The Sound of Divine Hunger
A Note of Messiaen’s Le Banquet Céleste
Photo by Antonin DISPERATI on Unsplash
One of the shortcomings of open and relational theology is that it can under-emphasize Divine Majesty in its understandable aspiration to critique classical notions of Divine Omnipotence. The risk is that the very soul of the universe—the Spirit—becomes overly domesticated, like a “good buddy in the sky.” Whitehead, in his way, and the composer Olivier Messiaen, in his, can help us overcome this shortcoming by reminding us that there is indeed a majesty in God—a majesty that is neither coercive nor sentimental, but grounded in creative order and transcendent beauty.
- Jay McDaniel
I have often wondered what it sounds like when the primordial nature of God orders the eternal objects independently of any relationship to the universe as we know it: a universe of atoms and molecules, stars and planets, and, at least on our small planet, sentient beings who enjoy and suffer. God is hungry for some kind of satisfaction—hungry that the potentialities be actualized. And out of this slow, aching hunger, God orders the potentialities so that there might be a universe.
Whitehead describes this primordial act in strikingly appetitive terms, adding that there is a kind of tenderness in the divine appetite, yet directed toward individual moments of experience, not structured organisms that might be preserved:
“The primordial appetitions which jointly constitute God’s purpose are seeking intensity, and not preservation. Because they are primordial, there is nothing to preserve. He, in his primordial nature, is unmoved by love for this particular, or that particular; for in this foundational process of creativity, there are no preconstituted particulars. In the foundations of his being, God is indifferent alike to preservation and to novelty. He cares not whether an immediate occasion be old or new, so far as concerns derivation from its ancestry. His aim for it is depth of satisfaction as an intermediate step towards the fulfilment of his own being. His tenderness is directed towards each actual occasion, as it arises.”
(Process and Reality, 105)
What does this primordial appetition—this yearning for intensity—sound like? I think it sounds like Le Banquet Céleste by Olivier Messiaen (1908–1992). You can hear the piece above and also below.
Messiaen was a highly influential French composer, organist, and teacher whose music is distinguished by its deep engagement with mystical and religious themes. This page focuses on one of his compositions, Heavenly Feast (Le Banquet Céleste), and offers a process (Whiteheadian) interpretation of the work, in the hope that it will inspire others to listen—and to interpret—for themselves. The piece lasts about seven minutes.
Its slow unfolding suggests to me a measured but intense longing—a kind of hunger that moves without motion. Each sustained chord seems to hover at the threshold between silence and sound, as if waiting for a world to begin. The music feels less like an act of expression of emotion than an act of ordering: tones quietly arranged, possibilities gently aligned. In this sense, Le Banquet Céleste can be heard as a sonic expression of divine yearning—an echo of the primordial decision itself, the first gesture of divine desire shaping potentiality into form.
Yet there is another way to hear it. The piece was written to evoke the ritual of Holy Communion in its eternal and everlasting significance as a divine feast. From a process perspective, there truly is such a feast: it is the consequent nature of God, encompassing the entire universe within its transformative scope. The consequent nature can be understood as perpetual transubstantiation—the divine reception in love and the transformation, indeed the apotheosis, of all that is into the divine life. In this sense, Le Banquet Céleste can also be heard as a sonic expression of divine satisfaction—a quiet, sound of completion, of all things gathered into harmony and joy.
Messiaen was a highly influential French composer, organist, and teacher whose music is distinguished by its deep engagement with mystical and religious themes. This page focuses on one of his compositions, Heavenly Feast (Le Banquet Céleste), and offers a process (Whiteheadian) interpretation of the work, in the hope that it will inspire others to listen—and to interpret—for themselves. The piece lasts about seven minutes.
Its slow unfolding suggests to me a measured but intense longing—a kind of hunger that moves without motion. Each sustained chord seems to hover at the threshold between silence and sound, as if waiting for a world to begin. The music feels less like an act of expression of emotion than an act of ordering: tones quietly arranged, possibilities gently aligned. In this sense, Le Banquet Céleste can be heard as a sonic expression of divine yearning—an echo of the primordial decision itself, the first gesture of divine desire shaping potentiality into form.
Yet there is another way to hear it. The piece was written to evoke the ritual of Holy Communion in its eternal and everlasting significance as a divine feast. From a process perspective, there truly is such a feast: it is the consequent nature of God, encompassing the entire universe within its transformative scope. The consequent nature can be understood as perpetual transubstantiation—the divine reception in love and the transformation, indeed the apotheosis, of all that is into the divine life. In this sense, Le Banquet Céleste can also be heard as a sonic expression of divine satisfaction—a quiet, sound of completion, of all things gathered into harmony and joy.
“In God’s nature, permanence is primordial and flux is derivative from the World: in the World’s nature, flux is primordial and permanence is derivative from God. Also the World’s nature is a primordial datum for God; and God’s nature is a primordial datum for the World. Creation achieves the reconciliation of permanence and flux when it has reached its final term which is everlastingness—the Apotheosis of the World.” (Process and Reality, 348)
Apotheosis is much like transubstantiation—the turning of bread into the body of Christ, or the turning of the world into God. Indeed, it is possible that we ourselves can and do taste this apotheosizing side of God.
Apotheosis is much like transubstantiation—the turning of bread into the body of Christ, or the turning of the world into God. Indeed, it is possible that we ourselves can and do taste this apotheosizing side of God.
"For the kingdom of heaven is with us today. The action of the fourth phase is the love of God for the world. It is the particular providence for particular occasions. What is done in the world is transformed into a reality in heaven, and the reality in heaven passes back into the world. By reason of this reciprocal relation, the love in the world passes into the love in heaven, and floods back again into the world. In this sense, God is the great companion—the fellow-sufferer who understands." (Process and Reality, (Process and Reality, 390)
I suggest, then, that this organ piece sings of both realities: the slow, aching hunger of the primordial decision and the pleromatic satisfaction of the divine feast. Thus it combines a sense of unfathomable majesty (the primordial nature) with tender transformation (the consequent nature) - a transformation in which we, too, may participate, when we taste and embody love.
Listen. You may hear both, or something still different.
- Jay McDaniel
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