Of Humans and Kingfishers

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

I say more: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is—
Christ—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.

By Joefrei - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=40585845

As kingfishers catch fire, what do men do? As stones ring in their roundy wells, and bells fling broad their harmonious names, what does the human do? Within the world of Hopkins’ inspiring poem––a cosmos of effortless beauty and intrinsic natural fulfillment––what is the place of the “just man”? How does he differ from the rest of the Father’s work? These ontologically defining questions are posited by the poem As Kingfishers Catch Fire, and capture a major theme of inquiry in Christian redemptive theology. The poet provokes a discussion on the deepest truths of mankind, exploring how the human being stands in relation to his final end, and illuminating the miraculous character of our resurrected identity. Hopkins eventually implies the metaphysically-shattering claim that man, unlike the dragonflies and kingfishers of this worldly creation, is not just an “effect” of the divine—but has something of God within him.

Yet the beginning tenor of the poem—the dramatic flight of the kingfishers as they ignite the first flames in the reader––does not immediately suggest these lofty claims, dealing instead with irrational or even inanimate subjects. Dragonflies, stones, bells—these are the heroes in Hopkin’s introductory lines. Their story is one of internal contentment, illustrating the beautiful process by which each creature finds fulfillment in the proper operation of its natural faculties. Hopkins observes that “each mortal thing does one thing and the same: /deals out that being indoors each one dwells.”1 The primary operation of a creature, the one “thing” it does in being itself and achieving its final end, fittingly resides “indoors” its being. The creature can find fulfillment by utilizing something inherent in its nature. This is a sensible cosmos—where creatures are aimed at goals attainable through the operation of their natural faculties. This is a world where the existential cry from the deepest depths of each being is simply, “What I do is me: for that I came” (Kingfishers, ll.8).

Yet this orderly system, where beings are merely asked to “speak and spell” themselves, is not the complete story. We, along with the poet, must “say more” if we wish to plumb the depths of God’s artistry and reach the climax of His cosmic plot. Hopkins begins this endeavor by simply saying, “The just man justices” (Kingfishers, ll.9). While this statement is not explicitly supernatural, it does constitute man’s proper operation as something greater than himself, giving him a claim to that virtue which, in the Aristotelian sense, refers to the “good” of other beings. The just man also “keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces” (Kingfishers, ll.10). Hopkins deftly uses a subtle equivocation in this line, with the “grace” that the just man keeps differing from the “grace” that will consequently be present in all his “goings.” The just man receives or “keeps” grace in the divine sense, as a gratuitous gift from God not grounded in any merit of his nature. This supernatural gift, in turn, becomes a “grace” within the “goings” of man in the sense of a beatifying element for the rest of Creation. The grace that God gives to man becomes a gift and elevation of the entire universe through man. This singular station of humanity is solidified when Hopkins reduces the identity of the just man not simply to the “speaking and spelling of his indoor being,” as in other creatures, but instead to a mysterious relationship with the vision of God. The just man “acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is” (Kingfishers, ll.11). The identity of the rational being somehow depends on “God’s eye,” and not merely the characteristics of its own quiddity.

These considerations give rise to the idea that man’s final end is beyond his reach as a created form. St. Athanasius says, “[Human beings] having as it were shadows of the Word, and being made rational, they might be able to abide in blessedness, living the true life which is really that of the holy ones in paradise.”2 He further comments on human nature, “Seeing that by the principle of its own coming into being it would not be able to endure eternally, he granted them [humanity] a further gift, creating human beings not simply like all the irrational animals...but making them according to his own image” (Incarnation, Ch.3). The idea is that we are created for a “blessedness” that is not our own, that requires some additional gift beyond our own “principle of being.” St. Thomas illuminates the issue by saying, “Since the last end of rational creatures exceeds the capacity of their nature...rational creatures are given divine aids that are not merely proportionate to nature but that transcend the capacity of nature.”3 For man to reach his destined end, God must give him more than the powers of his “indoor being.” The reason for this anomaly is clarified when St. Thomas states, “The ultimate end of an intellectual creature is the vision of God in His essence” (Compendium, Ch.104). Being rational and possessing an immortal soul, man can only be satisfied by a complete union with the intelligible source of all truth and goodness—a face-to-face encounter with his Creator’s unmasked glory. However, this type of union—that of seeing God in his essence—is foreign to the created being. It transcends the capabilities of anything less than God Himself, for He alone is able to contemplate His own infinite essence. How could man ever reach this end?

Hopkins, along with St. Athanasius, gives us the answer to this apparent paradox by revealing the true identity of redeemed mankind. “[The just man] ...acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is––/Christ––for Christ plays in ten thousand places” (Kingfishers, ll.11-12). What God sees in us, and what we consequently act as, is Christ Himself—the Word of God and the saving Messiah. Humanity’s final end, the Beatific Vision, requires that the human creature be elevated unto the divine—which is precisely the operation of the Incarnation. St. Athanasius explains, “For he was incarnate that we might be made god; and he manifested himself through a body that we might receive an idea of the invisible Father; and he endured the insults of human beings, that we might inherit incorruptibility” (Incarnation, Ch.54). In coming down to dwell among mankind and taking for Himself a human nature, Christ raised that nature even to the fulfillment of its supernatural end. Christ came that we might be made God, that we might don the splendor of his divinity and so be prepared to encounter the Father face-to-face. In the words of Hopkins, God now sees His own Son in the features of every man’s face, and the loveliness of Christ “plays” to Him through the limbs and eyes of a redeemed humanity. The visage of Christ has been engraved on the face of human nature—and such a visage is perfectly disposed to the heavenly gaze and the “life of the holy ones.”

St. Paul fittingly concludes these ideas by teaching that we are sons of God. “God sent forth his Son...so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’”4 Our plea to the Father for eternal blessedness now rises not merely from our feeble human voice, but from the salvific cry of God’s own Son. How could this plea be refused? St. Paul further states, “So through God you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son then an heir” (Gal. 4:7). We are distinct from the kingfishers and dragonflies of this earthly existence in not merely being the “creatures” of God, but in some deeper sense having God within us—just as a son possesses internally the heritage of his father. Through the metaphysically baffling, yet supernaturally beautiful, act of the Incarnation, God has brought His creature to Himself—and by again impressing His own Image on our faces, He empowers us to face Him in the ineffable love of the Beatific Vision.

Bibliography

Aquinas, Thomas. Compendium Theologiae. Translated by Cyril Vollert. Green Bay: Aquinas Institute, Inc., 2018.

Athanasius of Alexandria. On the Incarnation. Translated by John Behr. Yonkers, New York: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011.

Hopkins, Gerard Manley. As Kingfishers Catch Fire. Public Domain, Found on Project Gutenberg

1 Hopkins, As Kingfishers Catch Fire, Public Domain, Found on Project Gutenberg

2 Athanasius of Alexandria, On the Incarnation, trans. John Behr (Yonkers, New York: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011).

3 Aquinas, Compendium Theologiae, trans. Cyril Vollert (Green Bay: Aquinas Institute, Inc., 2018).

4 Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Catholic Edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004) Galatians 4:4-6