“The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.” ― G.K. Chesterton, “Orthodoxy”
Thanks to studying the Medieval Model of the cosmos (via C.S. Lewis, a professional medieval scholar at both Oxford and Cambridge), I think I finally understand what G.K. Chesterton meant when he said that our modern world is topsy-turvy, that we are all born upside down when it comes to our cosmic perspective. It really has to do with the self-conscious way we look at the universe, from the smallest of things to the greatest.
That self-consciousness started with Adam and Eve, by the way. SELF-consciousness.
Scientifically limited as their Model was, the Medievals started with Christ Jesus and the Gospel and worked downward from there. We are always looking out in their universe – out into a brightly-lit festival of celestial beauty and harmony. It’s a cosmic dance that welcomes and comforts. Our world of sin and fallenness is on the outside looking in like a cold beggar peering into a warm, fire-lit parlor. Compare this to the cold and inhospitable vacuity of our modern model. It’s completely inverted!
Cosmos versus space – think of the difference between those words. The former humbles us in the gentlest, most welcoming of ways. The latter (our view), humbles through fear with its eternal silence and infinite spaces. This is the difference between starting with God and starting with man when it comes to cosmic model (and worldview) building.
God humbles more gently than man humbles.
The difference between their model of the universe and ours really is a matter of where we place ourselves in relation to the whole. It’s truly the difference between the joy getting our heads into the heavens (the Medieval view) and trying to get the heavens into our heads (the modern view). The former is expansive and welcoming, a great relief of cosmic proportions, “further up and further in,” as Lewis wrote. The latter crushes us.
And Lewis contends that the movement in perspective from top-down to bottom-up was not a result of scientific advance or new evidence. It was a change in human psychology and the ethos of civilization. Lewis writes that “the real reason why Copernicus raised no ripple and Galileo raised a storm, may well be that whereas the one offered a new supposal about celestial motions, the other insisted on treating this supposal as fact. If so, the real revolution consisted not in a new theory of the heavens but in ‘a new theory of the nature of theory’.” And this “new theory of the nature of theory” shifted the perspective from the top-down to the bottom-up, from starting with God and working down to starting with Man – from “looking in” to the universe to “looking out.” This ushered in an ethos of unhealthy skepticism that crushes our world to this day. If we start with ourselves, we’ve really nowhere to go.
He that loses his life will find it.
Here is the passage from Chesterton. I am of the firm opinion that Chesterton was a kind of strange mixture between Francis and Aquinas, a harmonic Medieval synthesis of disparate things, plopped right down into our modern age as a sort of cosmic gift (and joke, of course). He interrogates us as a medieval would interrogate us:
“The mass of men have been forced to be gay about the little things, but sad about the big ones. Nevertheless (I offer my last dogma defiantly) it is not native to man to be so. Man is more himself, man is more manlike, when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial. Melancholy should be an innocent interlude, a tender and fugitive frame of mind; praise should be the permanent pulsation of the soul. Pessimism is at best an emotional half-holiday; joy is the uproarious labour by which all things live. Yet, according to the apparent estate of man as seen by the pagan or the agnostic, this primary need of human nature can never be fulfilled. Joy ought to be expansive; but for the agnostic it must be contracted, it must cling to one corner of the world. Grief ought to be a concentration; but for the agnostic its desolation is spread through an unthinkable eternity. This is what I call being born upside down. The sceptic may truly be said to be topsy-turvy; for his feet are dancing upwards in idle ecstasies, while his brain is in the abyss. To the modern man the heavens are actually below the earth. The explanation is simple; he is standing on his head; which is a very weak pedestal to stand on. But when he has found his feet again he knows it. Christianity satisfies suddenly and perfectly man’s ancestral instinct for being the right way up; satisfies it supremely in this; that by its creed joy becomes something gigantic and sadness something special and small. The vault above us is not deaf because the universe is an idiot; the silence is not the heartless silence of an endless and aimless world. Rather the silence around us is a small and pitiful stillness like the prompt stillness in a sick-room. We are perhaps permitted tragedy as a sort of merciful comedy: because the frantic energy of divine things would knock us down like a drunken farce. We can take our own tears more lightly than we could take the tremendous levities of the angels. So we sit perhaps in a starry chamber of silence, while the laughter of the heavens is too loud for us to hear.” (from Orthodoxy)
Our world is the sick-room. When we look up at the night sky, we get a glimpse of our future health. The heavens declare …
In the end, our psychology (and spiritual health) shapes our models more than we realize. Where we begin will decide where we go: “…nature gives most of her evidence in answer to the questions we ask her. Here, as in the courts, the character of the evidence depends on the shape of the examination, and a good cross-examiner can do wonders. He will not indeed elicit falsehoods from an honest witness. But, in relation to the total truth in the witness’s mind, the structure of the examination is like a stencil. It determines how much of that total truth will appear and what pattern it will suggest.” (from C.S. Lewis, The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature)
Model Building 101 with G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis. Class begins at dark … outside … away from the city lights. Meet you there!