Julian of Norwich on God’s Meaning

Julian of Norwich’s fourteenth-century works are the first recorded by a woman in the English language. Her two surviving texts recount her extrordinary series of religious visions that she had as a young woman whilst she lay ill apparently on her deathbed. They mostly concern the figure of Christ as he hangs on the cross, his wounds and his blood and what these things represent about God’s love for humanity. But they also constitute a myterious parable of a Lord and his servant, which she later realises is a picture of the fall of man and of the incarnation, viewed both at once from God’s perspective.

The visions and their interpretation are incredibly beautiful and to me have the ring of authenticity. I think that the spiritual insight she gained from them is quite incredible, especially considering her social standing.

Julian is perhaps still so popular today because of the hopefulness and the sanguinity of her writing. There is a constant tension that runs through Julian between what she has seen of God and what she knows the Church teaches. She is most famous for saying that everything will be well and all manner of things will be well. In the end, according to Julian, we will see everything that is currently wrong put right. But at one point she wonders about the way that the Church teaches that many will be punished by God in hell for their wickedness. It is at this point that she has a further insight about the future: God will do a great deed at the end of time that will put all things right. And so all things will be well, but we just do not know how, because we do not know what the nature of this great deed will be. And in this way she avoids saying anything that explicitly contradicts the teaching of the Church, whilst maintaining the coherence of her vision.

When one reads Julian, one is in the presence of a God who is not angry and demanding of mankind, but who is full of love and grace, who is not harsh but tender and merciful and, interestingly, one who is repeatedly referred to as ‘courteous’ – as in polite and chivalrous. Julian even goes so far as to say that God never needs to forgive us because he is never angry with us. She is at pains to stress that, although we should hate sin in us more than the fires of hell itself, when we do sin we should be cheered by the love of God and by the recollection that God judges us more leniently than we judge ourselves, and we should most certainly not look upon the sins of others in anything but compassion.

The most moving section of the book for me is the final chapter, in which Julian, having thought about her visions for many years, wonders finally what was their overall meaning. What was God trying to say to her? The final paragraph of the book gives us the answer: his meaning was love.

And from the time that this was shown, I often longed to know what our Lord meant. And fifteen years and more later my spiritual understanding received an answer, which was this: “Do you want to know what your Lord meant? Know well that love was what he meant. Who showed you this? Love. What did he show? Love. Why did he show it to you? For love. Hold fast to this and you will know and understand more of the same; but you will never understand or know from it anything else for all eternity.” This is how I was taught that our Lord’s meaning was love. And I saw quite certainly in this and in everything that God loved us before he made us; and his love has never diminished and never shall. And all his works were done in this love; and in this love he has made everything for our profit; and in this love our life is everlasting. We had our beginning when we were made but the love in which he made us was in him since before time began; and in this love we have our beginning. And all this shall be seen in God without end, which may Jesus grant us. Amen.

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CS Lewis on The Discarded Image

The Discarded Image was the last book that C.S. Lewis wrote. It is a pedagogical book, written primarily for the purposes of teaching his students of Renaissance and Medieval literature about the picture or ‘model’ of the universe that was then universally accepted. This model is entirely foreign to us now, and is known only to those who have purposefully sought out a knowledge of antique and medieval cultural history. Where this knowledge persists it does so usually as a kind of apologetic against Christianity which asserts (in error) that before the rise of modern science everybody thought that the world was flat or that the stars were very close to the earth or that the earth was the centre and hence most important of the universe; these beliefs are usually traced to their source in the Christian Bible, which of course says nothing of the sort and is certainly not the originator of the Medieval model. I had not heard of Lewis’ book before I came across a footnote in David Bentley Hart’s The Experience of God and so I will use his useful (and surprisingly succinct) description of the discarded image. 

(The) antique, medieval, and early modern universe (was) described in an “incomplete” form by Aristotle (384-322 BC) and given its most enduring finishing touches by Ptolemy (AD c. 90-c. 168). The earth stood immovably at the center of the system of interlocking heavens: immutable transparent spheres, each save one of them immediately encompassed by another larger than itself, in a regular succession upward and outward; each of the first seven sphere contained a “planet” (in order, the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn), the next beyond those was the stellatum, or region of the fixed stars, and the next beyond that the mysterious primum mobile , or “first moveable” heaven. Beyond that, however, lay the “realm” of the Unmoved Mover, understood either as a changeless spiritual intellect not directly involved in lower things, a pure “thought thinking thought,” or as God the active creator of the universe.

David Bentley Hart, The Experience of God: Being, Consciousness, Bliss

As many others still do, Lewis found this model to be an exceptionally beautiful, creative and life-giving picture of the universe. The spheres described above rotate as a result of the movement of the primum mobile (rotation being their most approximate expression of God’s perfection and immutability), which is in turn moved by God, the Unmoved Mover himself. They do this absolutely consistently and so constitute a realm of greater perfection and immutability than the realm in which we live, the Earth, and the sky above us, which is constantly afflicted by the changeability and corruption that we call the weather (especially those of who live here in England, although I’m writing on a sunny and pleasant July morning in North-East London). But the question of how God, who is unmoved and cannot be said to move in order to move anything else, can cause the primum mobile to move is an important one. And the answer that the antique world gave to us is perhaps the most beautiful and poetic aspect of this discarded image:

There must in the last resort be something which, motionless itself, initiates the motion of all other things. Such a Prime Mover, (Aristotle) finds in the wholly transcendent and immaterial God who ‘occupies no place and is not affected by time’ (Aristotle, De Caelo). But we must not imagine him moving things by any positive action, for that would be to attribute some kind of motion to Himself and we should then not have reached an utterly unmoving Mover. How then does He move things? Aristotle answers, κινει ως ερωμενον, ‘He moves as beloved’ (Aristotle, Metaphysics). He moves other things, that is, as an object of desire moves those who desire it. The Primum Mobile is moved by its love for God, and being moved, communicates motion to the rest of the universe…This all implies that each sphere, or something resident in each sphere, is a conscious and intellectual being, moved by “intellectual love” of God.

CS Lewis, The Discarded Image

This explanation sheds light on one of the most beautiful verses in all literature, and this is the final stanza of Dante’s Comedia, Paradisio 33:

But my desire and will were moved already—

like a wheel revolving uniformly—by 

the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.