Laughter of the universe!
That’s what Dante calls it when all the blessed suddenly burst out in a song of glory. He’s just passed his examinations on faith, hope, and love, given him by Saint Peter, Saint James, and the beloved disciple, Saint John, and then — only then — did he speak to “our ancient father Adam.” Since he was Dante, he wanted Adam to teach him about a few things. How long ago was it when Adam was in Paradise? (6,232 years.) What was the real sin when he ate the forbidden fruit? (Trespassing the mark God set for him.) What language did he speak? (It wasn’t Hebrew, as Dante used to insist. What it was, says Adam, was long gone even before the Tower of Babel.) How long did he live there? Six hours. Six hours! That sure was quick. That would put the temptation at noon — think of “the devil of the noonday sun.”
That’s how Canto 26 of the Paradiso concludes. On a sad note? Not at all! Redemption is not sad. And Christian comedy is essentially the comedy of redemption: of the prodigal son who comes home, and the father doesn’t wag his finger and say, “It’s about time. Get those filthy clothes off and we’ll talk.” He embraces the boy, he kisses him, he tells the servants to get him rings for his fingers and shoes for his feet, and to slay the fatted calf, so that they can all feast and be merry. It’s the comedy of Saint Paul, dazzled blind as he’s on his way to Damascus to persecute the Christians there, and the Lord Jesus says to him, “Saul, it’s hard for you to kick against the pricks,” meaning, “Saul, my fine fellow, you sure are one stubborn jackass!” But that’s when Saul receives his commission to go preach to the Gentiles, so they may have their sins forgiven. By the way, his Roman name Paul means “Shorty” — the Romans were like that, giving people comically unflattering nicknames, so to speak, and a lot of Italian surnames are in the same category: Calvino (Baldy), Malatesta (Headache), De Angelis (From the Angels — that is, we don’t know who your father is!).
Anyway, you might think that after Adam ends that canto with that rather surprising bit about living in Eden for one morning, there would be some somber soul-searching and serious faces and all. Not in the slightest! Here is how Canto 27 begins (and yes, sure, the translation is mine):
“To Father and to Son and Holy Ghost,”
sang all the heavens, “glory!” — filling me
with drunken joy; it seemed what I beheld
Was laughter of the universe, the glee
of laughter whose inebriating swell
enters by what you hear and what you see.
O joy! O happiness ineffable!
O riches safe, no worry of desire!
O life of love and peace, perfect and full!
There’s laughter at people who are lower than you are: that’s the kind of laughter that Aristotle said was at the heart of comedy. He didn’t have redemption in mind, and how could he? There’s laughter at yourself, which is usually a friendly thing; I’ve always suspected men who never tell stories about when they played the buffoon, even if it’s a sort of heroic buffoonery. There’s laughter with other people, which is really enjoyable, because you let down your guard and you’re free to enjoy the silliness of this life of ours.
And then there is pure laughter, the spontaneous effervescence of joy. You’ll never know it if you’re thinking about yourself. “Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly,” said that merry genius, G. K. Chesterton. Portray angels as birds? Chesterton said that Fra Angelico nearly portrayed them as butterflies! “It is easy to be heavy,” he says, but “hard to be light. Satan fell by gravity.”
So our Hymn of the Week is one of rejoicing. That’s the heart of the command, “Remember the Lord’s day, to keep it holy.” Sullen, growling, nervous, grasping, distracted mankind needs to be reminded, needs even to be commanded, to feast! If you don’t think so, I’d like to ask you when was the last time you heard somebody walking down the street whistling a merry tune. Or the last time you heard somebody singing while hoeing the garden or painting the house or baking a loaf of bread. We should be hearing these things all the time.
Charles Wesley was a superb hymodist for joy. He wasn’t a reformed and repentant slave-trader, like John Newton. He didn’t suffer terrible bouts of depression, like William Cowper. Nor did he always write about joy and peace; I don’t want to give that impression. But I can’t for the life of me imagine Newton or Cowper writing, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” In this hymn today, Wesley takes to heart Saint Paul’s command to the church at Philippi: “Rejoice in the Lord always! And again I say, rejoice!” Don’t be troubled at heart. Let your needs be known to God, and then your heart shall know “the peace of God, which passes all understanding.”
One word about the melody: it was composed by the Rev. John Darwall, who set to music all 150 of the psalms rendered into English verse by Nahum Tate and Nicholas Brady. The melody we have here is thus called Darwall’s 148th, meaning the one he wrote for Psalm 148. That’s one of the most joyful of all the psalms: “Praise ye the Lord!” it begins, or, as it is in Hebrew, “Hallelu-Jah!” To say that Darwall’s 148th cheerful is an understatement. It soars.
Once again we enjoy today’s hymn from our friends at the Sun Valley Church, with their amazing example of what congregational singing should sound like. God bless them!
1 Rejoice, the Lord is King, Your God and king adore; Mortals, give thanks and sing, And triumph evermore! Lift up your hearts! Lift up your voice, Rejoice, again I say, rejoice! 2 Jesus the Savior reigns, The God of truth and love; When he had purged our Stains He took his seat above. Lift up your hearts! Lift up your voice, Rejoice, again I say, rejoice! 3 His Kingdom cannot fail, He rules o'er Earth and Heaven; The keys of Death and Hell Are to our Jesus given. Lift up your hearts! Lift up your voice, Rejoice, again I say, rejoice! 4 He sits at God's right hand Till all his foes submit, And bow to his command, And fall beneath his feet. Lift up your hearts! Lift up your voice, Rejoice, again I say, rejoice! 5 He all his foes shall quell, Shall all our sins destroy, And every bosom swell With pure seraphic joy. Lift up your hearts! Lift up your voice, Rejoice, again I say, rejoice! 6 Rejoice in glorious hope; Jesus the judge shall come, And take his servants up To their eternal home. Lift up your hearts! Lift up your voice, Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!
Word & Song by Anthony Esolen is an online magazine devoted to reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true. We publish six essays each week, on words, classic hymn, poems, films, and popular songs, as well a weekly podcast, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. To support this project, please join us as a free or paid subscriber.
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I feel transported to the heavenlies by this swelling melody.
I think I heard this sung in a small Methodist Church in Missouri many years ago. My grandparents lived next door and I thought I would drop in one Sunday during a visit. I may have been hoping to hear something about John Wesley, who I admire. I was in luck because unbeknownst to me it was Aldersgate Sunday, which in the Methodist tradition commemorates and celebrates an experience of heavenly consolation received by John Wesley when he was in the Aldersgate neighborhood of London in 1732. I take it this was a defining moment in his life. The hymn is appropriate for commemorating such an experience.
I like the way you phrased this: What was the real sin when he ate the forbidden fruit? (Trespassing the mark God set for him.)