Justin Welby, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, may have to confront this year the possible break-up of the world-wide Anglican communion. Perhaps the splendid letter from Seneca the Younger (AD 1-65), sketching a pagan take on religious feeling, will suggest a way ahead.
After discussing the divine spirit ‘which guards us and watches us in the evil and the good we do’, he turns to nature: ‘Imagine you come across a dense wood of exceptionally tall, ancient trees that shut out all sight of the sky with thick screens of overlaying branches. Its loftiness, its seclusion and your wonderment at finding so deep and unbroken a gloom out in the open, will prove the presence of a deity. Likewise, an impressive cave hollowed out deep into a mountain, produced not by the labours of men but the processes of nature, will strike into your soul some kind of inkling of the divine. We venerate the sources of important streams; places where a mighty river bursts suddenly from hiding are provided with altars; hot springs are objects of worship; the darkness or unfathomable depth of pools has made their waters sacred.’ It is the singularities of nature that create and demonstrate the presence of the numinous. So if you meet a man ‘never terrified by dangers, never touched by desires, happy in adversity, calm in the midst of storm … will not a feeling of veneration for him come over you?’
However that may be, we see here no creeds, no centrally controlled political structure; just manifestations of ‘the divine’ for all to appreciate. Ancient religions were very good at providing channels to the divine while also promoting the general social cohesion so beloved by all the Revd Lucys and Gileses, and without demanding any particular set of beliefs either.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in