Vedantist Metaphysics

 

Esoterism and Cosmology

By Wolfgang Smith

 

There are doctrinal conflicts which can only be resolved on an esoteric plane. In the present article I propose to reflect upon one such conflict: the antithesis, namely, between a geocentric and a heliocentric worldview. It happens, however, that there is more than one geocentrism, even as there are several distinct kinds of heliocentrism. It is necessary, therefore, to sort out these various conceptions, which pertain to different levels and must not be confounded: only then can we grasp the crux of the problem.

In the first place it is needful, once again, to distinguish between two very different ways of knowing: the way of cognitive sense perception, which takes us into the corporeal domain, and the modus operandi of physical science, which gives access to what I term the physical universe.[1]

This said, it becomes apparent that the primary geocentrism-the geocentrism which is natural to mankind-is based upon the first way of knowing: looking up at the sky, one actually perceives the stars and planets circling the Earth, while the Earth itself is experienced as central and immobile. In regard to the second way of knowing, one generally takes it for granted that science has come down unequivocally on the side of heliocentrism. It happens, however, that contemporary physics does allow a geocentric hypothesis: the notion, namely, that the Earth does not move, does not indeed orbit around the Sun; according to Einsteinian relativity, no experiment can possibly prove otherwise. Admittedly, this is not much of a geocentrism; but so far as the scientific way of knowing is concerned, it is the most that can be said: physical geocentrism, let us call it, to distinguish the latter from the primary kind. To be sure, there is also a physical heliocentrism, which affirms that it is likewise admissible to consider the Sun to be at rest and the Earth to orbit around the Sun. On the level of physical theory, thus, there is no conflict between the two positions, which is to say that both derive support from the principles of relativity. I have argued elsewhere that these principles, which appear to hold on the physical plane, are expressive of the fact that the notion of substance has no more place in fundamental physics: in a world in which only relations exist, I submit, Einsteinian relativity reigns supreme.[2]

It should be noted that there is evidently no heliocentrism based upon cognitive sense perception. Nonetheless, apart from what I have termed physical heliocentrism, there is a renowned heliocentrism championed by Galileo, which insists, supposedly on scientific grounds, that the Earth does move. One sees, however, that in claiming to have demonstrated the motion of the Earth, Galileo was in fact mistaken: his celebrated "Eppur Si Muove" remains to this day unproved. What 1 shall term Galilean heliocentrism turns out to be a bastard notion, a spurious hybrid, one can say, of the aforesaid two ways of knowing.

There is also, however, a third kind of heliocentrism, which might be termed traditional, iconic, and even perhaps esoteric; we will consider that heliocentrism in due course. But first it behooves us to reflect in some depth on the meaning and significance of the primary geocentrism.

 

It has been said that the geocentrist worldview is suited to the mentality of the so-called primitive man, someone who accepts the testimony of the senses uncritically and is supposedly incapable of scientific thought. One maintains, moreover, that human perception is inherently unreliable and subject to manifold illusions, which need to be rectified through scientific means. Even scientists admit, of course, that sense perception does indeed constitute our one and only

means of access to the external world; but one denies that it can per se bestow an authentic and accurate knowledge of things as they are. For that one needs to supplement the human faculties by scientific instruments, and avail oneself of the theories which underlie their use. The role of sense perception in the cognitive process is thus reduced ultimately to elementary acts, such as the reading of a pointer on a scale.

Oversimplified as this brief characterization of the scienceoriented epistemology may be, it does serve to identify the contemporary scientistic denigration of sense perception as a serious and respectable way of knowing. To the scientistic mentality the modus operandi of science appears as the sole legitimate means for the acquisition of authentic knowledge; as Bernand Russell once put it: "What science cannot tell us, mankind cannot know." But of course this is far from being the case! We need to understand from the outset that cognitive sense perception can give access to domains of reality beyond the range of scientific inquiry, and that in our daily life it does in fact give access to an authentic world which physical science as such cannot know. We need to remind ourselves that cognitive perception is neither a physiological nor indeed a psychological act, but is consummated in the intellect, the highest faculty within the human compound. So high, in fact, is that faculty, that according to Platonist philosophers it transcends the categories of space and time. Cognitive sense perception, thus, even in its humblest quotidian manifestations, proves to be something quite miraculous, something literally "not of this world." Moreover, in view of the fact that it constitutes our normal God-given means of knowing the external world, its scientistic denigration, I say, is not only fallacious, but impious as well. What actually limits the truth and the depth of human perception are not our faculties as such, but the use we make of them; and one should add that in this regard a collective decline appears to have been in progress since earliest times. It seems likely, moreover, that the scientistic denigration has itself had a debilitating effect upon our capacity to perceive, and has in fact accelerated our collective descent from the pristine state, a state in which, according to sacred tradition, man had the ability to penetrate "the things that are made" so as to apprehend "the invisible things of God" which they exemplify. The evolution of the scientistic outlook constitutes thus a late phase in that age old descent which St. Paul has characterized as a "darkening of the heart." It is no doubt a fine line that separates true science from scientistic negation; yet we are told in no uncertain terms that those who cross that line are "without excuse." In words which appear to have lost none of their relevance, the Apostle describes the resultant condition of these perpetrators: "Professing themselves to be wise," he declares, "they became fools." (Rom. 1:20-22)

Having alluded to the collective decline which our powers of perception have suffered, it is to be noted that even in this diminished state we are yet able to behold a world that is truly sublime, and incomparably richer-and more real! than the universe disclosed by the methods of physical science. To be sure, the scientific way of knowing has its validity and its corresponding ontological domain, as does the way of perception; but the latter, one is obliged to say; is the greater of the two. For it is by way of cognitive perception that we can know not merely the quantitative and material components of being, but can ascend to a knowledge of essences, and even, Deo volente, to a perception of "the invisible things of God."

Getting back to the question of geocentrism, it is to be noted that the worldview at which one arrives through sense perception is perforce geocentric. Now, in light of the preceding reflections, this fact, so far from constituting some kind of stigma, bestows in itself a certain legitimacy and indeed a certain primacy upon the geocentric Weltanschauung. One can say of the latter that it constitutes the normal human outlook, which as such cannot be illegitimate or void of truth. What we learn by way of our senses is that the Earth we stand upon reposes at the center of the universe, and that the Sun, Moon, planets and stars revolve around the Earth. It is true - as we have been told often enough - that the geocentrist outlook is suited to the understanding of simple arid untutored minds; but it is equally true that this worldview is congenial to the understanding of sages and saints.

The traditional doctrine of geocentrism is based upon the conception of the Stellatum, the sphere of the stars, which rotates diurnally around the Earth. Between the Stellatum and the Earth there are the planets, the "wanderers," which differ visibly from the stars by the complexity of their apparent motions. What is of primary significance, however, is the underlying two-sphere architecture of the cosmos: the notion of an outermost sphere, comprised of stars, in perpetual revolution about the Earth, conceived as the innermost sphere. It is crucial to understand that the distinction between the two spheres, so far from being merely cosmographical, is primarily ontological, which is to say that the respective spheres represent two distinct ontologic domains, two worlds, if you will; and it is worth noting that to this day one speaks of "spheres" in a distinctly ontologic sense. It is likewise crucial to understand that the two worlds-the stellar and the terrestrial-define a hierarchic order: that the stellar world, namely, is "higher" than the terrestrial: and again I would point out that the adjectives "high" and "low" have to this day retained their hierarchic connotation. One sees thus that the two­-sphere conception of the cosmos defines a dimension of verticality which is at once cosmographic, ontologic, and axiological. The immensity of spatial distance separating our Earth from the stellar sphere becomes thus indicative of the stupendous hiatus, both ontologic and axiological, separating the two domains. To be sure, the stellar world is not to be identified with the spiritual, which is metacosmic and invisible to mortal gaze; but yet, as the highest cosmic sphere, the stellar world reflects the spiritual to a preeminent degree. According to ancient belief, there is an intimate connection between the stellar and the angelic realm, the realm of the so-called gods. The Earth, on the other hand, occupies the lowest position within the cosmic hierarchy, and this again is to be understood in a threefold sense.

These somewhat sparse indications may perhaps suffice to provide an initial glimpse of what geocentric cosmology is about. One sees that with his telescope and his polemics, Galileo had assaulted far more than a mere cosmography. It was not simply a question of whether the Earth does or does not move-whatever that might mean! Nor was it simply a question of whether the Galilean claim contradicts certain passages in Scripture, such as when the Good Book speaks of the Sun as "rising," or as "running its course." What stands at issue, clearly, is nothing less than an entire Weltanschauung. It is in fact the notion of cosmic hierarchy, of "verticality" in the traditional sense, that has come under attack. But let us note that this notion is intimately connected to the conception of spiritual ascent. One may object on the grounds that it is surely possible to "ascend" spiritually without flying up into the sky; but whereas the spiritual or metaphysical sense of verticality needs indeed to be distinguished from the cosmographic, it yet remains that the two are profoundly related. It is not mere imagination or pious poetry that Christ - ­and before Him, Enoch and Elias - "was taken up, and a cloud received him out of their sight." (Acts 1:9) The question remains, moreover, whether the two senses of verticality can in fact be separated on an existential plane, and whether the cosmographic sense may not indeed play a vital role in the spiritual life. One wonders whether an individual who thinks, a la Einstein, that "one coordinate system is as good as another," can in fact maintain a living belief in the possibility of spiritual ascent. What counts spiritually, as one knows, is what we believe with our entire being: inclusive, one is tempted to say, of the body itself, the corporeal component of our nature. Does not the First Commandment exhort us to love God "with all thine heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy might"? There can be little doubt that the ternary heart-­soul-might corresponds to the Pauline pneuma psyche-soma, which is to say that we are enjoined to love God not only with our spiritual and mental faculties, but with our corporeal being as well. Moreover, in line with this basic principle, the Church has decreed that the literal or "corporeal" sense of Scripture must not be denied,[1] must not be simply jettisoned, as contemporary theologians are wont to do. Authentic Christianity has always rejected angelism in any of its manifestations; if man is indeed a trichotomous being, his religious convictions and discipline need to be in a sense trichotomous as well. Getting back to the basic concept of verticality, it follows, then, that the cosmographic sense cannot be cast aside with impunity; and I would add that history appears to bear this out. It is surely not accidental that in the wake of the Copernican Revolution religious faith has visibly waned. In the more educated strata of society, at least, belief in the teachings of Christianity, to the extent that it has survived at all, has become strangely hollow, and conspicuously lacking in the force of existential conviction. There are notable exceptions, to be sure, but the overall trend is unmistakable; in a very real sense, Western man has forfeited his spiritual orientation. Having suffered the loss of cosmographic verticality, he finds himself in a flattened-out universe in which the concerns of authentic religion make little sense. Let it not be said that religion or spirituality have no need of a cosmology: nothing could be further from the truth. As Oskar Milosz has wisely observed: "Unless a man's concept of the physical universe accords with reality, his spiritual life will be crippled at its roots": yes, it is happening before our very eyes! Getting back to Galileo and his famous trial, one cannot but commend the Church for rallying to the defense of a position which in truth is its own.

It is vital to understand that geocentric cosmology is inherently an iconic doctrine. It pertains thus to the traditional sciences as distinguished from the modern, which are concerned with the material and thus non-iconic aspects of cosmic reality. As Seyyed Hossein Nasr explains:

The modern sciences also know nature, but no longer as an icon. They are able to tell us about the size, weight and shape of the icon and even the composition of the various colors of paint used in painting it, but they can tell us nothing of its meaning in reference to a reality beyond itself.[2]

This is a very apt illustration, and a most enlightening one. A great deal of misunderstanding and confusion in the debate over geocentrism could have been avoided if the disputants on both sides had realized that the geocentrist claim is to be understood as an iconic truth, a truth which transcends the domain of the modern physical sciences. In reality geocentrism has to do with meaning, with cosmic symbolism, and thus with the mystery of essence. It is not a truth which can be defined, let alone demonstrated, on a positivistic plane.

Having characterized geocentrism as an iconic doctrine, it may be well to point out that what stands at issue is not a matter of symbolism in some psychological sense, but a matter, rather, of objective truth. Geocentrism is thus a scientific doctrine, one which pertains, as I have said before, to the province of the traditional sciences. As such it demands a certain ability to "see," to enter into a superior mode of vision, a mode that is able to discern the meaning of the icon as distinguished from mere "shapes and colors." The contemporary scientist, on the other hand, has been trained to fix his gaze precisely upon the outermost aspects of corporeal reality: is it any wonder that he misses the iconic sense? After considerable schooling one learns to reduce the icon to mere shape and color: reduce the universe, that is, to its material and quantitative components. And so it comes about that the true meaning of geocentrism generally escapes not only its scientific critics, but its contemporary scientific defenders as well.[3] The debate rages, more often than not, over the outer husk.

Not only the reality, however, but the very conception of science in the traditional sense, has been virtually lost in the modern West. Even theologians, who should know better, have for the most part not a clue: if they had, they would not have busied themselves with the task of "demythologizing" sacred texts. Why this blindness? It is not a question of erudition, or even perhaps of "faith" in the religious sense; what is needed is a traditional ambience, something which in the West has disappeared centuries ago. Nasr is no doubt profoundly right when he compares the traditional sciences to "jewels which glow in the presence of the light of a living sapiential tradition and become opaque once that light disappears."[4] We need to realize that this marvelous metaphor applies not only to various recondite disciplines, such as alchemy or astrology but likewise to geocentrism, the meaning of which everyone presumes to understand. Given that cosmic realities are connected to their exemplars by way of essence, it follows that a worldview in which essence has been lost is one in which no traditional science - be it geocentrism or any other­ - can find recognition. Such a science may of course survive in its outer forms, even as the shapes and colors of an icon remain visible when its meaning has been lost. Geocentrism, in particular, may survive in its cosmographic dimension; thus reduced, however, to its external sense, it becomes in effect a superstition: a mere vestige of a forgotten worldview. In terms of Professor Nasr's metaphor, geocentrism has thus become "opaque."

Geocentric cosmology, whether conceived Ptolemaically or according to the Tychonian system … affirms that the stars and the seven classical planets - Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Sun, Venus, Mercury and Moon - are engaged in ceaseless revolution around the Earth, as if mounted on giant rotating spheres. In short, the heavens revolve while the Earth stands still: what is the significance of that? To the ancients it meant that the stars and planets are principles of motion in the terrestrial sphere. Even as the Sun gives rise to the alternation of day and night, and of the seasons, and the Moon gives rise to oceanic tides and other phenomena, so it is with the stars and the five remaining planets: such was the ancient belief. Astronomy and astrology were thus bound together as complementary aspects of a single science. One must not forget that Ptolemy has left us not only his Almagest - the most comprehensive and influential treatise on astronomy produced in antiquity - but also the Tetrabiblos; which deals with predictive astrology.

Given that the celestial spheres do indeed exert an influence upon the terrestrial world, how, let us ask, is that influence transmitted to the sublunar realm? At the hands of Aristotle this question received a rather physical answer: Having convinced himself on philosophical grounds that there can be no such thing as empty space, and persuaded that the celestial spheres are composed of an element termed the aether, Aristotle thought that each sphere exerts a kind of mechanical force upon the next, from the Stellatum down to the terrestrial. And since the latter sphere does not move, the result must be a mixing of the elements, and thus the production of internal motion and change. Such, at least, is the apparent sense of the Aristotelian doctrine. It seems, however, that earlier conceptions of stellar influence had been far more theological than physical, if one may put it so; we must remember that preceding civilizations had populated the heavens with gods or angels, as we prefer to say - who presumably disposed over more spiritual means of communicating their influence to the sublunar realm. But be this as it may, the celestial spheres were evidently conceived as "active" in relation to the terrestrial, which is to say that the worldview of these early civilizations was inherently astrological.

This basic feature of ancient cosmology has of course been abandoned in the wake of the Copernican Revolution. Copernicus himself tried hard to salvage as much as he could of the old cosmology; he was by no means a revolutionary or an iconoclast. Yet, by a kind of relentless logic, his astronomical innovation did precipitate the collapse of the ancient worldview: in the minds and imagination of those who, following Copernicus, came to espouse the heliocentric cosmography, astrology became a dead issue. For now the Earth itself revolves, and presumably acts upon other planets, even as these act upon the Earth. The new cosmology is visibly democratic: the traditional hierarchy, in which the Earth had been relegated to the lowest position, has been replaced by a planetary system in which the terrestrial globe enjoys more or less equal status with its six companion planets. There is now no more up and 'down, no more east and west,' 'north' and 'south,' except of course in relation to a particular planet orbiting the Sun. Clearly, the very basis for an astrological outlook has disappeared.

In the new cosmology, the stars and classical planets no longer exert an influence upon the Earth; or better said, no longer exert a "higher" influence. According to contemporary physics, there is an interaction via gravitational and electromagnetic forces; and certainly, in that sense, the Sun, Moon and stars still affect the Earth. But it is needless to point out that the action of forces or exchange of particles admitted by the physics of our day are nothing like the "influence of the celestial spheres" as conceived in ancient lore - which is of course precisely the reason why the very idea of astrology appears to us today as a primitive and indeed exploded superstition.

Iconic truth has to do with the relation of a cosmic to a metacosmic reality. However, since every cosmic entity is related to the metacosmic realms in multiple ways, it exemplifies a multiplicity of iconic truths. To read a cosmic icon, therefore, it is needful to make a choice; or better said: to engage in a particular perspective or point of view. What one beholds depends, so to speak, upon one's angle of vision; and as we change our point of vantage, the resultant perception may formally contradict the preceding cognition.

Having spoken of geocentrism as an iconic doctrine, I would like now to point out that heliocentrism, rightly understood, constitutes an iconic doctrine as well. The two seemingly rival contentions, thus, are both correct, which is to say that each embodies an iconic truth; it is the perspective, the point of view, that differs. More precisely: the two doctrines correspond to different levels of vision. The heliocentric position corresponds evidently to a more intellectual or internal kind of vision, inasmuch as it contradicts what might be termed the testimony of sense perception. Its iconic truth, moreover, derives from the fact that the Sun, as the representative of Deity, does by right occupy the center of the universe. As "the author not only of visibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment and growth" … the Sun could not be conceived Ptolemaically as a mere planet, one among several that revolve about the Earth. Considering the overtly theophanic, one might almost say, "liturgical" outlook of the traditional heliocentric orientation, it is hardly surprising that heliocentrism has been especially associated with the Pythagorean and Platonist traditions, as opposed to the Aristotelian. Based on the report of Philolaus, the Pythagoreans espoused a non-geocentric cosmology in which the Earth revolves around a central fire, the so-called Altar of the Universe, which however was apparently not identified with the Sun. That identification came about later at the hands of the Neoplatonists, whose cosmology thus became overtly heliocentric. Later still, in the Renaissance movement championed by Marsilio Ficino, the doctrine came alive again, but in a somewhat altered form; one might say that what Ficino instituted was indeed a religion, a kind of neopaganism. Copernicus himself was profoundly influenced by this movement, as can be clearly seen from numerous passages in the De Revolutionibus. To cite but one example (from the tenth chapter of the First Book) which enables us to savor the spirit of those Renaissance times:

In the middle of all sits the Sun enthroned. In this

most beautiful temple, could we place this luminary

in any better position from which he can illuminate

the whole at once? He is rightly called the Lamp, the

Mind, the Ruler of the Universe; Hermes Trismegistus

names him the Visible God, Sophocles' Electra

calls him the All-seeing. So the Sun sits as upon a royal

throne ruling his children the planets which circle

round him.

Yet despite these panegyrics, it appears that the light of iconic truth was fast fading. A kind of earth-bound literalism, hostile to the spirit of Platonic philosophy, was beginning to manifest itself, foreboding the advent of the modern age. Neither in Marsilio Ficino nor in Copernicus do we encounter an authentic revival of Platonist doctrine, nor can it be said that the resultant heliocentristn conforms altogether to its traditional prototype: "rather was it comparable," writes Titus Burckhardt. "to the dangerous popularization of an esoteric truth." ….

It behooves us to ponder this highly significant statement. Why should the truth of heliocentrism be "esoteric"? And why should its popularization be "dangerous"? We have already characterized the truth of authentic heliocentrism as "iconic"; are we perhaps to conclude that "iconic" and "esoteric" are one and the same? But by that token, authentic geocentrism would be "esoteric" as well. I propose to give at least a partial answer to these questions. Let it be noted, first of all, that there is a prima facie opposition, a kind of logical contradiction, between the geocentric and the heliocentric claims. It is to be noted, furthermore, that heliocentrism is based upon an intellective vision which replaces or supersedes the sensory. The crucial point, however, is that authentic heliocentrism does not deny that sensory truth, but accommodates it, rather, within an enlarged and perforce hierarchic vision of reality. Vivekananda has put it well when he said that "Man does not move from error to truth, but from truth to truth: from truth that is lower to truth that is higher." This toleration and indeed recognition of lower truth, I say, constitutes a mark of authentic esoterism. The higher truth is never destructive of the lower: quite to the contrary! A so­-called esoterism, therefore, which undercuts the normal and in a sense God-given beliefs of mankind is perforce a false esoterism. Christ Himself has said: "I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill." And by way of further emphasis, He added: "For verily I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled." (Matt. 5:17,18) To be sure, Christ is speaking presumably of the Mosaic law, and not of cosmology; yet even so I surmise that His words do also apply to the body of basic beliefs grounded in the Old Testament tradition, which certainly includes geocentrism. Till "heaven and earth pass," all these "lower truths" shall remain effective and binding upon us: let no man cast them off before he has actually attained the higher - before "heaven and earth have passed away" - on pain of falling into what an Upanishad calls "a greater darkness."

Getting back to the prima facie contradiction between the geocentrist and the heliocentrist claims, I would like now to point out that this conflict cannot be resolved on the level of our ordinary "common sense" views concerning physical or corporeal reality. Nor indeed can it be resolved on an Aristotelian basis, let alone a Cartesian. It needs to be resolved on the ground of a Platonist - or if you will, a Vendantistmetaphysics: no lesser realism, it appears, will do. And yes, that ground is indeed "esoteric," to say the least.

There can be little doubt, moreover, that this too is the ground upon which Dante conceived his monumental vision of what might be termed the integral cosmos. In a single poetic cosmography he combined, if you will, the geocentrist and the heliocentrist cosmologies; and it is highly significant that one passes from the former to the latter precisely at the Empyrian, which thus represents the boundary, as it were, between the two "worlds." For indeed, as one crosses that boundary, the ascending spheres no longer expand, but now contract; in that supernal and indeed angelic realm, the hierarchic ordering of successive spheres is reversed: here to "ascend" means to approach the center, where stands the Altar of the Universe, the Throne of God. The Empyrean, thus the outermost Ptolemaic sphere - marks the point of reversal, where "heaven and earth shall pass," which is also the point where "a new heaven and a new earth" shall come to be." (Is. 65:17, Rev. 12:1)

There question arises whether the preeminence of authentic heliocentrism may not be reflected on the physical plane in some corresponding cosmographieal preeminence. Does not the very principle of cosmic symbolism demand that the superior glory of the true heliocentric vision be mirrored somehow in the actual geometry of the planetary system? I submit that what Copernicus refers to as "a wonderful symmetry in the universe, and a definite relation of harmony in the motion and magnitude of the orbs, of a kind not possible to obtain in any other way," is none other than that reflection. Admittedly, the Copernican and the Tychonian systems prove to be mathematically equivalent,[5] which is to say that they predict the same apparent orbits; yet even so, the symmetries and harmony of which Copernicus speaks with justified ardor remain hidden in the Tychonian scheme, while they become resplendently manifest in the Copernican. One has mixed feelings, therefore, concerning the contemporary defense of geocentrism. Christian believers do well in guarding a doctrine which proves to be basic to their faith; but the reductionist spirit of the times has forced the debate onto a cosmographic plane where the essential has already been lost, and where the defenders find themselves at a distinct disadvantage. As 1 have noted before, the principle of relativity has offered a certain protection to the beleaguered Tychonians; but at the same time it has rendered the geocentrist cause hopeless on physical ground. Meanwhile the fact remains that a heliocentric coordinate system offers undeniable theoretical advantages precisely because it is adapted to the symmetries Copernicus had his eye upon: the very symmetries that bear witness to the heliocentric truth. The Tychonians may be right in claiming that they too can explain the observable facts, but one wonders at what cost in the form of ad hoc interventions. …. There is something pathetic in the spectacle of these defenders, whom the opposing side does not deem worthy even of a response.

What necessarily baffles the exoterist mentality is what might be termed the multivalency of authentic revelation, be it scriptural or cosmic. Truth is hierarchical, and so Scripture and the cosmos itself need be in a sense hierarchical as well. No single perspective or level of understanding, no single "darshana," can do full justice to the integral truth: revelation itself informs us of this fact in various ways. Typically both Scripture and the cosmic revelation do so by way of "fissures," that is to say, by way of seeming incongruities which disturb and puzzle us, and hopefully spur us on to seek a higher level of truth. As Christ Himself intimated to His disciples on the eve before His passion: "I have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now."(John 16:12) Humility in the moral sense is not enough: we need also an intellectual and indeed theological humility. To preserve ourselves from falling into some arid dogmatism, we need ever to continue on our way: "from truth that is lower to truth that is higher." Dogmas, it seems, are meant for the viator, the spiritual traveler, not for the armchair theologian. It is not that dogmas of a sacred kind are simply provisional or limited in the ordinary sense, but rather that they harbor unsuspected truths. We need, as I have said, to continue on our way; as the author of Hebrews points out: "Strong meat belongeth to them that are full of age."(Heb. 5:14) Moreover, since truth derives ultimately from God, this progressive ascent constitutes indeed an itinerarium mentis in Deum, a "journey into God." But clearly, it is a journey in which the viator himself is progressively changed; in the words of St. Paul: "But we all with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, as by the Spirit of the Lord. "(2 Cor. 3:18)

As I have noted before, the higher truth of heliocentrism is reflected in the superior beauty or "symmetry" of the corresponding mathematical description; but one must remember that the "high truth" in question pertains to what may indeed be termed an esoteric level of vision. Reduced to a scientific theory in the contemporary sense - a mere cosmography - heliocentrism ranks in reality below its geocentric rival; as I have pointed out, the latter doctrine, limited though it be, corresponds to the testimony of human sense perception, and opens therefore upon vistas of truth which must remain forever unknown to the physical scientist as such. The problem with an "exoteric" geocentrism, on the other hand - a geocentrism that simply denies the heliocentric truth - is that it ultimately lacks a credible defense against a scientific heliocentrism: referents and epicycles, figuratively speaking, do not stand up well against the equations of Kepler and Newton. Even the most committed geocentrist can hardly fail to recognize a superior cogency in the heliocentric theory, and secretly sense that another truth must stand at issue, a truth which is not comprehended within the geocentric outlook. But alas, on a strictly exoteric plane that other truth becomes perforce hostile, perforce threatening to the integrity of the geocentric worldview. What by right should spur us on to seek a higher, more comprehensive level of understanding - ­what by right should be liberating - comes thus to be feared and rejected as a rank heresy.

The situation, however, is further complicated by the circumstance that heliocentrism has generally come to be identified with the Galilean doctrine, which is in fact a rank heresy. I have already argued that Galilean heliocentrism erodes the sense of verticality which supports and indeed enables the spiritual life: that it plunges us into a flattened and de-essentialized cosmos in which the claims of religion cease to be credible. I propose now to consider another ill effect of the Galilean heresy, which in a way is complementary to the aforesaid loss of verticality.

Every religion is perforce homocentric in its worldview. To put it in Christian terms: Man occupies a central position in the universe because he is made in the image and likeness of Him who is the absolute center of all that exists. Furthermore, man is central because, as the microcosm, he in a way contains within himself all that exists in the outer world, even as the center of a circle contains in a sense the full pencil of radii. Or again, man is central because he is the most precious among corporeal beings. In fact, Genesis teaches that God created the Earth as a habitat for man, and the Sun, Moon, and stars "for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years." It is on account of man's centrality, moreover, that the Fall of Adam could affect the entire universe. Now, it is true that the centrality of which we speak is above all metaphysical, or mystical, as one might also say; yet even so, it is in the nature of things that this "essential" centrality should be reflected cosmographically. Does not the outer manifestation invariably mirror the inner or essential reality? To suppose that man can be metaphysically central while inhabiting a speck of matter occupying some nondescript position in some nondescript galaxy - that would surely be incongruous in the extreme. Once again: it would deny the very principle of cosmic symbolism, and thus the theophanic nature of cosmic reality. To be sure, it is possible, on an abstract philosophic lane, to affirm metaphysical centrality and cosmographic acentrality in same breath; I doubt, however, that one can do so on an existential level, that is to say, in point of actual credence. To the extent that we truly believe the stipulated acentrality of the Earth, we are bound to relinquish the traditional claim of homocentrism: in reality, I say, these two articles of belief are mutually exclusive. One can, of course, pay lip-service to both, as contemporary theologians might do; but actual belief - that is something else entirely.

The objection may be raised that it is indeed possible to espouse an acentric cosmology without detriment to the rightful claims of religion; and one might point to Nicholas of Cusa by way of substantiating that contention. True enough! One needs however to understand that the Cusan cosmology is profoundly Platonic, and corresponds, once again, to an authentically esoteric point of view. Its so-called acentrality is consequently worlds removed from the contemporary relativistic acentrality, and could be more accurately termed a "pancentrality." By the same token, moreover, the Cardinal does not simply deny the geocentrist claim, as does the Galilean astronomer: in reality he transcends the geocentrist contention, and in so doing, paradoxically, justifies and founds it "in spirit and in truth." "It is no less true," declares Nicholas of Cusa, "that the center of the world is within the Earth than that it is outside the Earth"; for indeed, "the Blessed God is also the center of the Earth, of all spheres, of all things in the world." Here, in this terse and lucid statement worthy of a sanctified mind, we breathe the pure and invigorating air of a Christian esoterism. It is ever the way of authentic esoterism to "deny" only by affirming a higher truth, which contains but vastly exceeds the original claim.

It is true that the Earth enshrines the center of the universe; but so do the Sun, the Moon, and the myriad stars. Yet it is evidently the first of these recognitions that matters most to us so long as we are denizens of this terrestrial world. As I have noted before, we depend upon that recognition, that truth, for our orientation: our spiritual orientation no less than our physical.

What happens, now, when we ascend from a geocentric to an authentically heliocentric worldview: do we retain the original homocentrism? One may surmise that as we transcend the geocentric outlook, we likewise transcend the lesser theological conception of homocentrism, in accordance with the Pauline dictum: "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me."(Gal. 2:20) The resultant and indeed higher homocentrism is in reality a Christocentrism; but again, that Christocentrism is not destructive of the earlier notion, the lesser truth - even as the Christ who "liveth in me" is not destructive of the "I" that "lives." It is once again a question of levels, of hierarchy. Meanwhile the intrinsic connection between geocentrism and the lesser homocentrism endures on the plane to which either notion applies, which is none other than the plane corresponding to our human condition. Let no one therefore deny either of these notions, either of these truths, "from below": the consequences of that denial cannot but be tragic in the extreme. Such a denial of either truth affects and indeed "poisons" every aspect of human culture, beginning with the life of religion, which it undermines.

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[1] In 1909, in a ruling on “The Historical Character of the Earlier Chapters of Genesis,” the Pontifical Biblical Commission denied the validity of “exegetical systems” which exclude the literal sense of Genesis. See Henry Denzinger, The Sources of Catholic Dogma (London: Herder, 1957), 2121-2128. It is to be noted that Pope St. Pius X, in his Motu proprio of 1907, “Prestantia Scripturae”, has declared the rulings of the Biblical Commission to be binding. See Denzinger, 2113.

[2] The Philosophy of Seyyed Hossein Nasr (La Salle, IL: Open Court, 2001), 487.

[3] It may surprise some readers to learn that geocentrism still has scientific advocates. One of the best-known today is Gerardus Bouw, director of the Association for Biblical Astronomy, and editor of Biblical Astronomer, a journal dedicated to the scientific defense of geocentrism. See also his treatise Geocentricity (Cleveland: Association for Biblical Astronomy, 1992).

[4] Op. cit., 488.

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