Eternity as Uninterrupted Flow: A Reflection on Heaven, Ecstasy and the Difficult Work of Being-in-Time

  

Abstract

In Western philosophy and theology it is traditional to think of movement as an imperfection, as a sign that something lacks being (ousia). There is movement in time and only in time. In eternity, which is timeless duration, there is no movement. In the following this formula is inverted and an alternative sense of “movement” explored. Time impedes movement; eternity is unimpeded flow. In time it is possible to step back, to hold oneself in reserve, to change one’s mind, to have a charge of heart. To renew one’s devotion to God. To initiate once more one’s love for God. To build a character. To add merit upon merit. But when our time is over and we enter into eternity, our real movement begins. From this point on there is an unending movement in which what we are manifests itself continually and necessarily. If by “movement” we mean change or process then there is no movement in eternity. But “movement” can also mean flow. In time alone it is possible for things to have stasis—for things to hold themselves back, for the natural flow of things to be impeded. Stasis is an imperfection, a lack of ek-stasis. Eternity is uninterrupted movement/flow.

 

Eternity as Uninterrupted Flow

In the next life our fundamental orientation cannot be altered. The trajectory of our will remains fixed; we are unable to veer further up or down, further to the left or to the right. The condition in which we find ourselves after death determines the direction we go. We soar or sink toward our heart’s treasure. Such, at least, is the majority Christian view.[1]

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Mt 6:21, NIV)

In the next life there is no such thing as “movement”, if by that we mean a change of heart—either conversion to the light or a falling away. Nonetheless, in heaven there is a continual unfolding of who we are in relation to God and others. (Is there some sort of dynamic “unfolding” of things in hell? I don’t know. I’m not interested in that here). The unfolding of things in heaven is never exhausted. Manifestation follows upon manifestation for all eternity, in an ending act of parousia (the full presence of God and His Truth).

In heaven there is uninhibited dynamism and activity. How could it be otherwise, given that, in the words of Hans Urs von Balthasar, the triune God is eternal Ereignis, unending Event of Love? In heaven we orbit around God. Or rather, we spiral ever-inward into the infinitesimal centre of God. We plummet forever into God the absolute vortex, God the thrice-holy “white hole” at the centre of everything. As flames of love we fall into God helplessly, and our helplessness is beatitude, ecstasy, unspeakable joy.

But in time our movement into the Good (or into sin) is discontinuous. It is broken up into discrete, accumulated moments of decision. Time thrusts us forward, again and again, into the next test, the next situation. What will I choose? Will I accept this grace or reject it? Will I continue in this fashion or change course? Will I succumb to this temptation or will I resist? Will I take the path of least resistance, following my weaker nature? Or will I obey the promptings of grace? Only on rare occasions in this life does a person completely “lose herself” in ecstasy—and when she does, it is only for a while. The ecstatic “loss of oneself” is never perfect in this life, as it is for those in the full presence of God.

We do not want to be annihilated. But we do want to lose ourselves in love. Our fundamental desire to “let ourselves go” in response to the ultimate Good defines us as persons made in the image of God. The state of holding ourselves in reserve, in distrust, in existential uncertainty, or in regimented self-control—that is not our destiny. The condition of having to choose to give oneself over, again and again each moment, in a renewed expression of our commitment to love, over-against whatever resistance remains in our nature—that is not our final destiny either.

Is this the predicament that lovers are attempting to overcome in their erotic love—the predicament of being-in-time? Is this the motivation for the various addictions and other attempts to achieve some form of ecstasy or state of complete rest? Our desire to be immersed in the flow of eternity, no longer journeying through time as a pilgrim? We tire from walking. Constantly overcoming gravity and friction can be gruelling work. We want to let go and stop fighting. We want to fall and glide. The alcoholic reaches for a bottle of wine. The porn addict falls into a moving image. And so on. We are looking for uninterrupted flow; we want to fall into a single object or experience and let everything go. We need consolation for the struggle of being-in-time. There is pain and tension in not being able (yet) to lose oneself.

This is why hope is necessary. Without the supernatural virtue of hope, could any of us delay the spiritual gratification of total release? Could any of us resist the temptation to lose ourselves prematurely and plummet into some inner-worldly object?

Perfect freedom is being so possessed by the divine Beloved that one no longer has free-will. To be sure, volition remains in the next life. Acts of the will shall continue in eternity. We repeat our loving “yes” to God and to everything He loves, over and over, forever. But this “yes” is not a free-will decision against a possible “no”. In heaven, “no” is no longer possible. The “yes” emerges from us necessarily; it is a wave surging through us unstoppably. It is indeed our yes—we put our personal stamp on the love that flows through us. We do the agreeing, the affirming, the loving, the consenting (though it is God who does all this in first place—we add our names in second place). But in heaven there is nothing left in us by which we could possibly resist the incessant waves of love surging through our being. In that state of perfection (perfect holiness), what could possibly impede the flow of love into us and through us? What could halt the flow of our praise?

In heaven we can no longer “stand back” and choose between various options. We cannot hold some calculating mind or self-determining liberty in reserve. The time for decision-making between good and evil—or between stronger and weaker correspondence to grace—is over. Everything we do and say in heaven is ours (this “doing” is not work, for there is nothing left to overcome within or without ourselves). To be sure, all of our doing and saying in heaven is, in the first place, the doing and the saying of God—God acting in us, God passing through us and back to Himself. God loving Himself, God uttering Himself in and through His beloved creatures. Even so, everything that happens to us and in us and through us—all of this is willed by us. It happens freely. We allow it to happen. But our allowing happens necessarily—we cannot do otherwise. And this is our joy, this is our true freedom—that we cannot do otherwise than love, for all eternity.

This is consummate union with the Beloved: having neither the slightest impurity nor the slightest capacity to hesitate or swerve in our love for Him. Finally, a person now is a lover of God—she has been given ousia, confirmed in unchanging being. Whereas in time, the person had to choose again and again to love God, merely imitating the eternal form, the ousia of the lover. In time, the eternal flow of love—the unending, continuous, ecstatic and necessary movement of love—is merely hinted at in and between the moments. We touch upon that flow and begin to be drawn into its movement whenever we behold someone beautiful or participate in something glorious; our soul then sprouts wings (as in Plato’s Phaedrus); we recall the ecstatic flow for which each of us is destined. Perfect flow is the absence of hesitation, the absence of self-reserve, the ecstatic inability to hold anything of oneself back. It is the total involvement of oneself—the ecstatic breaking-forth releasing every last drop of the mystery of our being—in the unending Now of Love. A perfectly fluid yielding of oneself, a maximal fluidity that is impossible as long as we are in time. In time we choose and shape our final condition in step-wise fashion; in eternity our final condition unfolds and we plummet helplessly into our heart’s treasure.

Moments in time are divided from each other, thus breaking up the flow of eternity. Eternity still manages to break into time; even now we can begin to participate in its flow. By grace—and what grace!—we are allowed to “practice” that flow for ourselves, as apprentice saints. Yet free-choice remains, and the glory of eternity is shrouded (these two facts are connected). We enter into the flow but we can also drop out of that flow again in some way. The flow of the Holy descends into our midst—but then withdraws. Mundane realities and practical necessities impose themselves again. Perhaps the grace was only given to us for a certain time. Or perhaps we begin to reflect too much on ourselves, or on peripheral things—or worse, we begin the descent into sin. In any case, to be wholly and continually immersed in—and completely unable to withdraw from—the perfect flow of eternity is our final destination. It is not our experience of being-in-time.

There is a sense, then, in which time interrupts movement. In time it is possible to step back, to hold oneself in reserve, to change one’s mind, to have a charge of heart. To renew, time and again, one’s devotion to God. To initiate once more (in response to God’s prevenient grace) one’s love for God. To build a character. To add merit upon merit—or to heap coals upon our heads.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. (Mt 6:19-20, NIV).

But when our time is over, and we enter into eternity, our real movement begins. It is an unending movement in which what we are (in relation to God and others) manifests itself continually and necessarily.

The continual unfolding of oneself before God and with others cannot be stopped. All the same, it is the person who wills it. A person wills this manifestation necessarily, forever, on the basis of who and what he is. This manifestation of oneself does not take any glory away from God. For the creature who speaks and acts on the basis of holiness—the dignity of every citizen of heaven—glorifies God in everything.

If by “movement” we mean change or process (including the process of maturing) then there is no movement in eternity. But “movement” can also mean flow. And this precisely is what eternity is: uninterrupted flow.

 

 

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[1] For a Catholic articulation see the Catechism of the Catholic Church §§393, 1023-1029, 1033-1037. For the view of Thomas Aquinas, refer to Summa Contra Gentiles Book 4, §95 or this useful commentary by Edward Feser.