From evangelical to Episcopal, Part 4

I recently found myself in a conversation on facebook with a friend of mine from my evangelical days.  I was a youth minister at a particular church, and this friend was a recent high school graduate from the church when I knew her.  She messaged me to ask a number of questions about being Episcopalian and about my views on certain Christian themes in general.  In this series, I'll simply restate the questions I was asked and then my reply.  These are pretty off-the-cuff responses, but precisely the kind of thing a blog is for.  In other words, they're pretty rough around the edges.  

4.  Round 4 took us back to the Bible:   Is the Bible God's Word, inerrant, inspired, etc.?

My answer:


Mmm. Good one. The Bible certainly is the Word of God. Or at least it can be. The writings are inspired. They were also preserved under the providence of the Holy Spirit. And for those with ears to hear it is God's Word. That doesn't mean one follows it word for word, necessarily. It does mean one meets God in the sacred page. God's Word is, of course, first and foremost Jesus Christ. The Scriptures reveal Jesus. But not just as history. For whatever reason, the scandal of the Scriptures is nearly as great as the scandal of the incarnation. How can it be that God should use human language to convey the presence of the Word of God? Sounds very much like, How can it be that the infinite God should become finite in this one Jewish peasant at this one time?

So, the Scriptures are more than history. But they are not like the Qur'an, either. The Qur'an, according to Islamic belief, was dictated in Arabic from God (or Gabriel) to Muhammed. Therefore, each and every word is literally a word from God. Therefore, the Qur'an must be read in Arabic to be read as the words of Allah. Christians have never had a problem translating the Bible into the vernacular. If we did, we would only ever read it in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. So it must not be the Word of God in a purely literal way.

I'm not entirely sure, either, what it would mean to follow only the ideas or general principles, unless we recognize that the only general principle Christians read in the Bible is Jesus Christ. On the one hand it is about the past (Jesus of Nazareth), but on the other hand it's about the present (Christ through the Spirit), but on yet another hand it's about the future. So there is some history, but not everything in it is historical. There are some general principles and moral codes, but not all of them are ratified by the Spirit in our times (most of the laws of Leviticus, for instance).

With the early Christians, I agree that Scripture has multiple levels of meaning. There is the literal sense, of course, but also the spiritual sense. And within the spiritual sense there are allegorical, moral, and anagogical senses. In short, then, the Scriptures are "inspired by God, profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness." The Bible teaches us about God and about Christ, about who this God is that we worship, but it also teaches the way to this God and what God expects--it is a training ground for virtue. But it is also (as St. Augustine once put it) the face of God for now. The Bible is to us, as Christians, divine discourse. I'm not sure there are any hard and fast rules about how to listen to God's voice.

And that brings us to inerrancy. I think it really depends what we mean by inerrant. How can God's Word possibly err. Of course it cannot. But that doesn't mean that every bit of it is fitting for every context. Is the book of Genesis a description of the historical course of events of the Creation? I very much doubt it. Does that mean that God's Word errs? Absolutely not, unless we think it is only to be taken as a description of the historical course of events of creation. If we take it as God's Word for us, then it still conveys truth. Such as, nature is not divine in itself, but it does come from God; humans have a responsibility as stewards of creation; humans are prone to rebellion against their creator, or at the very least prone to ignoring him. In these truths, this part of the Word of God is inerrant. And, for those with ears to hear, the Bible is inerrant in its capacity to make a person a Christian--to break through the justifications and evasions of our own illusions and tell us the truth about who we are and about who God is, and about how far we are from that God who loves us, and how to return. Is it important whether God created the world in seven literal days, seven thousand years, or seven million. I don't think so. The difference between those three scenarios tells me very little about God or myself or the world we live in that makes any difference to my Christian discipleship.

So, inerrant? I don't know, because I'm not sure what that means exactly, or what context we mean it in. But certainly our final authority and, at least for Christians, the Word of God. Why do I say, "for Christians"? If it's the Word of God, it's the Word of God, right? Except the Bible CAN be read as just any other book--one truth among others. For people who read it this way, it just isn't the Word of God. It is a book written by humans, after all. That it is an inspired book, I think, requires the eyes (or ears) of faith.

From evangelical to Episcopal, Part 3

I recently found myself in a conversation on facebook with a friend of mine from my evangelical days.  I was a youth minister at a particular church, and this friend was a recent high school graduate from the church when I knew her.  She messaged me to ask a number of questions about being Episcopalian and about my views on certain Christian themes in general.  In this series, I'll simply restate the questions I was asked and then my reply.  These are pretty off-the-cuff responses, but precisely the kind of thing a blog is for.  In other words, they're pretty rough around the edges.   

3. Round three:  What are my thoughts on premarital sex?  Do all roads lead to heaven (e.g. a Buddhist who displays Christian virtues)?  How does a Christian determine his or her ethics, since the Bible can be interpreted in different ways?  And here she mentioned wanting to be able to answer her daughter's questions when she asks why she is or is not allowed to do certain things--why some things are right and others wrong.

My reply:

Let's start with the broad question of ethics. The Bible certainly can be (and is) interpreted in various ways. Even within evangelical camps. I don't know too many evangelicals who follow the 613 laws of the books of Moses. I don't even know too many who follow the Ten Commandments for that matter. So which part of the Bible is supposed to supply our ethics? There is a popular saying amongst evangelicals: the Spirit never speaks against the Scriptures. I prefer, the Scriptures never speak against the Spirit. Or better, the Spirit and the Scriptures speak together. The Bible is not self-interpreting. But it is easy to suppose our own voice to be that of the Spirit. So we need a community of the faithful who can be attentive to both the Holy Spirit and to the Scriptures and makes decisions together. In my last message, I indicated that Paul's writings on ethics are important--not so much because he tells us what is wrong, but because he tells us what is right. The fruit of the Spirit is right, the law of Christ is right, indulging the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life (in the words of James) is wrong. Why? Because the Spirit and the Scriptures agree on this.

I'm not really very interested in what is wrong or avoiding evil. I'm interested in pursuing good. Luther's famous phrase: "Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly." We can do better. In pursuing the good we may sin boldly, but by believing and rejoicing in Christ even more boldly we are being transformed into the image of God's son. And that tells us right from wrong. If we walk in the Spirit, we will do the works of the Spirit.

In short, if Jesus really is alive, then it is Jesus to whom I am accountable and Jesus who will teach me right from wrong. He will do this through Scripture by the power of his Spirit, but he doesn't ONLY teach me that way. He also teaches me in prayer and in the transforming of my heart to love as he loves.

So the answer I hope I am wise enough to give my son when he starts asking such questions is "because Jesus wants you to/doesn't want you to." That's the place to start, I think. We don't pray to someone up in the sky who left us a book of rules. He left us inspired writings that lead us to him. And who is he? We pray to someone who is up in the sky, but also all around and in our hearts and in our minds and in our bones and in the tears of the suffering and even in the joys of lovers.

So, good segue to premarital sex. I like what a theology professor of mine told his children: no mingling of bodily fluids before mingling of bank accounts. Why? Because sex is more than a fun time. Sex is a covenant. Sex is not two bodies enjoying one another (which is what our culture tends to tell us), but two persons embracing a mystery, which is a sacramental sign of God's love for us if we are not too dim to perceive it. Sex is as serious as it is delightful. Premature sex stifles our ability to see that and to take it for the sign of God's love that it is--or should/can be.

As for the Buddhist who displays Christian virtues. Perhaps we should go with the Hindu, since there is nothing in Buddhism that really prevents a practitioner from believing everything Christianity teaches. A Hindu, on the other hand, may worship Vishnu or Siva. So does this Hindu get to heaven? Will this Hindu be saved? Will an atheist be saved if they display the fruits of the Spirit? It's a good question--a God-sized question, actually. In other words, I have no idea. I'm not even entirely sure what heaven is, truth be told. I know two things. 1. The God I have experienced in Jesus Christ does not lose anything or anyone that belongs to him. God is not in the habit of losing sheep or coins; he's in the habit of finding them. 2. God desires that all be saved. God has something wonderful reserved beyond the grave. Death is a door, in a manner of speaking. But to what that door leads, I do not know.

Now, if we take those two convictions together, it is hard to imagine that God will let a little thing like praying to the wrong God or not understanding Christianity very well stand in the way of God's desire to redeem. In other words, as Christians we must dare to hope that all be saved (or we have not understood the depth of God's love or the breadth of God's mercy), even if we know that the opposite must always remain a possibility. As Paul says, at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess--in heaven, on the earth, and BELOW the earth--that Jesus is Lord. And as John tells us, whoever confesses Jesus as Lord will be saved. And yet, I suppose there may be some who do not wish to be saved. What God in his surpassing wisdom will do with those, I have only a ghost of a whisper. And I do not presume to know.

From evangelical to Episcopal, Part 2

I recently found myself in a conversation on facebook with a friend of mine from my evangelical days.  I was a youth minister at a particular church, and this friend was a recent high school graduate from the church when I knew her.  She messaged me to ask a number of questions about being Episcopalian and about my views on certain Christian themes in general.  In this series, I'll simply restate the questions I was asked and then my reply.  These are pretty off-the-cuff responses, but precisely the kind of thing a blog is for.  In other words, they're pretty rough around the edges. 

2. The second set of questions was, Do Episcopalians use the Catholic or Protestant canon?  Where do I personally and the Episcopal Church at large stand on homosexuality?  If we are welcoming of homosexuals, how does that work biblically?

My reply:

The Episcopal Church mostly uses the Protestant canon, but occasionally also uses the Apocrypha.
Homosexuality is a large issue. I would say the church generally recognizes it exists, and that homosexual Christians exist (as do, say, divorced Christians). I think the question you are asking is whether the Episcopal Church condones homosexual relationships as fitting with the way of being a disciple of Jesus Christ. The Episcopal Church at large has no official teaching as yet, and each church differs. That said, in general the Episcopal Church tends to accept the healthy expression of homosexual partnerships as compatible with Christian discipleship. (As do I.)

How does that work biblically? This could take a long time to unravel, so I will have to be brief. In short, I am not convinced that any passage in Scripture trumps any other. Jesus did not come and the New Testament was not written and canonized under the guidance of the Holy Spirit to give us more rules to follow. Jesus as often as not hung out with the outcasts, of course, and he doesn't always tell them to "go and sin no more." Biblically, the foundation of our faith and our way is love--the love of God poured out for we sinners and the love of Christ that shattered death on the cross. What are the two greatest commandments? Love the Lord your God...and love your neighbor as yourself.

I understand that Paul seems to have some harsh words for homosexuals. That is, Paul seems to think men with men or women with women is disordered desire. But I confess that I see no more nor less disordered desire in my homosexual friends who are Christian than I see in myself. (One might want to claim that any desire not directed to God is disordered, but where would that leave marriage...or the second greatest commandment?) In 1 Cor 6:9-10, Paul outlines the works of those who will not inherit the kingdom, two of which have been taken to be potentially about homosexual acts. In Galatians 5, Paul outlines a similar list of the works of the flesh (though without those questionable terms). But notice what he says after. The works of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I have met homosexuals who evince these marks of the spirit. I have met heterosexual, Bible-believing, evangelical Christians who display far more of the vices Paul mentions (fornication, drunkenness, envy, wrath, selfishness, for instance) than my homosexual Bible-believing friends. I find it hard to believe then, based on the testimony of Scripture, that these friends are not or cannot be or should not be Christians when their heterosexual counterparts are considered "good" Christians.

I will have to leave it there, but that is the short story. If we were to disqualify as Christian everyone who lusted after a woman in his heart (which is adultery in Jesus's book) or everyone who was wrathful, envious, selfish, drunken, etc. (the works of the flesh according to Paul), then we would be left with very few Christians, I think. But if we turn it around and look for the fruit of the Spirit, a relationship with Jesus, and a love for the Word, then we will still find Christians who do not think it any worse to be in a committed relationship with a member of the same sex than it is to be in the same kind of relationship with a member of the opposite sex. I take the Spirit's lead on this.

From evangelical to Episcopal, Part 1

I recently found myself in a conversation on facebook with a friend of mine from my evangelical days.  I was a youth minister at a particular church, and this friend was a recent high school graduate from the church when I knew her.  She messaged me to ask a number of questions about being Episcopalian and about my views on certain Christian themes in general.  In this series, I'll simply restate the questions I was asked and then my reply.  These are pretty off-the-cuff responses, but precisely the kind of thing a blog is for.  In other words, they're pretty rough around the edges.   

1.  So the first question:  What does it mean to be Episcopal, and when and why did I become Episcopal?  Also, when and why did my political views become liberal (or were they always)?

My reply:

First: Episcopal. The Episcopal Church is the church in America that comes out of the Anglican Communion, or the Church of England. When England colonized America (not when the Pilgrims came, but later), most of them were part of the Church of England. During the American Revolution, those Christians naturally set up their own hierarchy (since there is no separation of church and State in England). But essentially it is the same church as it was. You can read more here: http://www.episcopalchurch.org/.

Second, why I joined the Episcopal Church (in 2008). The short answer is, I learned about the history of Christianity. A slightly longer (but still not full) answer is that I learned that bishops, the creeds, and the Bible were all part of the same process in the history of the Church. So much more to talk about here, but I don't want to tax your patience. I also came to really appreciate Catholic theology. The Episcopal church is similar to Catholicism but without explicit veneration of Mary (or the Marian dogmas) and without the pope.

Third, when/why did my political views become liberal. I don't know if liberal is quite the right designation, but that seems to be where I fit in the common understanding of it. They've always basically been liberal in the sense that I think taking care of the poor and ensuring justice for all is liberal. I would rather people took care of each other than pay less taxes, for instance. My father was a factory-worker, so I believe in collective bargaining. If I were a woman I don't think I could ever choose abortion (but not being a woman, how would I know?!), but I don't think it should be outlawed. I think that does more harm than good. Fundamentally, I don't think America is a Christian country, and we do both Christianity and Americans a disservice to think of it as such.

Now in print

 My article on the motivations for Encratite prohibitions in early Christianity was published by Journal of Theological Studies in October.  The article along with the whole current issue is currently available here.  Here's the abstract:

The most prominent accounts of encratism identify it as an early Christian ascetical sect that refrained from sex, and possibly also wine and meat. Scholars usually give protological speculation as the reason for these prohibitions: the prohibition of marriage and sex is linked with speculation on the state of humanity and/or the world from the beginning of creation. This article questions that assumption, and, through a close examination of the evidence of early Christian heresiologists, possible cultural contexts, and certain apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, instead argues that encratism was marked by several motivations, of which the protological was perhaps one. The evidence from the ancient heresiologists and apocryphal Acts points to at least four potential motivations for encratite prohibitions: Hellenistic moral philosophy, demonology, social demarcation, and Pythagorean ethics.

 Also my review of Gordon Campbell's Reading Revelation was published just last month in Modern Believing.

Now in (e-)print

My review of Experientia, Volume 2 has been posted at the Review of Biblical Literature website. 


A brief excerpt:

"This volume offers an array of voices to think with, conversation partners to engage for those interested in examining ancient religious experience and the texts that reflected and elicited them. What it lacks in coherence it makes up for in verve. Experimentation may not provide the solid results we might desire, but it might just show us which paths are worth taking and which should remain untrod."

If you're interested, read the review.  If you're still interested after that, buy the book here or at Amazon. 

You're still there?

So, it looks as though I still have more traffic here than on my other blog.  At least for now, then, I'm going to double dip.  I'll be posting academic content in both places.  First up, this announcement:

What does Karl Barth have in common with John Wesley, Jacob Taubes, Stanley Hauerwas, and the Coen Brothers?  To find out take a look at what just rolled off the presses at Pickwick.

The Karl Barth Blog Conference of 2010 is now in print, including a modest contribution from myself.  If Barth interests you, you should pick up a copy.  There are some very stimulating essays in the volume.  Travis McMaken has posted the announcement over at DET.  And the book is up on Wipf & Stock's page. 

Moving Content

Dear Loyal Readers, Friends, Romans, Countrymen:

I am opening a new blog:  Didaskalikon.  I am migrating all academic content there, and will be blogging said academic content at that location.  I hope you will follow me over.  This blog will remain my personal blog, and I may make it private.  So bookmark my new blog!

See you soon!

Andy

...being rapt with the love of his beauty

God which moveth mere natural creatures as an efficient only, doth otherwise move intellectual creatures, and especially his holy angels:  for beholding the face of God, in admiration of so great excellency they all adore him; and being rapt with the love of his beauty, they cleave inseparably for ever unto him.  Desire to resemble him in goodness maketh them unweariable and even unsatiable in their longing to do by all means all manner good unto all the creatures of God, but especially unto the children of men:  in the countenance of whose nature, looking downward, they behold themselves beneath themselves; even as upward, in God, beneath whom themselves are, they see that character which is no where but in themselves and us resembled.

 Richard Hooker, The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, I.iv.1.

Pauline Soteriology: Theosis or Deification (Part II: M. David Litwa)

"Today, biblical scholarship on deification is more or less dominated by theological discourse and presuppositions.  In this climate, it is tempting to simply focus on Christian forms of deification when treating Paul.  I am convinced, however, that scholars will never understand Paul and deification until they open themselves up to honest historical inquiry about other, larger discourses of deification in the Greco-Roman world.  ...If we are going to achieve a truly historical understanding of deification in the Greco-Roman world (including Christian deification), it seems to me that scholars need to be more sympathetic to ancient forms of thought.  In modern theology, the very way we think about humans and God(s) tends to preclude deification.  ...In this study I try--as best I can--to peer behind centuries of Christian theological discourse about deification.  But the road is hard.  Some of the texts are scattered and unfamiliar.  My argument requires deep and sympathetic listening to Greco-Roman sources and the careful reconstruction of ancient modes of thought.  ...The best reader of this study is the one who will bracket later theological distinctions (e.g., the essence/energies distinction, synergy vs. sola gratia, 'natural' vs. adoptive sonship) in an effort to look at the evidence afresh and with an open mind.  Every author desires such readers, but the controversial nature of this study requires that I must ask for them" (vii-viii).

Already in the preface to his book M. David Litwa announces the difference between his approach to deification in Paul's soteriology and what he takes as the more common approach to deification in biblical scholarship.  Litwa takes a comparative, history of religions approach to the question and deliberately brackets questions raised by later theological discourse in order to understand Paul's language of deification in his historical context.  Methodologically, then, Litwa is a child of the Protestant Reformation and Enlightenment every bit as much as was F. C. Baur or Adolf von Harnack, and his study represents the continuing value of historical-critical study of early Christianity.  As with the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule Litwa undertakes to explore deification as a soteriological category for Paul not as he was later understood and employed in the Christian doctrine of theosis, but as he might have been understood in the context of the ancient Jewish and Hellenistic world of which he was a part.

Pauline Soteriology: Theosis or Deification (Part I: Ben Blackwell)

As I was entering the Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity program at the University of Virginia, I was told another entering student would be working on theosis or deification in Paul, and I thought, "That's weird."  I hope I can be forgiven such a dismissive reaction, since my interest in Paul at the time was mostly to do with the so-called apocalyptic Paul.  In Joseph Kitagawa's foreword to Peter Brown's Haskell Lectures (The Cult of the Saints), he observes, "A number of graduate students remarked to me that at the beginning of the five lectures, they had no interest in the cult of the saints at all; by their conclusion, they had more interest in that subject than in their own area of research!" (x).  I have occasionally felt the same about the work of my colleague at UVa, David Litwa.  I have already mentioned that his book, We Are Being Transformed:  Deification in Paul's Soteriology (BZNW 187; Goettingen: de Gruyter), came out earlier this year.  His intensity and tenacity in exploring the theme of deification in the ancient world and Paul is contagious.  As it turns out, though, David has not been the only one thinking along such lines.  Ben Blackwell's revised Durham dissertation, Christosis (WUNT II, vol. 314; Tuebingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011) also takes up the theme.  Indeed, there have been a few hints toward the question by Michael Gorman and Stephen Finlan, but these two volumes by Blackwell and Litwa represent the first two detailed discussions of theosis/deification as a Pauline soteriological model. One could not ask for more different approaches.  Blackwell suggests that there are two open paths for investigating the theme of theosis in Paul:  one can approach the subject either through history of religions or through history of interpretation.  Surely there are other approaches as well, but this simple schema highlights precisely the difference between Litwa and Blackwell.  In this post, and in one or two following, I will be reviewing Blackwell and Litwa, and I will offer some concluding thoughts.  Those who know my online style know that I can come off as hyper-critical.  To my mind, one of the highest compliments one can pay to an author is sharp criticism.  I trust that those under review will so take the following remarks.

David Litwa on Deification in Paul

A belated congratulations to my friend and colleague, David Litwa on the publication of his book. I read parts while it was in progress, and it is a very learned volume. Litwa's approach is certainly more historical than most approaches to deification, but precisely therein lies its value. If you are interested in Paul, I recommend you read it. I will try to post a review in the near future.

De Lubac on Platonism and Stoicism in the Bible and the Fathers

"It is a commonplace to allude to the Platonism of the Fathers in connexion with these doctrines [of the cosmic body]. But instead of invoking the Platonic doctrine of essential being, we should do better to account for them--to the extent that they are dependent at all on a philosophic basis--by looking rather to the Stoic conception of universal being. There are many expressions in Marcus Aurelius, for example, regarding the integration of the individual in the concrete totality of the cosmos, and still more concerning the reciprocal immanence of those who are participators in the Nous. But all this is of secondary importance, and we should beware of adopting the practice known in accountancy as double-entry, as so many Protestant historians do in dealing with the Fathers and the Bible. For in the Fathers they will see nothing but Hellenistic borrowings and influence, whereas in St. Paul and St. John they will find nothing but 'pure revelation' or at least 'pure religion.' So severely critical an attitude on the one hand, such naive simplicity on the other, are in fact equally the causes of their blindness.

"For in whatever degree a philosophical basis was necessary to the Fathers, were it Platonist or Stoic, their speculation was conditioned less by considerations of philosophy than by a keen realization of the needs of Christianity. How else indeed could they make the most of the metaphor of the body and its members in the great Pauline epistles if they were to leave Stoicism out of account? Or how could they interpret with accuracy the epistle to the Hebrews if first they must eliminate all trace of Platonism? In fact, they never scrupled to borrow, and that to a large extent, from the great pagan philosophers whom they held in esteem. But, wiser than Solomon, they were not led into idolatry by their philosophy, and as a modern historian, Christopher Dawson, has remarked, we must go back to St. John and St. Paul if we would understand patristic thought."

--Henri de Lubac, Catholicism (transl. Lancelot Sheppard; New York: Sheed and Ward, 1958) 9-10. (Pages 40-1 in Ignatius Press version pictured above.)

John Ashton on Demythologization

In his splendid book on the Fourth Gospel, John Ashton has some truly wonderful turns of phrases.  It is one of the most erudite and humane books in biblical studies I have ever read.  One of the hidden gems can be found in his discussion of John 1.51 ("Amen, amen I say to you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man"):

"One of the difficulties of interpreting the saying satisfactorily is that the imagination, for once, is of no avail.  Confronted with the bizarre spectacle of the angels clambering up and down on the strange new figure of the Son of Man, it seizes and stalls.  This is a common experience of twentieth-century Westerners:  as they look at myth, they feel compelled, somehow, to demythologize.  But why should a demythologized myth be any more use than dehydrated water?  The medium is the message--it does not contain it or hold it imprisoned like a genie in a bottle, waiting to be released.  Somehow, then, we have to allow the picture of the ladder, base on earth and top in the clouds, to fuse with that of the Son of man, and at the same time to allow the busily climbing angels, some going up and others going down, to convey the message with which the evangelist has charged them" (249-50).

What is that message?  You'll have to check out the book, which besides being a thoroughly humane and cultured volume, mounts an impressive interpretation of the Fourth Gospel.

Incidentally...

Remember when I posted about "Constantinianism"?  I vaguely do, so I won't blame you if you don't.  Well, I have been enjoying (when not reading about Paul or writing about the Encratites) Peter Leithart's Defending Constantine.  Leithart draws on an impressive array of evidence and scholarship in his sensitive treatment of Constantine.  Let me humbly advise all who think Constantine was the worst thing to ever happen to the church to read this book.  I'm only about one third of the way in, but so far it is shaping up to be an excellent contribution.

Why do Christians pray? Oh, right.

The monastic literature of the fourth and early fifth centuries develops the pattern of a contemplative ascent through the moral life to the perception of reason and order in creation and thence to that openness to God as God which evades all conceptual definition and is true theologia.  In other words, the person who prays is the person who both in behaviour and in understanding restores order to a disordered world, a person who makes visible the effect of submission to logos; he or she is someone who vindicates the Christian faith as a scheme that unifies the world of experience rather than fragmenting it.  And the climax of the process is an acknowledgement of the absolute difference of God:  holiness is both living in an ordered universe and recognising that this order is derivative from a reality quite uncontainable within it.  It is as if the contemplative acts out in his or her life of prayer the relation between Christ's human and divine natures.  The mature life of contemplation is an embodiment of logos (just as it might have been for a certain kind of philosopher), but that logos emanates from a reality that cannot be encompassed by rational perception, only by love and radical detachment and the silencing of analytical and imaginative activity.  Just as in Christ, a human life is transfigured from within in function of an indwelling divine agency which is in loving relation with an infinite source.  In and with Christ, the believer represents both the unshakeable order of the universe and the utter freedom and mystery of the self-giving God.

Rowan Williams, Why Study the Past?, 45-6.

Changing Educational Paradigms

Got this in an email from my sister-in-law (that still sounds weird in my ear). Fascinating. Both the animation and the talk.

Balthasar and Barth: Some suggestions

Just a brief note of frustration.  Why is it that whenever you mention Balthasar to a Barthian, they inevitably (almost nervously) remark that Balthasar was much indebted to Barth, but not vice versa?  It is true that Balthasar was more influenced by Barth than the other way around.  But it is not clear to me that Barth was a very strong influence (meaning:  source) for Balthasar's theology.  If Balthasar was more open to Barth's theology than vice versa, it may say as much about Barth's modus operandi as it does about Balthasar's indebtedness to Barth.

Although it is true that Balthasar once said of his major triptych, "I wrote it all for Barth," thus perhaps suggesting an indebtedness to Barth, one should not ignore the second half of the statement, "to convert him."  Balthasar, I suggest, was not interested in Barth because he was the genius of his age (as most Barthians would contend), but because Balthasar saw in Barth the finest, most Catholic Protestant theologian Christianity had known.  I suspect Balthasar's interest was ecumenical and conciliatory, and that he drew on Barth as a kindred theologian from the Protestant side in that capacity.  Now doubt, Balthasar admired Barth for heroically uprooting the tracks to Protestant theology just as he admired the nouvelle theologie for waking from the Thomistic slumber of Catholic theology (on which, see Fergus Kerr's excellent book).

I recently discovered a fine review of Stephen Wigley's book, Karl Barth and Hans Urs von Balthasar, by my friend John Drury.  Wigley concludes that Barth is the key influence on the eventual structure of Balthasar's triptych.  John rightly takes him to task here, mentioning the theories of McIntosh and Mongrain who find more of Maximus the Confessor, Ignatius and Irenaeus in Balthasar's thought.  Each of these has more claim to a central role in Balthasar's theology than Barth.  One influence John also failed to mention, however, is the key influence that Balthasar himself cites:  Adrienne von Speyr.  Now, Mongrain has taken Balthasar's claim to task in his attempt to demonstrate Ignatian and Irenaean themes throughout Balthasar's works.  Even so, if anyone had a claim as a key influence, surely Adrienne would be it.  Even more so, we might want to point to those who introduced Balthasar to Irenaeus and Maximus--his teachers Henri de Lubac and Jean Danielou (just to name two).  These figures of the so-called nouvelle theologie are, no doubt, every bit as strong of influences on Balthasar's thought as Barth.  So, we should keep in mind that simply because someone writes something for someone does not necessarily mean that have written it under the influence of that someone.  It has often been noted that Balthasar wrote his triptych in reverse order as Kant presented his own.  I do not think we must therefore conclude that Kant is the key influence in Balthasar's theology.

I know it is hard to believe that Karl Barth might not have influenced profoundly every theologian of note, but it is just true.  Barth was a genius in many ways, and certainly (at least to my mind) the prince of twentieth-century Protestant theologians.  But let us resist finding his genius everywhere and make room for others of similar genius.  Balthasar was one of these.  He was an incredibly talented, creative, and original thinker.  In reality, his influences lie with the whole of the German intellectual tradition (especially Idealism), with the Church Fathers, with French literary figures, and the list goes on.  Balthasar devoured philosophers, theologians, literary authors, and composers with awe-inspiring capacity and range.  While Barth, as the greatest Protestant theologian of his age, was inevitably one of those influences, he was not the only, nor even the main influence, impetus, or source for Balthasar's theological writings.  The reductio ad Barth is a severly diminished understanding of Balthasar's mind. 

And so, I offer a gentle plea to Barthians to read Balthasar on his own terms, and not through Barth-shaped glasses.  I think the exercise is well worth the exertion.

Pure Mathematics of the Spirit

"The spirits of the living world were never meant to be so neighbourly with the spirits of that other. "Grant to them eternal rest, O Lord. And let light eternal shine upon them." Let them rest in their own places of light; far, far from us be their discipline and their endeavour. The phrases of the prayers of intercession throb with something other than charity for the departed; there is a fear for the living. Grant them, grant them rest; compel them to their rest. Enlighten them, perpetually enlighten them. And let us still enjoy our refuge from their intolerable knowledge.

"As if in a last communion with the natural terrors of man, Margaret Anstruther endured a recurrent shock of fear. She recalled herself. To tolerate such knowledge with a joyous welcome was meant, as the holy Doctors had taught her, to be the best privilege of man, and so remained. The best maxim towards that knowledge was yet not the Know thyself of the Greek so much as the Know love of the Christian, though both in the end were one. It was not possible for man to know himself and the world, except first after some mode of knowledge, some art of discovery. The most perfect, since the most intimate and intelligent, art was pure love. The approach by love was the approach to fact; to love anything but fact was not love. Love was even more mathematical than poetry; it was the pure mathematics of the spirit. It was applied also and active; it was the means as it was the end. The end lived everlastingly in the means; the means eternally in the end."

From Charles Williams, Descent Into Hell, pp. 68-69

Austin Farrer, A Rebirth of Images

Austin Farrer, A Rebirth of Images (London: Dacre, 1949).

No one has applied himself to the question of the literary art of the Apocalypse with more relentlessness than Austin Farrer. The book is a masterpiece and a puzzle, at once impressive and bemusing. The entire book is dominated by the conclusion (or shall we say, conviction) that the Apocalypse “is the one great poem which the first Christian age produced” (6). Accordingly, in this study of the book of Revelation, Farrer claims “to introduce into the field of scriptural divinity a known method of poetical analysis” (20). The origins of Christianity were, in fact, a “rebirth” of the imagery of the Jewish Scriptures. The most complete rebirth was accomplished in Revelation; in John’s poetical labor, the images of the Old Testament were reborn completely with Christ as the new center. Farrer saw, more than many, the sophistication of the book. He approaches the book as a work of genius, not that of a madman, though the difference between the two has often thought to be slight. He traces the themes of the Apocalypse much like one might trace the genius of Christopher Smart’s Jubilate Agno. In fact, the result of the Farrer’s analysis is so complex and dense, one might wonder whether Farrer has seen more than is actually there.