Planes of Discovery in the Scientific Research

Jean

To seek above all the Kingdom is what allows it to be found. The Kingdom is truth itself. Yet this search must pass through distinct thresholds if it is to lead to an encounter with God. It is precisely this threefold path that the Magi reveal to us. They first go beyond the initial level, the most immediate degree of abstraction, by detaching themselves from the desire for material goods; this is expressed in their offering of gold. They then face a second challenge, that of renouncing the search for pleasure, symbolised by the offering of myrrh. Finally, they make the decisive effort to pass beyond the desire to dominate or control others. In offering incense, they allow themselves to be lifted up and drawn into God’s own plan.

At the end of this journey, they find Mary, the good soil, with the Child, the divine Seed. They adore; they love; they are immersed in God. They take on Mary’s own attitude. With their whole being, in the sense of truly receiving and containing, they embrace the Child who is God. Attention, detachment, and the offering of oneself are thus thresholds, passages from one level of reality to another, leading ultimately to God. Guided by a search that is upright and persevering, symbolised by the star, they reach the great secret: the right inner disposition and the true place, the Ark, that enables them genuinely to find their Treasure. They have sought the Kingdom with pure and steadfast hearts, or rather, the King himself. They have reached their destination. Blessed are all those who truly seek; they will indeed find.

Spiritual Theologian

What you articulate can be refined into a theologically coherent synthesis that brings together Scripture, the spiritual tradition, and an epistemological itinerary without forcing the symbols. Read in this way, the narrative of the Magi becomes a paradigmatic description of the ascent of the human person towards truth, and ultimately towards God himself.

To seek above all the Kingdom is to seek truth in its fullness, because the Kingdom is not an abstract ideal but the reign of God’s truth over the whole person. Jesus’ injunction, “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33), already implies an ordered journey of desire, purification, and transformation. The search does not bypass stages; it necessarily passes through successive thresholds that correspond both to the purification of desire and to an elevation of the intellect. Scripture itself presents this dynamic not as a theory but as a lived itinerary.

The Magi embody this path with remarkable precision. Their journey presupposes attention: they are men who watch the heavens, who remain awake to signs, who refuse dispersion. Patristic tradition consistently interprets the star as the sign granted to those who truly seek. Saint John Chrysostom remarks that the star appeared only to those who were already disposed to follow it, indicating an interior docility rather than mere astronomical curiosity (Homilies on Matthew, VI). Their attention is not passive; it is persevering, obedient, and purified of distraction. This corresponds to the first interior passage, without which no ascent is possible.

The first offering, gold, signifies a decisive rupture with the primacy of material possession. In offering gold, the Magi symbolically renounce the concupiscence of the flesh in its broad biblical sense: attachment to security, comfort, and possession. Saint Gregory the Great interprets gold as the confession of Christ’s kingship and the surrender of earthly wealth to a higher order (Homilies on the Gospels, X). At the level of knowledge, this corresponds to surpassing a purely sensible and utilitarian relation to reality. The intellect begins to free itself from domination by immediate interest.

The second threshold is more interior and more demanding. Myrrh, associated with the body and with suffering, signifies the passage beyond the search for pleasure and emotional satisfaction. The Magi accept a truth that wounds, a God who will suffer and die. This is not merely moral austerity; it is an acceptance that truth cannot be reduced to what gratifies. Saint Irenaeus already sees in myrrh the confession of Christ’s mortality (Against Heresies, III, 9, 2). Spiritually and intellectually, this corresponds to a purification of affectivity and imagination, without which the soul cannot endure the demands of truth.

The third offering, incense, marks the most subtle passage. Incense rises; it belongs to worship and signifies the orientation of the whole being towards God. Here the Magi relinquish not pleasure or possession, but mastery. The concupiscence of pride, the desire to control, explain, and dominate, is relinquished in favour of adoration. Jacques Maritain insists that access to higher truth requires a dispossession of the intellect itself: “The intellect must consent to be poor if it wishes to attain being” (A Preface to Metaphysics). Incense thus signifies entry into God’s plan rather than the imposition of one’s own.

The destination of this journey is not an idea but a place and an attitude. The Magi find Mary, whom the tradition has long recognised as the “good soil” of the Gospel parable. In her, the Word has been received without resistance, without division, without appropriation. They find the Child, the divine Seed, not as an object to be grasped but as a Presence to be adored. Matthew is explicit: “They fell down and worshipped him” (Matthew 2:11). Adoration here is the culmination of knowledge and love united.

By adoring, they adopt Mary’s attitude. They do not merely see the Child; they receive him. In a profoundly biblical sense, they “contain” him by faith. This corresponds to what the spiritual tradition describes as immersion in God rather than comprehension of God. Saint Augustine expresses this paradox succinctly: “You do not grasp God; you are grasped by him” (Sermon 117).

Attention, detachment, and self-offering thus appear not as moral exercises but as passages from plane to plane, enabling the human person to cross successive thresholds of truth. Guided by a straight and persevering search, symbolised by the star, the Magi reach the secret both of the place and of the posture required to find the true Treasure. They seek the Kingdom, but more precisely they seek the King himself. Having found him, they depart “by another way” (Matthew 2:12), for authentic encounter with truth always transforms the path of life.

“He who seeks with purity will find” is not a pious maxim but a spiritual law rooted in the Gospel itself (cf. Matthew 5:8). The Magi stand as enduring witnesses that those who truly seek the Kingdom will indeed arrive, not at an abstraction, but at God himself.

Science as a Real Quest

The deep aspect involved in Research

In his two works, “Seven Lessons on Being” and “The Degrees of Knowledge”, Jacques Maritain develops a theory of the different degrees of knowledge, understood in terms of successive levels of abstraction. It is helpful to recall these degrees before proceeding further.

Note: For reference, see Jacques Maritain, Seven Lessons on Being (trans. Gerald B. Phelan, University of Notre Dame Press) and The Degrees of Knowledge (trans. Gerald B. Phelan, University of Notre Dame Press). A reliable overview of Maritain’s epistemology is available through the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/maritain/

Here is a structured reminder of the degrees of knowledge and abstraction in Jacques Maritain, as he presents them primarily in The Degrees of Knowledge, with reference also to key elements from Seven Lessons on Being (published in English as A Preface to Metaphysics).

Maritain understands knowledge as an act of the intellect that does not stop at the mere apprehension of sensible data but seeks the intelligible foundation of what is given. As he insists, “the mind is not satisfied when it merely attains a thing, but only when it grasps that upon which that datum is founded in being and intelligibility.” This fundamental requirement grounds his distinction between different degrees of knowledge, each corresponding to a specific level of abstraction demanded by the nature of the object known. The distinction is therefore not arbitrary or methodological only, but ontological in scope. A clear synthesis of this framework is provided by the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, which remains a reliable reference for Maritain’s epistemology.  https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/maritain

In The Degrees of Knowledge, Maritain outlines a hierarchy of knowledge structured around three principal degrees of abstraction. These degrees correspond to the progressive disengagement of the intellect from matter, according to the ontological status of the object under consideration.

The first degree is that of sensible or empirical knowledge. It concerns objects as they are perceived through the senses and remains closest to concrete experience. The level of abstraction here is minimal, since knowledge is tied to particular, contingent conditions. At this stage, the intellect apprehends regularities, appearances, and empirical patterns, but does not yet reach the deeper intelligible structures of being.

The second degree is that of physico-mathematical knowledge. Here the intellect abstracts certain formal aspects from sensible things, such as quantity, number, extension, and measurable relations. Once abstracted, these objects can be conceived independently of their material substrates, even though their origin remains rooted in sensible experience. Mathematics and the mathematical aspects of natural science operate at this level. As the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy explains, this degree represents a genuine increase in abstraction while remaining indirectly dependent on the sensible order.
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/maritain/

The third degree is metaphysical or speculative knowledge. It concerns intelligible realities that are independent of matter, such as substance, act and potency, unity, goodness, truth, being as being, and the first causes. This degree requires a higher form of abstraction, because the intellect no longer relies on concepts drawn directly from sensible images but proceeds by analogy. The objects of this degree possess the highest intelligibility precisely because they are immaterial. As Maritain maintains, these objects are “those of the highest intelligibility, immateriality, and capacity to be known,” marking an ascent both in abstraction and in ontological depth. https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/maritain

A schematic formulation of these degrees, often used in pedagogical contexts, summarises the third degree as follows: “Third degree of abstraction, which is beyond the sensible: the realm of metaphysics; it practises reasoning by analogy concerning quality, substance, goodness, and intelligible realities.” While simplified, this summary faithfully reflects Maritain’s account of the intellect’s progressive ascent from sensible phenomena to being as such. https://www.dbu.edu/mitchell/abstract.html

In Seven Lessons on Being, Maritain approaches the same question from a more explicitly metaphysical and ontological perspective. He distinguishes between the sensible as immediately given, the reflective grasp of existence itself, and metaphysics properly so called, which aims at being precisely insofar as it is being (ens secundum quod est ens). Central to this work is the notion of the “intuition of being”, which Maritain presents as the point of departure for metaphysics. According to the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, this intuition implies a decisive disengagement of the intellect from sensible data in order to attain a purer intellectual apprehension of being itself. https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/maritain/

Taken together, these works articulate a coherent vision of knowledge as an ordered ascent of the intellect, guided by the intrinsic intelligibility of reality, from the sensible to the metaphysical, and ultimately towards being itself.

Jean

Can a relationship, or parallel, be established between the three degrees and the three concupiscences, and the first three types of soil in the Parable of the Sower?

Note: For biblical reference, see Matthew 13:3–9 and 13:18–23, Mark 4:3–9 and 4:13–20, and Luke 8:4–15. Authoritative English translations are available at Bible Gateway:
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+13%3A3-23
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+4%3A3-20
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+8%3A4-15

Spiritual Theologian

Yes, a parallel can be established in a coherent and theologically grounded way, provided it is clearly understood as a structuring analogy rather than a conceptual identity. The correspondence holds if the proper level of each domain is respected: epistemological in Maritain, anthropological and moral in the case of the concupiscences, and spiritual and existential in the Parable of the Sower.

In Jacques Maritain, the three degrees of knowledge correspond to three ways in which the intellect relates to reality, according to increasing levels of abstraction and interiority. In The Degrees of Knowledge, he writes that “the diversity of kinds of knowledge is due to the diversity of formal objects and to the degrees of immateriality required by these objects” (The Degrees of Knowledge, Desclée de Brouwer, 1932, p. 38). The first degree remains bound to sense experience and immediacy; the second partially disengages from it through formal intelligibility; the third requires a radical purification of the intellect in order to reach being as being.

The Christian tradition, particularly in Saint Thomas Aquinas, distinguishes three concupiscences on the basis of 1 John 2:16: “the concupiscence of the flesh, the concupiscence of the eyes, and the pride of life.” Thomas explains that these three name different modes of disordered attachment to the sensible world and to the self (Summa Theologiae, I–II, q. 77, a. 3). They are not merely moral failings, but inner forces that hinder the freedom of both intellect and will. https://www.newadvent.org/summa/2077.htm

The Parable of the Sower, as interpreted by Jesus himself (Matthew 13:1–23; Mark 4:1–20; Luke 8:4–15), describes three successive failures of the Word before it reaches the good soil. From very early on, the Fathers of the Church understood these “soils” as interior states of the human person. Origen, for example, speaks of dispositions of the soul that prevent the Word from descending into depth (Commentary on Matthew, XIII). https://www.vatican.va/archive/bible/nova_vulgata/documents/nova-vulgata_nt_evang-matthaeum_lt.html

The parallel can then be articulated in an organic manner.

The first soil, the path where the seed is immediately taken away, corresponds to a purely external relationship to reality. “The word is not understood,” Jesus says. This matches the first degree of knowledge in Maritain, where the intellect remains fixed on the sensible and on immediacy. Spiritually, this sterility is linked to the concupiscence of the flesh, understood not merely in a sexual sense but as the domination of the sensible over the soul. Saint Gregory the Great writes that “when the soul is scattered among outward pleasures, it cannot receive the seed of the word” (Homilies on the Gospels, I, 15).

The second soil, the rocky ground, receives the Word with joy but without depth; it withers under trial. This corresponds well to the second degree of knowledge, in which the intellect begins to abstract and to understand formally, yet without having achieved inner stability. Maritain notes that this level remains marked by a knowledge “still dependent on imagination and affectivity” (The Degrees of Knowledge, p. 112). The concupiscence of the eyes is connected with this stage: the desire to see, to know, to possess intellectually, without sustained existential commitment. Saint Augustine speaks of this curiositas as a subtle but real attachment that prevents truth from taking root (Confessions, X, 35).
https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/110110.htm
https://www.vatican.va/archive/bible/nova_vulgata/documents/nova-vulgata_nt_evang-lucam_lt.html

The third sterile soil, that of the thorns, is the most subtle. The Word grows, but it is choked by worldly cares and the seduction of riches. Here we stand very close to the threshold of the third degree of knowledge, yet without truly entering it. Maritain stresses that metaphysics requires a genuine interior purification: “the intellect cannot attain being except at the cost of a certain spiritual stripping” (Seven Lessons on Being, Lesson VI). The pride of life corresponds to this soil: no longer attachment to the sensible or to curiosity, but attachment to oneself, to mastery, to security. This is precisely what blocks access to the knowledge of being as gift. Saint John Chrysostom observes that this soil is the most dangerous, because it gives the illusion of fruitfulness (Homilies on Matthew, XLIV).
https://www.vatican.va/archive/bible/nova_vulgata/documents/nova-vulgata_nt_evang-marcum_lt.html
https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/200144.htm

This parallel brings to light a profound intuition: spiritual growth, the progressive liberation from concupiscence, and the ascent through the degrees of knowledge follow the same dynamic of purification and interiorisation. The “good soil”, which the parable does not count among the first three, would then correspond to what Maritain calls an intellect truly open to being, made available through humility and inner docility, which are the conditions of all genuine wisdom.

Note on Origen and the Parable of the Sower

Origen’s Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew does not survive in full for Matthew 13:1–23 in Latin or English, so direct verbatim quotations on the soil types are sparse in freely available online sources. However, what can be cited from the patristic evidence is Origen’s overall interpretive principle and at least one explicit reference to the soils as spiritual conditions of the soul, which supports the point you want to make.
Origen insists that the parables have both literal and spiritual senses, and that the spiritual sense discloses the dispositions of the soul. In Commentary on Matthew he writes, “the letters of the Gospel are not absolutely simple as some suppose, but have become simple to the simple by a divine concession; but for those who have the will and the power to hear them more acutely there are concealed things wise and worthy of the Word of God.” This emphasises that beneath the surface narrative lies a deeper spiritual meaning for those disposed to receive it. New Advent

In the exposition that survives on the parable of the sower, Origen explicitly interprets the sower and the seed as metaphors of the divine act of grace operating in the human soul: “whatsoever good things are sown in the human soul… these are the offspring of the kingdom of God and have been sown by God the Word who was in the beginning with God.” In this framework, spiritual realities — the activity of God’s Word and the resistance of opposing forces — are at work in the interior life of the soul. New Advent
Patristic commentaries that preserve Origen’s reading also confirm his characteristic interpretive approach to the soils. According to early commentators drawing on Origen’s method, the different soils represent “varying conditions or stages of the human soul’s receptivity to divine truth”, where the wayside signifies minds impervious to the Word, the rocky ground indicates superficial believers with no rootedness, the thorny soil depicts souls entangled in worldly concerns and riches, and the good soil symbolises those whose hearts are receptive and fruitful. Grokipedia

Because the Latin of Origen’s commentary on Matthew 13 itself is fragmentary and not fully accessible in free online sources, modern patristic collections such as the Catena Aurea and secondary summaries of Origen’s interpretive method are the most reliable available references for assembling quotations and paraphrases. For example, the Catena Aureareflects Origen’s hermeneutical principle that the parable’s figures correspond to states of mind or soul dispositions, even if not all specific soil interpretations are directly recorded in the extant Latin text. Bible Hub

For the biblical text of the parable itself in Matthew 13, see the Vatican Nova Vulgata:
https://www.vatican.va/archive/bible/nova_vulgata/documents/nova-vulgata_nt_evang-matthaeum_lt.html

Jean

Adoration of the Magi

I would like to add humility to the first of the three attitudes, attention. For Teresa of Ávila, in fact, the entrance to the Castle of our Soul is “humility”; it forms the very foundation of the edifice. Yet when she teaches prayer, she emphasises that the first attitude required is attention: who am I speaking to? If we follow the movement of the Magi, or the pursuit of scientific research, we immediately see that focus is essential. Persistent search, guided by rectitude and purity, allows us to cross the three thresholds—the three levels of abstraction—and to see and contemplate Jesus himself, to meet him gaze to gaze.

One of her principal recommendations for recollecting the mind, to aid this focus, is to fix our eyes upon Jesus. Once our intellect has been refined—so to speak—through the crossing of these three levels, it becomes capable of truly focusing on Jesus’ presence. Although he is invisible, the journey across the first threshold draws us inward, and if we continue faithfully, we awaken the capacity of our spirit to gaze upon him: this is a living act of faith.

If this is done with all our heart, freed from the other two desires—pleasure and control—we can begin to adopt Mary’s pure attitude, becoming capable of holding Jesus in our hands and adoring him, adoring the Divine Child.

Learning the Third Plane of Abstraction

One of the most important insights of this reflection is to understand that the human mind has the capacity to operate through abstractions—that is, to move from one plane of understanding to another. Today, in science and many philosophical approaches, there is a tendency to remain on the first two planes or degrees of abstraction: the direct observation of the reality surrounding us, and reflection upon it, as in fields like quantum physics. Indeed, physicists already operate at a level of abstraction, especially through the powerful tools of mathematics, which allow them to explore new realms and to probe the underlying structure of matter and physical reality. Yet, overall, the prevailing tendency is to remain confined to these first two levels.

Becoming aware of the mind’s capacity for abstraction—and of the necessity for flexibility in moving from one plane to another—is essential for attaining a truly global understanding of reality. A simple illustration can make this clear: if an astrophysicist observes the cosmos and declares, “I don’t see God,” they are failing to recognize the different planes of abstraction of the mind. One plane involves the observation of physical reality itself. Another involves the effort to understand its laws and mysteries through reflection and mathematical reasoning. A further level—indeed, a third or even fourth plane—considers the very existence of what is observed and its relation to God. Remaining on the first or second plane does not equip one to make claims that belong to the third or fourth; these higher planes require a distinct mode of intellectual and spiritual engagement, with the fourth being the opening of heart and mind to the personal existence of God.

Another example comes from studies of the fine-tuning of the universe. Some physicists note that the constants of nature are so precisely adjusted—down to the fifteenth decimal—that the probability of the universe arising by pure chance is vanishingly small. This is indeed striking. Yet, from such observations and mathematical calculations, one cannot conclude, “Therefore God exists; I have proof.” One must still respect each plane, and learn to move beyond the second plane of abstraction, into the third and eventually the fourth, where questions of meaning, purpose, and the personal existence of God can be properly considered.

Note:

The fine tuning of the universe

To explain the fine-tuning of the universe to something as extreme as the 15th decimal, one needs an image that conveys extreme precision, balance, and improbability. One of the most common ways physicists and philosophers illustrate this is by using analogies to human skill or chance, but on an unimaginably precise scale. Here are some possibilities:
Archery or shooting at a target: Imagine shooting an arrow at a target so small it is only one millimetre wide, from the distance of 13 billion light-years. Hitting it would require incredible precision, analogous to the constants of physics being set just right for life. The 15th decimal is like hitting that target exactly in the centre, not a fraction off, every single time.
Typing a specific text by chance: It’s sometimes compared to having a blindfolded monkey type a meaningful Shakespearean sonnet, but to the 15th decimal, this would be like typing the entire works of Shakespeare perfectly, not once, but every time you tried, without a single error.
Locking multiple tumblers perfectly: Imagine a lock with billions of tumblers, and the key has to fit exactly in every single tumbler simultaneously. The 15th decimal is like each tumbler having a tolerance smaller than a single atom, and the key somehow matching it perfectly. One tiny deviation, and nothing works.
Walking on a razor’s edge across continents: Picture walking across the Earth on a tightrope so narrow that the margin for error is a single atom in thickness, and if you step one atom off, you fall off entirely. The constants of the universe are balanced with this level of exactness, making life possible.
In general, what one is trying to convey is that the universe’s parameters are so finely balanced that they are almost unimaginably unlikely to happen by chance—they are precise enough to allow stars, planets, and life to exist.

The effects of the fine tuning on life on earth

Once we move from the fine-tuning of the universe itself to the fine-tuning required for life on Earth, the level of precision becomes even more astonishing. It’s not just the cosmic constants, but the exact combination of conditions on our planet that allows life to exist. A shift in the 15th decimal, metaphorically speaking, would make the difference between a world teeming with life and a sterile, uninhabitable planet.
Consider a few dimensions of this tuning:
1. Orbital and planetary conditions: Earth’s distance from the Sun, its orbital eccentricity, tilt, rotation rate, and even the size of the Moon—all these factors are finely calibrated. If the orbit were slightly closer or further away, or the axial tilt a tiny fraction different, the climate would either be too hot, too cold, or too unstable for complex life. A shift of a fraction of a percent in any of these parameters could eliminate the possibility of liquid water, a fundamental requirement for life as we know it.
2. Atmospheric composition: The ratio of oxygen to nitrogen, the presence of trace gases like carbon dioxide, and the total atmospheric pressure are all crucial. Slight changes could either asphyxiate life, prevent photosynthesis, or trigger a runaway greenhouse or icehouse effect. Imagine adjusting the oxygen content by even a tiny fraction: life dependent on aerobic metabolism could not survive.
3. Geological and magnetic factors: The Earth’s magnetic field protects life from solar and cosmic radiation. Plate tectonics regulate carbon dioxide over long timescales, stabilising climate. Even tiny deviations in core composition or tectonic activity could disrupt this balance, leaving the planet either scorched or frozen.
4. Water and chemistry: Water’s unique properties—its liquid range, surface tension, and density behaviour—allow for life’s chemistry. A slight change in physical constants would make water freeze or evaporate at temperatures incompatible with life. Similarly, the chemistry of carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus, and other elements must fall within extremely narrow ranges to support biochemistry.
All of this means that the planetary “sweet spot” for life” is exceedingly narrow. To use an image: if the universe’s constants are an arrow hitting a target the size of a millimetre across 13 billion light-years, then Earth’s life conditions are like threading a needle with a thread one-billionth the width of a hair—and if it slips even slightly, life cannot exist.

Philosophically, this suggests that the cosmos and the Earth are not just generally life-friendly; they are precariously balanced in multiple dimensions simultaneously. The implication is not only awe at the improbability but also recognition that life is not a generic outcome—it requires an astonishingly precise orchestration of physical laws and planetary conditions.