As promised/threatened, I’m continuing to muse on what I find amusing—God’s sense of humor, the holiness of play, the wonder of nonsense, the power of childish profanity and irreverence.
These two poems are companion pieces to the “Hell, Mary” prayer I shared the other day, and to this little maditation (sic) on virtue ethics I shared a few months back. As you’ll see, both have to do with St Thomas Aquinas.
If it’s true, as I argued previously, that theology at its best is funny ha-ha and funny peculiar, that’s because it cannot otherwise do anything like justice to the God who is always delightfully stranger than we could’ve imagined. The Dumb Ox teaches us this as well as anyone does.
In his own words,
Those who lack playfulness are sinful, [as are] those who never say anything to make you smile, or are grumpy with those who do.
ST II-II.168.4
Now that is the capital-T truth.
So, without further ado…
REVISIONARY METAPHYSICS
The absolute simplicity of God may be shown in many ways.
—St. Thomas Aquinas
When St Thomas says God is simple he means God is just, well, God: wholly at one with himself— pure act without potential; perfect beyond perfections; neither existing nor existence; necessary; needless; not outstanding but upholding; immaterial and so impartial; never suffering the fact that he suffers; uncreated source and guide and goal of all that is and was and ever shall be. And I of course agree, whole- heartedly, however hard it is to comprehend. Still, St. Paul’s odd remarks about the cross force me to think divine simplicity in a coarser, queerer way: the God to whom Jesus teaches me to pray is, I’m afraid, special. Or, as they used to say, touched— funny; slow; lame; unstable; not the brightest; not quite right; not all there; good-for-nothing; no account; philistine; ill-bred; half-witted: loser; mad as hell; stooge, sap, sucker, boob; ninny, dunce, dipstick, dope; dumb, clueless, birdbrain, clown; an easy mark; a god- damned fool. All true, I believe, un- doubtedly, if also just a bit too much to swallow.
A BLESSING FOR AN ASPIRING THEOLOGIAN
LORD willing, you will fall— not too soon, if all goes well—wholly quiet, dumbly adoring like the ox, the one who makes your words straw to gild these kids’ rough winter manger.