the west to achieve this species of knowledge during the Enlightenment, and thus the implications: it realized itself first in Napoleon, in his endeavor to transform the universal unity of knowledge in Paris (the Encyclopedie, etc.) into the university unity of political control in Europe, and then, probably more importantly, in the Victorian era, i.e. in the transformation of universal worldly knowledge into universal worldly control. The most important thing here is in understanding that universal knowledge is only comprehensible when it involves universal power.
We know that only God is actually capable of achieving this species of knowledge or power. Human beings can nonetheless attain certain similitudes of it, for example in Aristotle or Alexander. Let’s note that the only thing Alexander ever did was implement the teachings of Aristotle; or, let’s say that he achieved the transformation of universal knowledge into universal power. Each of them only achieved a similitude of the universal. This is clear to us; but they, at least, had largely believed that they actually achieved it.
Now, consider the passage from one of the Latin histories:
“To Aristotle, in order that he might be able to write with greater knowledge of the nature of animals, Alexander ordered all Greece and Asia to be obedient, as well as all men who gained a livelihood by hunting, fowling, or fishing, or had attained some skill in those pursuits … A hundred years after his time stags were caught with golden collars, which he had put upon them in order that future generations might know how much belief could be given to the reports which were made of the long life of those animals. Also in the loftier sciences which are called acroatic, or acroamatic, we have testimony to his knowledge in a letter of his to Aristotle, in which he complains that Aristotle had profaned their majesty by making his instruction generally known. And Aristotle excused himself by saying that those books had been given to the public in such a way that no one would be able to understand them who had not learned beforehand what was contained in them. Also when Alexander asked for his Rhetoric, he expressly forbade Aristotle to allow it to come into the hands of others; for he desired to surpass all men not less in the noble arts than in power.”[4]
So it is clear that the Latins understood what was meant by universal knowledge in relation to the realization of power. The Greeks had a characteristically deeper understanding of the issue; we see it in Thucydides (the Athenians over the islanders) and also in Plutarch, including in his own history of Alexander, although it is much more subtle.[5]
Of course, the Latins generally accepted the task given by Aristotle to Alexander – to complete universal knowledge by transforming it into universal power – and made it their burden. The Greeks, on the other hand, understood both the task itself and the deeper problem that it posed, but they lacked a solution (Thucydides, Plutarch, Sophocles, especially Ajax). There is an attempt in Plato, which is probably successful, but is ultimately primitive compared to Scripture. Once the solution is given (‘The Prince burns in hellfire’, let’s say), then the picture changes dramatically, for example in Dante:
“People I saw up to the chin imbrued,
‘These all are tyrants,’ the great Centaur said,
‘Who blood and plunder for their trade pursued.
Here for their pitiless deeds tears now are shed
By Alexander, and Dionysius fell,
Through whom in Sicily dolorous years were led.”[6]
But why, then, did Dante put Aristotle in Limbo? Apparently because he also failed to see the necessary relationship between student and teacher, and thus between universal knowledge and the achievement of universal power. So how can we be sure that it is there? Thankfully it is stated explicitly, not in Genesis, but in the Gospels:
“At that hour the disciples came to Jesus, saying: Who thinkest thou is the greater in the kingdom of heaven? And Jesus calling unto him a little child, set him in the midst of them, and said: Amen I say to you, unless you be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, he is the greater in the kingdom of heaven.”[7]
This is straightforward: the ‘greater in heaven’ is whoever humbles himself as ‘a little child’. But this retrieval of the child’s world extends not only to humility, but also to wonderment; to the purity of faith that all children have in general, in one thing or another:
“And he that shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth me. But he that shall scandalize one of these little ones that believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be drowned in the depth of the sea.”[8]
We should retrieve not only the child’s humility, but also his faith, and ‘become as little children’. The key thing is that the child does not have ‘knowledge of good and evil’, at least not like adults do. We all know the Fall personally because we all, at some point, went from being children, with pure humility and pure faith, to adults, with ‘knowledge of good and evil’; and many of us have apparently placed more faith in knowledge than in God, and apparently have set out on the search for universal knowledge. This is exactly the trap that caught al-Ghazali; he eventually realized that his pursuit of knowledge was nothing more than a quest for fame and power, and that he was “on the edge of a dangerous precipice and on the verge of hellfire”. He was reading too much Aristotle.
In the end, this universal knowledge is only a similitude of the true universal knowledge – God – and the universal power that it implies is only a similitude of the true universal power – God. So apparently this searching after power is a deception: the snakes are Aristotle and Machiavelli and the fruit is their work, which makes us less like children and more like Adam; the Rhetoric, which teaches us to control men; and The Prince, which teaches us to control nations.
“Again the devil took him up into a very high mountain, and shewed him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, and said to him: All these will I give thee, if falling down thou wilt adore me. Then Jesus said to him: Begone, Satan: for it is written, The Lord thy God shalt thou adore, and him only shalt thou serve.”[9]
Henry Stratakis-Allen
In thinking about the Last Judgment, it is probably useful to discuss the nature of time and mythological events. Specifically, I would like to determine whether the Last Judgment is a temporal or a mythological event.
First, let us distinguish between events on the earthly and eternal planes. Earthly events take place in a discrete sequence, beginning, in the Christian conception, with the creation of the world. They involve the movement of physical objects. What they end with is what is up for discussion here. We can also refer to earthly events as temporal events since they take place in time. Mythological events are ‘events’ (I use quotation marks because it is unclear whether or not we should even use that term here) which take place on the eternal plane. They are eternally occuring (recurring?) and express themselves in particular ways on earth. They, of course, do not involve physicality and are purely metaphysical. We also can’t say they happened ‘before’ (or after) anything else, because it is unclear what this would even mean on an eternal plane. Mircea Eliade, in his Sacred and Profane, describes the difference this way: “sacred time makes possible the other time, ordinary time, the profane duration in which every human life takes its course. It is the eternal present of the mythical event that makes possible the profane duration of historical events” (Sacred and Profane, p.89).
Perhaps it is useful to explain the difference between the two by way of example. The Fall of Satan and his Angels is an example of a mythological event. It is metaphysical and took place outside of time. As Eliade writes, “The myth, then, is the history of what took place in illo tempore, the recital of what the gods or the semidivine beings did at the beginning of time... To tell a myth is to proclaim what happened ab origine. Once told, that is, revealed, the myth becomes apodictic truth; it establishes a truth that is absolute” (Sacred and Profane, 95). No physical bodies or objects were involved. The Crucifixion of Christ, on the other hand, was a temporal event. It involved physical bodies and took place at a specific moment in time. This distinction, kept fairly clean and easy so far, gets a bit more complicated. The Harrowing of Hell, for instance, is a tricky border case. On the one hand, it took place in the eternal plane. On the other hand, it seems to involve the physical bodies of dead individuals. Furthermore, while we can’t talk about ‘before’ with regards to eternity, we can when it comes to the individuals taken out of Hell in the Harrowing, since they had entered Hell at a distinct moment - they had not been there forever.
The Last Judgment, likewise, is a border case, which straddles the line between temporal and mythological event. It involves physical bodies (as we will see) but it of course also involves separating people into two groups, destined for two different eternal planes.
Let us investigate Scripture to see what it can tell us about this issue. In Revelation, we find this description: “And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them.” (Revelation 20:11). This description suggests a destruction of the temporal world prior to the judgment itself. Furthermore, the fact that this scene was seen in advance suggests that it is eternally occurring. However, Matthew describes the Last Judgment as a future event, writing, “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats” (Matthew 25:31-32). Here, we see, in the temporal language, evidence that the Last Judgment is a temporal event.
Without a clearly delineated answer in the Bible, let’s consider Hugh of St. Victor’s view on the matter. He writes that humans will be resurrected in actual, physical form for the Last Judgment, explaining in detail how this will work (we will be resurrected as we would have been at our best at 30 years of age). Hugh goes further, though, suggesting that the Last Judgment is a temporal event (since, according to him, it will last “three years and six months” (On The Sacraments, 452)) but will not be the last one, since the world will apparently be engulfed and destroyed by fire (according to Hugh, this will be like the Flood, but with fire instead of water), finishing the temporal realm.
With the evidence leaning in favor of the Last Judgment being a temporal event, I would like to contribute my own reasoning to the debate. I find it highly likely that the Last Judgment is temporal and not mythological for the following reason: were the Last Judgment an eternal event, I think that would suggest pre-ordination and predetermination. Judgment must succeed freely made choices in a temporal sense or else free will would have no impact on one’s ultimate outcome.
All things considered, I think we have established that the Last Judgment will be a temporal event. To add a final bit of complexity, though, I think the Last Judgment belongs in a special category of event, alongside the creation of the world and perhaps the Harrowing of Hell: a temporal event which is directly linked to the eternal plane.
-LJM
In Avengers: Infinity War, Thanos, a giant purple alien, succeeds in his plan to kill half the universe using magical stones because a Norse god wasn’t able to kill him in time. This occurs immediately after Thanos reversed time to recreate one of those stones that rested in a robot’s forehead and was destroyed by the robot’s witch girlfriend.
When phrased in this manner, Infinity War sounds ridiculous. And, as a fan, that’s not totally unfair. But the ridiculousness is completely believable within the context of the film. And I know that believability isn’t just a result of my affinity for superheroes; Infinity War was critically praised and grossed over two billion dollars. Despite the strange and arguably ridiculous events that form its plot, the film was a success by every metric.
Now, consider Revelation 12:1-8. We see a woman, clothed with the sun, moon, and stars, giving birth to a child that a seven-headed red dragon seeks to devour. Whilst waiting, he casts a third of the stars onto the earth. When the child is born, he is taken up by God to His throne so that he is not eaten. While the woman flees, Michael and a fleet of angels fight the dragon and fallen angels, with Heaven emerging the victor.
Momentarily setting aside the symbolism, this passage seems more straightforward to consider than Infinity War. Granted, this is one small and arguably straightforward section of a much larger book, but the aforementioned scene is only a small section of Infinity War’s final battle. And when symbolism is considered, it is clear what is going on: the woman is Mary, the child Christ, and the dragon Satan. The last point is even explicitly stated in the next verse: “And that great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, who is called the devil and Satan” (Revelation 12:9). This is very typical Christian mythology which is found throughout the whole Bible.
So why is it that we don’t read Revelation? If you ask many Christians, including people I personally know, there’s a good chance they have not read it and are daunted by the idea. In fact, I chose to blog on it because I have always thought the imagery was fascinating, being high concept and fantastical like the books and movies I love, but I had never engaged with it to the degree it deserved. We know the medievals read it, considering the incredible imagery of the “Apocalypse of St. Victor” and the concerns surrounding the turn of the millennium. So what has changed?
Simply put, Revelation is, as Bultmann said, “mythological talk.” Modern Christians don’t engage with mythology like medieval ones do; that has been a central theme of this course. Modernity wants to understand the “historical” Jesus and whether the Bible is “scientifically accurate.” And we see this reflected in the Marvel films, with the constant techno-babble and pseudo-scientific explanations of even what is portrayed as magic in the comics. We still have mythology, but it is mythology that is reflective of modernity. So taking a book like Revelation, which is so deeply steeped in mythology, can turn modern Christians away.
To see how this plays out, consider The Passion of the Christ. The film is known for being a gruesome and realistic take on the Passion, demonstrating it in heart-wrenching detail. But when you compare it to John’s rendition, none of these details are present. The only real physical description included is “And the soldiers platting a crown of thorns, put it upon his head; and they put on him a purple garment” (John 19:2). Instead, it is focused on showing that “these things were done, that the scripture might be fulfilled” (John 19:36).
Now compare that to the description of Christ in Revelation 1, also written by John:
“And his head and his hairs were white, as white wool, and as snow, and his eyes were as a flame of fire, And his feet like unto fine brass, as in a burning furnace. And his voice as the sound of many waters. And he had in his right hand seven stars. And from his mouth came out a sharp two edged sword: and his face was as the sun shineth in his power” (Revelation 1:14-16)
Here we get a detailed description of Christ in His Majesty. And the rest of the book includes a similar level of description, like with the throne and the living creatures in Chapter 4. With battles of Heaven and Hell, Christ revealed in His Majesty, and the descriptive language to pull from, it feels obvious to represent this in a film, now that we have the special effects to do so. And yet, we don’t have one, nor does this imagery tend to appear in art like it used to. The question then becomes if it is even necessary to see Jesus as God when we can see Him as human.
For another example, consider the earlier passage from Chapter 12. Scientifically speaking, how can one be “clothed with the sun?” How can the stars be cast down? Can dragons exist? Admittedly, my normal response is somewhat dismissive of the question: since God created the world, He is not bound by its laws and therefore none of this is “contradictory” to scientific principles. But it is a fair question, viewing science as the study of the world that God created. Even the medieval Christians were concerned with aspects of this, considering their focus on what our resurrected bodies will be like. So why even bother with Revelation?
The point of Christianity is to see God, and we can only do that through mythology. To throw it all away, as Bultmann suggests, would be to gut Christianity and make it pointless. And Revelation is deeply steeped in mythology. In it, we see God in His Majesty, and we see the Judgment where we will see God perfectly:
“And I saw the dead, great and small, standing in the presence of the throne, and the books were opened; and another book was opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were judged by those things which were written in the books, according to their works” (Revelation 20:12)
Compare this to Steven’s vision: he “saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God” (Acts 7:55). Revelation reveals God to us, the thing we are always trying to see. Christ’s fulfillment of the prophecies has been proven, the church has begun, and now to conclude the Bible, we see the glory in explicit form reflecting the Psalms. Revelation may be a hard book to read, especially for a modern Christian, but it is a necessary one.
Thus, I encourage you, especially if you haven’t, to give Revelation a read. Embrace the mythology, and learn to see God.
--Chad Berkich
The Old Testament York Mystery Plays are an interesting instance of expansion upon limited information being used to make a commonly known story more ‘accessible’ to the common folk for whom the plays were intended. In doing so the York Mystery Plays, in particular the ones discussed in class and which I will be considering here, allow a personalizing glimpse into what might otherwise be a distant and remote world.
To start, I would like to examine the nature of religion in Medieval Europe, with reference to claims made by Rodney Stark in The Triumph of Faith. We have to consider that although the vast majority of Medieval Europeans were Christians, they did not always express that faith in ways we would recognize. Often, Medieval Christians would skip church, or if they did go would be drunk, half-asleep, would get into fights or would be otherwise distracted and indisposed. Many Medieval Christians are said to not have known that there even were written Scriptures, with most having some basic idea of the Christian story but lacking any detailed knowledge. To the extent that they did know the Scriptures, they would have generally known them as lines to recite or which were recited to them. Christianity, in that era, more often than not expressed itself as a folk religion which syncretized pre-existing Pagan rituals and practices with Christian symbolism and stories. In short, the Scriptures were quite distant from the lives of Medieval Christians.
Next, let us consider that the York Mystery Plays, in their presentation, appealed to the tastes of the people to whom they were being performed. They were performed at street level, by actors who milled about among the spectators on what we might call a ‘low budget’ - costumes and setpieces which were both cheap and made no particular effort to be historically accurate. We might shirk at this method of presentation, but its strength is in its ‘accessibility’ - its ability to articulate distant and impersonal stories in a way that is understandable for the commoners of Medieval Europe.
The Fall of Man play presents a good example of how the York Mystery Plays, especially relating to the Old Testament, made the Biblical narrative more accessible to Medieval people. The play, which is mostly a dialogue between Eve and the serpent, expands greatly upon the somewhat limited account presented in Genesis.
Genesis is quite succinct in its depiction of the exchange between Eve and the serpent: “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. ‘For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’ When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it” (Genesis 3:4-6). Here, we get a symbolic or representative version of what a real conversation would look like, with Satan making his argument and Eve immediately convinced. The purpose of this exchange, in my view, is to explain Satan’s basic ‘argument’ and the sinful reaction to it, not to depict a conversation as it would occur in reality.
The York Mystery Play, on the other hand, dwells on this scene for longer, and includes a more substantial ‘back-and-forth’ between Satan and Eve. A piece of this exchange is as follows:
“Satan: Who eats the fruit, of good and ill, shall have knowing as well as he.
Eve: Why, what-kin thing art thou that tells this tale to me?
Satan: A worm, that wotteth well how that ye may worshipped be.
Eve: What worship should we win thereby? To eat thereof us needeth it nought, we have lordship to make mastery of all things than on earth is wrought.” (York Mystery Plays, 10).
This scene is, of course, lengthier than the Genesis account, but it also includes a much more inquisitive and suspicious Eve, rather than the gullible one we sometimes see depicted. We also see Satan lying in an interesting way: he describes himself as a worm rather than a snake or a serpent. It is a believable lie, since his form resembles one, but one which is intended to make him appear less threatening or menacing. Interestingly, Satan here attempts to convince Eve by suggesting that Adam and Eve could not only have God-like knowledge but could be worshiped as well.
Furthermore, the use of vernacular language and local dialects made the stories more accessible to the audience. The plays were performed in the everyday language of the people, rather than in Latin, which was the language of the Church and the educated elite. This made the stories more understandable and relatable, bridging the gap between the sacred texts and the everyday experiences of the audience.
In conclusion, the York Mystery Plays, through their dramatic expansion of biblical narratives like the Fall of Man, made the distant and often abstract stories of the Scriptures vivid and accessible to medieval audiences.. This not only reinforced the moral and spiritual lessons of the Bible but also ensured that these timeless stories were passed down in a way that was meaningful and memorable for generations. The communal and performative nature of the plays created a powerful vehicle for religious and cultural transmission, making the divine narratives a living part of medieval life. The York Mystery Plays stand as a testament to the enduring power of storytelling and its ability to make the distant and divine accessible and relevant to everyday life.
-LJM
If you told me in high school that the Bible talked about seven-headed Satanic dragons, leopard-bear-lion hybrids, and a horned beast who inscribed ‘666’ on men’s foreheads and right hands, I don’t think I would have ever become Christian. [1]. Was anyone serious about wholeheartedly believing in all this happening in some place called Heaven? In fact, if one had not shown me that this came from the Book of Revelation, I would have guessed this to be either a very creative (or maniacal) fantasy novel.
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| No, not part of a whimsical medieval comic book or novel. This is actually what happens/is to happen in the heavenly world beyond us! Royal MS 19 B XV. |
Perhaps, I should tip my hat to Rudolf Bultmann. Maybe my example vindicates his assertion that this is all “mythological talk” that is “a thing of the past.” [2]. I certainly would have asked the exact same question as Bultmann, albeit in far less eloquent terms:
“How in the world does modern common sense understand any of this?!”
That’s the key. “Modern common sense.” Dragons and beasts in this alternate realm called "Heaven" aren't part of that. But it's all in the scripture! Admittedly, I was entertained by our class discussions on John possibly being in an altered mental state. Are we to take John’s word literally? Revelation is a prophetic vision, after all. [3]. The synoptic Gospels paint a simpler picture of Judgment with Christ separating the saved and the damned like sheep and goats. [4]. Yet, John’s vision takes place in that heavenly realm, far beyond the precipices of any limited, human periphery. We bear, as faithful Christians, the duty of believing according to the witness of John that this heavenly war will unfold.
Wait, it will happen. It (likely) did not already happen. The introduction in the Mercers' play on Judgment notes that “the Judgment is the only event of the future dramatized in the cycle.” [5]. Now, I would argue that most people would read that remark nonchalantly. But it made me realize that this is where WE enter the story—yes, this fantastical, mythical story that many today would find utterly absurd. The parts of the gospels about Judgment and Revelation quintessentially cannot be read as historical narratives; these visions and prophecies carry us into our future.
Consequently, we, just as the medieval Christians, just as John exiled on Patmos, are all part of the same story. That meant that we were not merely engaging in an anthropological exercise. We were not simply exploring the impacts the millennial commemoration of Christ’s death had on 11th-century Christians or the lasting influence of the Anglo-Norman vision of the Apocalypse. [6]. We are ourselves trying to see God by examining how our predecessors tried to see God. The absurdity of it all is only because "modern common sense" cannot see God. At least, not until He comes again. [7].
Allow me to briefly digress. Since today was the last day of classes in my college career, I thought it fitting to take a “celebratory” selfie. Coincidentally, I wore one of my many pairs of sunglasses because it was sunny outside. It was Professor Fulton Brown’s comment about the readings that reminded me of that selfie; she introduced them by suggesting that each of them used different “modes of proof.” That is, they each portrayed the “reality” of the impending Judgment in different ways.
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| My goofy picture I took on Thursday morning commemorating my last day of college classes. Our class discussion made me think of the many sunglasses I wear and how they affect my peripheral vision. Nonetheless, I still don't "see" God with any of my glasses on. The cross pendant is also quite fitting. |
We also discussed how the Book of Revelation as well as the prophecies of Jesus in the gospels, much like the rest of the Bible, are about seeing God (or, as this class has now taught me, entering the Tabernacle). Connecting these last few points, I then suggested that each primary reading was attempting to “see” God through different means.
First, the Christ III poem in the Exeter Book was attempting to see God in his awesome might through poetic and emotive lyricism:
“All the faithless children of men
Will suddenly see in their false hearts
How cruelly they mocked and scorned him,
Spat in his eyes, taunted and tormented him. . .” [8].
Second, Hugh of St. Victor attempted to see God through a scrutinizing, technical theological lens in which he incorporated both Aristotle and Augustine. For example, he labors through chapters XIII to XX on the physical details of how the dead of all characters, shapes, and sizes are to be resurrected. [9]. Third, the Mercers’ enactment of the Last Judgment is a dramatic attempt to personify the impending Judgment, appealing to a human audience. [10].
Returning to the obvious question, what does a random pair of sunglasses have to do with any of the above? My running sunglasses are tinted yellow, meaning that they impose some “pigmentation” on my normal periphery when I look around. In a sense, they change how I see the world around me. Yet, I still have sight even without them. By no means, however, would I ever claim that I can see God right now.
This is why I think each of our readings is like putting on different glasses. Just as each pair fundamentally changes how I see by either color tints or magnifying lenses, internalizing how each mode of presentation of Revelation (whether via iconography, dramatic play, theological treatise, or poem) is my attempt to “see” God in different ways by understanding how people of the past tried to “see” God. Indeed, reading John’s Revelation itself is an exercise of trying to “see” God, by internalizing the angelic vision John received while on Patmos.
While each pair of glasses fundamentally alters my vision, none of them bring me fully to God. I might see things in slightly different shades or sizes, but I do not see Heaven and Hell, angels, or dragons. The unique problem of the biblical accounts of Judgment Day is that it is unironically a revelation. We, as spectators, cannot simply “live out” this vision firsthand.
Similarly, each medium we immersed ourselves in had limitations. The Mercers’ rendition captured well the human element of Judgment but clearly had constraints in terms of casting, equipment, and other surreal elements (souls are obviously not humans dressed in grey rags). The iconography was amazingly surreal and dramatic but consists nonetheless of still-life pictures at the end of the day. The Exeter Book appeals lyrically but falls short in terms of visual imagery. In all of these, our own senses crave more.
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| The Last Judgment by Hans Memling (ca. 1467-71). |
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| Last Judgment by Giselbertus (ca. 1130). |
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| The York Mystery Plays in 2022. Not a materially convincing enactment of the story we all live in, but an important and strangely appealing one, nevertheless. |
What does this leave for us today, then? We are in the story, still trying to figure out that very story. Having spent nine weeks in this class, I have come to realize that the class is much more than an anthropological exercise. It’s not merely a matter of reading “history.” It is, instead, trying to see God by joining the thousands-of-years-long story of others trying to also see God. So, until Judgment Day comes and I enter the Tabernacle, I'll resort to trying on different sunglasses.
--PJZ
Rev. 12-13.
Bultmann, Rudolf. “New Testament and Mythology” (1941). New Testament and Mythology and Other Basic Writings. Trans. Schubert M. Ogden. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1984, pp. 2-3.
Rev. 1:1, 9-11.
Matt. 25:32.
“The Mercers: The Last Judgment.” York Mystery Plays: A Selection in Modern Spelling. Eds. Richard Beadle and Pamela King. Oxford, U.K.: Oxford University Press, 1984, p. 266.
Fulton Brown, Rachel. From Judgment to Passion: Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800-1200. New York: Columbia University Press, 2002, pp. 64-9; Mâle, Emile. The Gothic Image: Religious Art in France of the Thirteenth Century (1972). Trans. Dora Nussey. New York: Routledge, 2018, pp. 359-61.
Matt. 24:30; Mark 13:26; Luke 21:27; John 12:45; John 16:16.
“Christ III: Judgment.” The Complete Old English Poems. Trans. Craig Williamson. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017, pp. 349.
Hugh of St. Victor. On the Sacraments of the Christian Faith. Trans. Roy J. Deferrari. Cambridge, Mass.: The Medieval Academy of America, 1951, pp. 457-62.
“The Mercers: The Last Judgment.”
