Per Caritatem

Archbishop Rowan Williams’ recent Holy Week lectures focused on the subject of prayer.  He began by discussing insights of three early Church figures:  Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Cassian.  In his second lecture, he discussed several Protestant and Catholic Reformers, highlighting their common emphases on God’s free action, God’s majesty and God’s mystery.  (Williams, by the way, gave a very positive presentation of John Calvin’s views on prayer, referring to one of Calvin’s sermons on Abraham and Isaac.  Hermeneutically speaking, it is interesting to note that Calvin’s exposition of the text is anything but a strict grammatico-historical reading.  I applaud Williams for avoiding the herd mentality about Calvin and engaging in a bit of 21st century ad fontes activity). In this post, I draw our attention to the Archbishop’s third lecture, viz., those who have written on prayer in the 20th century.  More specifically, I focus on the two eccentric female “outsiders” (that is, outsiders to Christian orthodoxy), Simone Weil and Etty Hillesum.

The question of prayer and how to pray, as Williams’ points out, was still quite pressing in the 20th century.  That is, the events of the war, the Nazi invasions and the resultant crimes against humanity, all played a role in pushing people to seek God.  First, Williams’ discusses Simone Weil, a Jewish philosopher, who died in 1943 at the young age of 34.  Because of Jewish identity, her historical situation, and her own desire to connect with the plight of the poor, Weil was intimately acquainted with suffering.  For example, when the Nazis took over France, Simone was uprooted and forced to flee.  In the final months of her life, she decided to eat no more food than was available to the poorest in France in her day. This decision had deleterious consequences on her health and contributed to her death.  Weil’s family was a secular Jewish family and also a very intellectual family.  At an early age, Simone evinced intellectual gifts and a proclivity for philosophy and languages.  In addition to teaching at a high school, Weil also worked in a factory, as she wanted to relate with the working class and their struggles.  Weil’s life was one of intensity, and that intensity comes through in her writings.

As Williams explains, although she was an intellectual, Simone had a life-changing mystical experience in her twenties while on a retreat at a Benedictine Abbey.  As she read George Herbert’s poem, “Love Bade Me Welcome,” she had what she describes as an encounter with Christ-as she puts it, “Christ came down and took possession of me.”  She, however, was eccentric and struggled with Catholic theology.  For example, she refused to be baptized.  Why?  She believed that most of the human race was not baptized and out in the cold and felt that her call was to stay out in the cold with most of the human race.  Had she lived longer, perhaps her views on baptism would have changed; nonetheless, one can respect her desire to existentially connect with the alienated and downtrodden.  Weil did, in spite of her differences with traditional theology, spend much time reflecting on the Eucharist and the Trinity.  In addition, she spoke out against the impersonal and technological totalitarianism of her day-that is, against the kind of life she had seen and experienced in the factory.

Weil’s best known book is entitled, Waiting for God. As Williams’ explains, for Simone, the essence of prayer begins in attention, in waiting attention.  This kind of posture involves self-denial, a kind of selflessness.  That is, (quoting Williams) “you put your thoughts and anxieties on the backburner, [you] let your self be there and let your mind be shaped by what is in front of you.  In learning a language, you submit your mind and your feelings to the structure of something that is there, and as you do that you enter into a kind of freedom.”  In other words, by de-centering the self and one’s own concerns and preoccupations, you allow what is there to shape you.  You allow the Other a voice, a potentially transforming voice.   In fact, Weil sees the de-centering necessary for prayer as that which is required in many “ordinary” activities.  As Williams’ puts it, “the selflessness of learning a language or a craft-all of that is a preparation for the deep attention of waiting in which you turn toward God.  That is her most central idea.  It connects experiences that we all share in some way with the experience of connecting with God.”  Thus, whether learning to ride a bicycle (or in my daughter’s case, a tricycle), learning a craft, or learning a foreign language, we are de-centering ourselves and being shaped by an “other.”

Weil’s philosophical ideas are quite complex.  (Interestingly, they remind me of some of Balthasar’s teachings).  For example, “Simone sees this selfless giving as the ground of God, because God himself is always giving himself so selflessly that you can almost say that he cancels himself out, so that the world can exist, can come to light.  That gift, in which you cancel yourself as the giver, she translates into the idea that somehow in our own relationship to God, we, in response to God’s stepping out of sight, cancel ourselves and our absorbed into God.”  Weil speaks of this as “de-creating” ourselves. Of course, that moves a bit outside of Christian orthodoxy; yet, her point about self-less giving is very much at the heart of Christianity.    Williams ends by saying, “the power and density of her writing is addictive. She covers such a range of thinking and feeling, and though she herself found it very hard to accept love, she never lost sight of that experience where Christ came down and ‘took possession of me’ when she was contemplating George Herbert’s poem,

‘LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.'”

In part II, I shall summarize Williams’ lecture on Etty Hillesum.


7 Responses so far

I did my undergrad dissertation on Weil. She is truly an amazing philosopher-theologian, but she is also sub-Christian in fundamental respects. In particular, her core doctrine was that the ego should be wholly negated — to the very loss of “first perspective” thinking, insofar as this is possible. It is hard not too read a lot of her writings as morbid and, more importantly, creation-denying.

For Weil, the only adequate response of created intellects is to deny one’s own creation — to desire to not exist. I think this played a critical role in her desire to not eat on her deathbed. She wanted to die and be wholly united with God. She couldn’t commit suicide outright, but she did when the closest opportunity (very ill health) came.


Thanks for offering these thoughts. I believe the Herbert you’re speaking of is actually ‘Love bade me welcome’. It’s a wonderful piece.


Dear Mark,

Thank you for your comment and the correction (my American ears are still becoming accustomed to RW’s attractive British accent : )

Best wishes,
Cynthia


I love the quote about learning a language: “In learning a language, you submit your mind and your feelings to the structure of something that is there, and as you do that you enter into a kind of freedom.” That’s very true: we can enter into that kind of freedom much easier as children than as a adults, and it may be part of what Jesus meant when he said that we must be as little children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Whether as a Christian, linguist, or even a technologist, one has to be willing to think about things differently, and try out what we find rather than what we think should be there.


Below is the full text of Herbert’s poem (thanks to: http://topmostapple.blogspot.com)

Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.

George Herbert. 1593–1632

286. Love

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 5
If I lack’d anything.

‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘worthy to be here:’
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.’ 10
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’ 15
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat.


You mention Williams’ favorable portrayal of Calvin. One of the things that has amazed me over the last three semesters at the Episcopal seminary I am at is that almost all of the theologians who consider themselves to be in what you might call the Platonic underbelly of Anglicanism (Hooker, Carolignian Divines including Herbert, Jeremy Taylor, Lancelot Andrewes, CS Lewis, and certainly Rowan and Radical Orthodoxy) are constantly speaking highly of the Reformed tradition, even calling themselves Reformed (as Rowan does in some of his books). They extol not just Calvin (for laying out a social order in the _Institutes_ which is patterned on the divine order or the life of the triune God) but also Jonathan Edwards, whom they regard as a Platonic participationalist.

It seems like a tendency among these people, by the way, to disparage Luther, which of course Rowan does NOT do. (Rowan loves Luther and is constantly quoting him.)


I do not find any word of simone weil’s favorite prayer, the “our father” which in my opinion is the really key to understand her ideas of the sujet. Second: Her experience by reading herbert’s wonderful poem is only one of the (mystical ?) experiences. Especially in speaking our the words of the greec “pater hemon…” she feels comletly fullfilled with a feeling hardly understood. Cause of my very limited english i will take the short way but I would be glad to read from you! Thank you very much! _bernard