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The Liturgy of Theory: Lessons on Beauty and CraftCHRISTOPHER A. DUSTINThe Tangeman Lecture delivered April 27, 2003 I.We are familiar with theories of liturgy. What could it mean to talk about the liturgy of theory? Leitourgia originally meant public service or, more literally, public work (from the Greek, leitos-ergon)—work that was customarily associated with the celebration of religious festivals. Today, "liturgy" refers almost exclusively to the concrete observances of divine worship. Liturgy is practical, something one does (or that many do). Theory is ..."theoretical. " To theorize about liturgical practices is not to participate in them. It is to observe and reflect upon them. Theory is not itself a form of divine worship. This is the way we are used to thinking about the relation between theory and liturgy, reflection and practice. My aim, in this lecture, is to recall us to a different way of thinking. Since the one I have just outlined is essentially modern, I will be drawing on ancient (even pre- Christian) sources. For the most part, I will be asking you to join me in an attempt to recollect the etymological and experiential roots of words whose meanings we now take for granted. The primary motivation behind this effort is to arrive at a deeper understanding of what it could mean to talk about something we seem to have little trouble talking about. If the liturgy of theory is difficult for us to conceptualize, contemplative practice should be just as difficult. While a great deal has been said about contemplation as something one does, still there is room to wonder about what it could really mean to talk about contemplation as being practical. There is a pressing need, I believe, to ask what the philosopher-theologian, Josef Pieper, could have meant when he wrote that:
The same gap that separates liturgy from theory, doing from thinking, service (or work) from speculation, makes contemplation seem merely theoretical. This is most obvious where contemplation takes the form of philosophical reflection, which, for Aristotle, was not only the study of divine things, but was itself a divine activity or way of life.2 Philosophy has now drifted almost entirely from its contemplative origins. But forms of contemplative activity that are still more closely associated with religious practice are conceptualized in the same way. "To contemplate," Pieper says, "means first of all to see."3 In response to the question, Why are you here on earth? What were you born to do?, the Greek philosopher, Anaxagoras, was supposed to have said: "to behold the sun, the moon, and the heavens."4 How are we to understand, let alone embrace, such an impractical answer to such a vital question? How are we to make sense of Teilhard de Chardin's claim that "all life is contained in the act of seeing"? 5 What could it mean to practice these ideas? |
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