In the parish where I live, a copy of an icon of the Trinity by Andrej Rublev was put on display some time ago. The artist, a Russian monk, lived during the 15th century when his country was overrun by barbarians.
He was deeply troubled by the suffering of his people and made the icon in an attempt to help them find solace in contemplation of the Trinity. His icon has been described, rather beautifully, as "a window on eternity".
While today's world may not be overrun by barbarians as such, people in many countries are suffering as deeply as they did in Rublev's time. Apart from the horrors of what has happened in places like Kosovo, East Timor and Chechnya, there is the ongoing poverty of underdeveloped nations.
Is there any credible sign today of "a window on eternity" which might give us hope as we struggle in a new century to make sense of our lives and those of our fellow human beings? Perhaps what we need is something that points to a reality beyond the visible world but which is at the same time firmly rooted in what is perceptible.
The French philosopher, Gabriel Marcel, in his book Being and Having refers to the principle of inexhaustibility in the world. He reminds us of Nietzsche's view that joy is bound up with feelings of something inexhaustible, and refers to St Augustine's comment that "whatever comes to an end is too short".
Most people agree that the key to the mystery of the universe, its origin and destiny, is not to be found within the cosmos itself. Granted, some people never, or seldom, think about it; they just get on with their lives. Others, however, seek to find an answer, either through their own spirituality or through one of the world's great religions.
Whether seeking answers or not, the human spirit does seem to long for something that will last, the inexhaustible. Why? It cannot be a longing for something totally unknown or outside human experience. That would be like a fish wanting to ride a bicycle or a dog wanting to go to Trinity College. It must be a longing for an experience that points beyond itself but which at the same time strikes a chord deep in the here and now.
From time to time, our lives are touched by experiences which perhaps could qualify as windows on eternity. No doubt these experiences vary very much from person to person, but there are some which speak to our common humanity. For example, music lovers are indebted to RTE for Lyric FM. Favourite pieces have a timeless quality which is reassuring and suggests a deeper level of reality that is somehow familiar.
On a flight to Britain, I was struck by the ingenuity of those who could create such wonderful machines as aeroplanes. The marvellous sensation when the aircraft gathers speed for take-off is almost as thrilling as the moment when it breaks through the clouds into the blue heavens. Leaving the earth below brings home the reality of the vastness of space - a window on eternity not available to Rublev in the 15th century.
WE CAN also touch the inexhaustible in true friendship. The deep feeling of security we experience in the space formed by mutual esteem has an eternal quality. And a lapse of time between encounters does not diminish the profound regard friends have for each other.
The extravagance of nature is another hint at the depths which underlie the visible world. Niagara Falls never runs out of water, and it is the cutting down of tropical rainforests, rather than meanness on the part of nature, that has been responsible for the dustbowls of the world.
Ireland must have more shades of green than any other country in the world, a compensation perhaps for the rather generous supply of rain.
Someone with faith in a creator, like the poet William Blake, has no problem seeing the connections between this world and what lies behind it. He expresses it so well: To see a world in a grain of sand/And Heaven in a wild flower,/Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,/And eternity in an hour.
Those without faith tell us that the world "just is" and that we are stuck with it. When we suffer the loss of a loved one, however, we plumb the depths. The anguish seems meaningless and endless. To be told that loss "just is" is far short of a satisfactory answer.
Surely the human mind is capable of exploring possibilities which do not contradict reason but go beyond it? For those without faith in a creator, another kind of faith is required to make any sense of life.
Teilhard de Chardin, in his Le Milieu Divin, speaks of his discovery of the psychological truth that "no one lifts his little finger to do the smallest task unless moved, however obscurely, by the conviction that he is contributing infinitesimally (at least indirectly) to the building of something definite". Small children at play, for instance, often show by their concentration a sense that they are involved in a serious task which is no doubt as obscure to them as it is to us.
This kind of experience is open to believers and non-believers alike. The bees in a hive and the ants in an anthill are working together to build something greater than any one bee or ant realises. What if we are building something magnificent despite all our messing, which will someday be revealed to us? Maybe we are just like a fly on Rublev's "window on eternity"?
Helen Costello lives in Dublin