The Poor In Spirit

Alvin Yalong Rapien, MTS Fort Worth, TX Co-Editor of Patristics.co. I write about: Eastern Orthodoxy, Hermeneutics, and Theology in an Ecumenical Key. I love reading and running. E-Mail: [email protected]

[thepoorinspirit]

Another Apophatic Trinitarianism: The “Monarchy of the Father,” Vladimir Lossky, and Pseudo-Dionysius

The “Monarchy of the Father” remains a staple Trinitarian doctrine within Eastern Orthodox theological discourse, with proponents such as Vladimir Lossky and Metropolitan John Zizioulas supporting its importance over-and-against Western theological trends, which they understand as having a tendency towards semi-modalism.  Lossky asserts the Monarchy of the Father on the grounds of defending the priority of the Trinitarian Persons contra the prioritization of an impersonal common Divine nature.  Lossky does so by supporting his claims in an apophatic manner, grounded in citations from Gregory of Nazianzus.  Yet it is well known that Lossky’s apophaticism is largely indebted to Pseudo-Dionysius, so the latter’s absence in the section on Trinity is worth noting.  I propose that Lossky, despite all of his optimism that Pseudo-Dionysius’ apophaticism reinforces the claims of Eastern Orthodox theology, overlooks the implication that this type of apophatic discourse must also render the claims of Eastern Orthodox theology as subject to scrutiny, with the Monarchy of the Father under view in this article.  I claim that the Monarchy of the Father is not free from the judgment of being a concept-as-idol that apophaticism ultimately denies is a reality of the Triune Godhead.

Eastern Orthodox Christian theology centers around the Triune God, with the Three Persons proclaimed in the Divine Liturgy of John Chrysostom as being “one in essence and undivided.”  The Trinity, while ultimately remaining unexplainable, is placed within a matrix of theological terms fenced with traditional articulations in order to fend off, as best as theologically possible, particular heresies: “one in essence and undivided” fends off Arianism, which subordinates the Son to the Father, as well as Macedonianism, which subordinates the Spirit to the Son and Father; the emphasis on three hypostases qua Persons steers away modalism; upholding the singular Divine nature is a safeguard to tritheism.  These accents within Trinitarian discussions are not foolproof mantras which automatically bar one from falling into some historical heresy, as an emphatic leaning into one particular view must always be dialectically maintained in order that one may mediate between extremes, especially in the case of modalism and tritheism.  For all Christian theologians who wish to maintain some semblance of historical orthodoxy, this grammar and nuance is fundamental to speech.

Yet the differing traditions within Christianity also represent and produce different trends, with the infamous filioque clause becoming a major point of theological difference between “Eastern” and “Western” Christianity.  In the 20thcentury, Trinitarian reflection came to the forefront with various controversies marking different trends: Social Trinitarianism, Karl Barth’s translation of hypostasis as “mode of being,” Karl Rahner’s economic Trinity as the immanent Trinity, Feminist critiques of Trinitarian titles, Kenotic Trinitarianism, among other Trinitarian discussions unveiled a whole set of issues that recapitulated early Christian theological discussions as well as articulating problems that do not explicitly appear in Patristic literature.

Throughout these trends, Eastern Orthodox theologians have dominantly maintained, with Patristic foundation, a doctrine known as the “Monarchy of the Father.”  Vladimir Lossky explains this doctrine as a distinctive Eastern Christian assertion, which insists upon the Father as the unique source of the Godhead and the principle of the unity of the three Persons.  In Lossky’s analysis, Western theology overemphasizes the common Divine Nature to such an extent that it is “above” the Trinitarian Persons, whereas Eastern theologians, by upholding the Monarchy of the Father, “were defending a conception of the Trinity which they considered to be more concrete, more personal, than that against which they contended.”1  Rather than the common nature being reduced to an impersonal abstraction (as in Western theology in Lossky’s understanding), the Father’s place as the “unique source”2 of the Son and the Spirit guarantees the personal nature of the Trinitarian hypostases as legitimate, rather than merely apparent.

Lossky anticipates and neuters an important objection to this doctrine: “does not this monarchy of the Father savour of subordination?”3  In other words, if the Father is the source of the Son and the Spirit, does this not give “a certain pre-eminence” to the Father “as the divine person?”4  By drawing upon the 4th century theologian Gregory of Nazianzus, Lossky passively admits that this is a difficulty that can be overcome.  Lossky cites Nazianzus’ Oration 40:

“I should like to call the Father the greater, because from Him flow both the equality and the being of equals… but I am afraid to use the word Origin [in relation to the Father], lest I should make Him the Origin of inferiors, and thus insult Him by precedencies of honour. For the lowering of those who are from Him is no glory to the Source.”5

Lossky does not continue to cite from this passage from Nazianzus, which is unfortunate since it solidifies his claim.  The Oration continues:

“Moreover, I suspect you are insatiable, and that taking the ‘greater’ you would cut the nature in two, using the word ‘greater’ in every sense.  For the ‘greater’ does not apply to the nature but to the cause.  For nothing of those who are one in essence is greater or less in essence.”6

For Nazianzus and Lossky, there is an imperative apophatic dimension that must be foregrounded when discussing the Trinity.  This mode of theological negation distances eternal notions of “origination” from temporal discourse, with the former unplagued by inequality in substance.  When language is transposed into an eternal key, they relinquish their finite implications.  Thus, one can say that the Father is the Origin of the Son and Spirit in an modus operandi aeternam, that distinguishes “between nature and hypostases to preserve their mysterious equivalence.”7  This apophatic approach means that Lossky can declare that God is simultaneously both One and Three, Monad and Triad, without theological repercussions that lead to Trinitarian distortions.  Lossky emphasizes that the incomprehensibility of God, the very basis for apophatic methodology, “is rooted in the fact that God is not only Nature but also Three Persons; the incomprehensible Nature is incomprehensible inasmuch as it is the Nature of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy Ghost; God, incomprehensible because Trinity yet manifesting Himself as Trinity.”8  In short, God’s “incomprehensibility appears as Trinity.”9

For Lossky, the apophatic way reinforces the Monarchy of the Father by divesting the language of “origination” of its temporal elements, thereby negating any and all subsequent implications of substantial difference and inequality between the Trinitarian Persons.  This “Eastern apophaticism jealously safeguards the antinomy of the trinitarian dogma, the mysterious identity of the Three-and-One” against the “Western” formulations of the filioque and ab utroque that stress the unity of nature at the cost of the personal plenitude of the Trinitarian persons.10  This Eastern correction is founded upon looking to the Father as the origin of the Godhead, which here has no temporal connotations, preserving the Triunity of God.  Lossky then asserts: “The monarchy of the Father – the unique source of the Persons in whom exist the infinite riches of the one nature – is always asserted.”11  This doctrine is a cornerstone – if not the cornerstone – of Eastern Orthodox Trinitarian theology contra “Western” Trinitarianism.

It is quite striking that Lossky defers to Nazianzus in his articulations of the Monarchy of the Father when it is no secret that “[i]f one were to name one patristic author who influenced Lossky’s theological vision most, it would be Dionysius.”12  Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, the mysterious 5th-6th century mystical theologian, and his work entitled The Mystical Theology, is a major inspiration for Lossky’s own The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church.13  While speculation regarding the absence of some sources and linking these speculations to authorial intent is misguided, it is worth noting that Pseudo-Dionysius does offer his own version of the Monarchy of the Father.  In a work entitled The Divine Names, Pseudo-Dionysius asserts: “The Father is the only source of that Godhead which in fact is beyond being and the Father is not a Son nor is the Son a Father.”14  This statement – which appears to be congenial to Eastern Orthodox conceptions of the Monarchy of the Father – is later qualified in the same work when Pseudo-Dionysius states that “the Father is the originating source of the Godhead and that the Son and the Spirit are, so to speak, divine offshoots, the flowering and transcendent lights of the divinity.”15  There are several interpretive possibilities when engaging Pseudo-Dionysius’ claims here in relation to Nazianzus, with two under observation: first, one may understand these passages as “straight Cappadocian triadology”16or, second, incongruent with Nazianzus’ “koinonial approach” which renders “the Father as the origin of unity, not as the only source of divinity, as… Pseudo-Dionysius and later theologians [claim].”17  Whether Lossky detected some insufficiencies with Pseudo-Dionysius’ phraseology (like the ambiguity of “divine offshoots”) is, again, speculation.  What one does note is Lossky’s fence around the Monarchy of the Father is built upon a particularly Dionysian model of apophaticism, one that permeates his Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church.

This Dionysian model of apophaticism arguably goes beyond the Cappadocian approach which, while containing a distinct and strong apophatic tendency, does not yet reach the negative heights of Pseudo-Dionysius’ Mystical Theology which consistently highlights not only the failure of human speech, but also the failure of conceptual negation:

“While there are produced positions and denials of those after it, we neither position nor deny it.  Since, beyond all position is the all-complete and single cause of all; beyond all negation; the preeminence of that absolutely absolved from all and beyond the whole.”18

At the tail end of his discussion of the importance to maintain the Monarchy of the Father, Lossky asserts that “[a]pophatic thought, renouncing every support, finds its support in God, whose incomprehensibility appears as Trinity.”19  Lossky’s interpretation of Pseudo-Dionysius leads him to claim that one approaches God “by progressively setting aside all that can be known, in order to draw near to the Unknown in the darkness of absolute ignorance.”20  One should not import the more Thomistic understanding of negation as a dialectical partner alongside affirmative theology into Lossky’s (or Pseudo-Dionysius’) negative theology.21  Lossky, frustrated with Aquinas’ aforementioned appropriation of apophatic theology, argues at length that “apophatic theology surpasses cataphatic [theology],” and it is this Dionysian “apophaticism which constitutes the fundamental characteristic of the whole theological tradition of the Eastern Church.”22  This apophatic ascent means that Eastern Orthodox Christians “must abandon all that is impure and even all that is pure” in order to “attain in perfect ignorance” union with God “who transcends all being and all knowledge.”23  By relinquishing one’s hope of grasping some tangible knowledge of the Divine, one comes closer to this perfect ignorance.

Reaching back to the Cappadocians with a Dionysian hand, Lossky refers to Gregory of Nyssa, for whom “every concept relative to God is a simulacrum, a false likeness, an idol.”24  These concepts-as-idols bar the reader from coming into the place of a perfect knowledge of God, with the awareness of the incomprehensibility of God as the condition for a true “experience” (albeit a qualified term in Lossky’s work) of the Divine.25  Concepts-as-idols ultimately limit one’s apprehension of God within some comprehensible framework or analogy, which runs counter to the goals of Dionysian apophaticism.  Lossky definitively declares that apophaticism “is, above all, an attitude of mind which refuses to form concepts about God.”26  Drawing a portrait of climbing a mountain – a common one among Patristic literature rooted in Philo of Alexandria’s Life of Moses – each apophatic step to the height of Divine unknowing involves conceptual renunciation: God is not stone, nor fire, nor any materiality.27  Such claims are obvious.  Yet, climbing further, one even disavows some classical theistic claims: God is not Being, God is not the Good, for “it is necessary to guard against making them a concept, ‘an idol of God.’”28  For Lossky, apophaticism is not a prelude or postlude to theology, but a “fundamental attitude which transforms the whole of theology into a contemplation of the mysteries of revelation.”29  Yet this approach to theology does not lead to an abyss of experiential absence, but to the summit of Trinitarian experience, where one comes before the personal, Trinitarian God of Christian theology.30

The fundamental question of this article emerges at this point: does the Monarchy of the Father, which claims that the Father is the “source” of the Godhead, not fall into this category of concepts-as-idols?  Even Pseudo-Dionysius, the legendary negative theologian, makes room for such a concept within The Divine Names.  Yet what if one takes Pseudo-Dionysius’ apophaticism to its end so that, along with Nyssa’s recognition of concepts-as-idols, the Monarchy of the Father itself is knocked off its conceptual, and therefore idolatrous, pedestal?  In short, what if one reads Pseudo-Dionysius against both himself and Lossky (and, subsequently, the whole Eastern tradition which Lossky claims follows Pseudo-Dionysius’ apophaticism)?  Such a risky claim is found within the implication at the end Pseudo-Dionysius’ infamous work, The Mystical Theology, wherein the Areopagite asserts:

“[God] is not kingdom (ουτε βασιλεία)… nor sonhood nor fatherhood (ούτε υίότης ούτε πατρότης)…”31

If one is unable, at the heights of apophatic negation, to even speak of a kingdom or sonhood or fatherhood as proper knowledge of God, then no room is left to speak of the Monarchy of the Father.  A possible objection is that such apophatic extremism goes against Lossky’s proposal, since the Monarchy of the Father is purified of its analogical and conceptual baggage through a process of apophatic gutting, removing dangerous temporal notions of origination that imply temporality.  In short, this is a concept purified by the eternal transposition of finite concepts.32 Yet this reading does not take seriously Lossky’s own claim that apophatic discourse “must abandon all that is impure and even all that is pure.”33Even the most purified of concepts cannot transcend being concepts.

One must keep in mind that Lossky prioritizes the Monarchy of the Father in a polemic to safeguard against the supposed Western prioritization of the One contra the prioritization of the Three Persons.  Lossky and the theologians who follow this train of thought, such as Metropolitan John Zizioulas,34 detect that the impersonalism of an abstracted Divine Nature designates the hypostases of the Trinity to be a lesser reality, with a tendency towards semi-modalism.  Yet this binary – to begin with the Person of the Father or to begin with the one Divine nature – is itself a false binary that arises in this conceptual polemic.  This obsession with “source” and “cause” within the Godhead makes very little sense in the larger apophatic scheme that Lossky so obsessively articulates.  Taking seriously Lossky’s claim that at the summit of the apophatic heights is the Holy Trinity, one must understand the One and the Three as a simultaneity with no monarchial concept of origination at hand.  God is Trinity, the Trinity is God.  Further articulation falls into the land of scrutiny, with moments of nature/Person prioritization becoming unnecessary schemas which fundamentally misunderstand the eternality of God.  The language of God the Father as the eternal “source,” “origin,” and/or “cause” of the Son and Spirit, even as it exists within the Patristic and Eastern traditions, is itself not immune to negation.  In fact, the language becomes so incredibly qualified that it eventually means nothing: when speaking of eternal origins when “[t]he Father as a relational entity is inconceivable without the Son and the Spirit,”35 since the Son and the Spirit are co-eternal in every way, renders the Monarchy of the Father a questionable doctrine in light of apophaticism.  Pseudo-Dionysius claims that nothing can ultimately be spoken of God which is not subject to scrutiny, so even these sacred formulations do not capture God, for they are mere concepts and when such concepts become fundamental to theological articulation of intraTrinitarian relations (as if humans may actually peek into eternity), then such concepts become idols.

What is left when one applies such a harsh apophaticism?  Does one go on to deny the Trinity as a concept-as-idol as well?  Is such a stance on apophaticism not subject to reductio ad absurdum?  Lossky’s assertion that God’s “incomprehensibility appears as Trinity” must be understood as the foundation for apophatic discourse, as the One-Three paradox is an affront to any type of rationalist analysis.  One then comes into the question of dogma and dogmatic boundaries, questions of how to interpret the claims which define the content and contours of what one may or may not say, especially within the Eastern Orthodox tradition which has its variegated history and reception of constructive theology within its dogmatic grammar.  Pseudo-Dionysius’ apophaticism, despite Lossky’s optimism, may actually reveal some of the concepts-as-idols which may still permeate Eastern Orthodox Christian discourse, especially as some have retroactively imported conclusions of Eastern-Western discourse back into Orthodox tradition as dogmatic formulations.  This proposal is another apophatic Trinitarianism, which takes seriously Lossky’s claim that the Trinity is at the height of the apophatic summit, while also reflecting on what can be discarded in the journey to the peak of Divine experience.  To take the Dionysian claim that there is no kingdom in God, not even a purified understanding of kingdom, means that an eternal Monarchy cannot be left unquestioned. __________

[1] Vladimir Lossky, The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary, 1976), 62. [2] Ibid., 63. [3] Ibid., 63. [4] Ibid.  Author’s italics. [5] Ibid. [6] Gregory of Nazianzus, Oration 40.43. [7] Lossky, Mystical Theology, 63. [8] Ibid., 64. [9] Ibid. [10] Ibid., 240. [11] Ibid. [12] Paul Gavrilyuk, “The Reception of Dionysius in Twentieth-Century Eastern Orthodoxy,” Modern Theology 24:4 (October 2008), 713. [13] Lossky, Mystical Theology, 23. [14] Pseudo-Dionysius, The Divine Names 2.5 in Pseudo-Dionysius, The Complete Works (The Classics of Western Spirituality), trans.by Colm Luibheid and Paul Rorem (New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1987), 62. [15] Pseudo-Dionysius, Divine Names 2.7; Complete Works, 64. [16] Alexander Golitzin, Mystagogy: A Monastic Reading of Dionysius Areopagita (Cistercian Studies Series: Number Two Hundred Fifty), ed. and with the collaboration of Bogdan G Bucur (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2013), 32. [17] Najeeb Awad, God Without a Face? On the Personal Individuation of the Holy Spirit (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 125.  Emphasis mine. [18] Pseudo-Dionysius, Mystical Theology V in Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagite, The Divine Names and Mystical Theology, trans. John D. Jones (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University, 2011), 222. [19] Lossky, Mystical Theology, 64. [20] Ibid., 25. [21] Ibid., 26.  Cf. Gregory P. Rocca, O.P., Speaking of the Incomprehensible God: Thomas Aquinas on the Interplay of Positive and Negative Theology (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 2004). [22] Lossky, Mystical Theology, 26. [23] Ibid., 27. [24] Ibid., 33. [25] Ibid., 34. [26] Ibid., 38-39. [27] Ibid., 40. [28] Ibid. [29] Ibid., 42. [30] Ibid., 43. [31] Pseudo-Dionysius, Mystical Theology V in Pseudo-Dionysius, The Divine Names and Mystical Theology, 221. [32] I would like to thank Fr Aidan Kimel for raising this objection. [33] Lossky, Mystical Theology, 27. [34] Zizioulas does follow a different pattern of nuance, however: “…the person of the Father does not cause sameness (ousia connotes something common, i.e., sameness, within the Trinity) but otherness, i.e., personhood.”  John D. Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church, ed. Paul McPartlan (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2009), 130n53.  However, Zizioulas seems to be overmining the concept of Person and imputing that to the Trinitarian persons. [35] Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness, 122.

[thepoorinspirit]

Overdue Blog Update

Dear followers of this blog, Long time no speak!  I apologize for putting this blog on the backburner the past semester.  I have finished my Master’s degree in Theological Studies, thesis and all.  I also managed to read about 104 books last year – a new personal record!  I am currently taking a gap year to work on languages and pursuing some independent studies, planning to send out PhD applications in the Fall.  In the meantime, I’ll be doing some posts on here, starting up Season 2 of the Patristics Podcast with my buddy Ambrose, and also working on another podcasting project, to be announced soon!  Also, I will be presenting at the Inaugural conference of the International Orthodox Theological Association in Romania in January 2019!  Looking forward to another season of life, Alvin

[thepoorinspirit]

Fr Dumitru Stăniloae on God’s Justice and Mercy

The following passages from Fr Dumitru Stăniloae’s Orthodox Dogmatic Theology: The Experience of God (Volume I) assert, at length, what I tried to show in my previous post: that God is one in all of the Divine attributes, with justice as important as mercy. Some Orthodox readers critiqued my previous article on Athanasius and Irenaeus by asserting that God’s mercy triumphs over justice but, again, these are modern polemical distinctions that became hyperbolized in 20th century theological debates between various sects, particularly from those who assert that their understanding of God is more “loving” or “merciful” than others, usually – but not always – framed in contrast to a misreading of Anselm’s atonement theory. Stăniloae’s argument is reminiscent of Saint Irenaeus, who argued that separating the attributes of God is a human division not fit for the Divine:

[Page 215] Justice and Mercy

These two attributes cannot be separated in God’s relations with us. Justice towards creatures has its foundation in the equality of Trinitarian persons. But it is only by deigning to come down that God creates creatures and makes them share in his happiness according to a justice which reflects the equality of the divine persons.

God is not just without being merciful and is not merciful without being just. For it is through his free and merciful descent to us that he is just towards us. “Vindicate me, O Lord, my God, according to thy righteousness,” says the Psalmist (Ps. 35:24), or “my tongue shall tell of thy righteousness” (Ps. 35:28). But he also says: “For thy steadfast mercy is before my eyes” (Ps. 26:3), or “O continue thy steadfast mercy to those who know thee and thy justice to the upright of heart!” (Ps. 36:10).

If he were only just, God would not be fully free; if he were only merciful, God would have no regard for human efforts nor would he encourage them. Human beings would be reduced to the state of being passive receptacles of his mercy. The created world would have no true and consistent reality and human beings could not grow through their own effort.

In his justice God wishes, on the one hand, that all men might be equal among themselves, while on the other hand he wishes to give them all as much of his own blessedness as they are able to receive according to their own efforts. For he made them all capable of these efforts when he himself had given them the capacity of being able to receive in the very highest degree what it is that creatures can receive. Through justice God has reference to us all, but he gives thought to each one in a distinctive way within a framework of all. Our yearning for justice begins from a model or an idea of justice and seeks its realization among all. God does not being from an idea of justice but from the reality of justice in himself… [218] Christ alone as man has attained complete justice. From his justice we absorb power to make progress in assimilating – in the life to come – the justice that belongs to him and is the human form of the divine justice (1 Cor. 1:30; 2 Cor. 5:21; Eph. 6:14). From the fact that the justice we possess is from the mercy of God and that, due to the inadequacy of our efforts to receive it, we never possess justice fully, there results the further necessity of humility on our part.

Although our humility also enters into what is true “justice,” a “righteousness” in the sight of God, that is, the acknowledgment that it is from God, from his mercy, that we have all things, nevertheless, to ask for the mercy of God does not contradict our asking to share, according to justice, in his happiness. In fact, the acknowledgment that God shares his happiness with us according to justice, on the basis of his benevolence and mercy, must be included in our asking for justice from God; on the other hand, when he is being merciful to us, God does not act high-handedly or arbitrarily in the bestowal of his happiness… God is merciful, but he is also “the just judge” who puts great value on both the creature and his efforts. Whoever asks for God’s mercy is, by that very fact, just, because he makes an effort of humility and acknowledges what he has received from God on the basis of his mercy, and thus shares, according to justice, in his happiness.

We are not speaking here of justice on the plane of worldly situations. That depends on other conditions. Whoever is wrongly treated on this plane is justified in demanding justice from others rather than requesting their mercy. He is even justified in rebuking those who are unjust, those who trample on justice for their own benefit, and protesting against their deeds. But he must no himself be the loser on the spiritual plane because of the manner in which he does this. Hence it is good to seek this justice not so much for oneself as for others. This belongs to love of neighbor.

[220]

Those who participate in the energies of God (among which is numbered the energy of justice) first through their being and then through grace – by which their being is reestablished and strengthened – are themselves also animated by the impulse to bring about justice…

Genuine, complete justice will also mean the reestablishment of the perfect balance between all created things, the full reflection of the justice of God who loves them all.

[thepoorinspirit]

Is God a God of Justice?  Divine Consistency in Athanasius and Irenaeus

It is not uncommon within Eastern Orthodoxy to hear something akin to “The Orthodox God is a God of mercy through and through, not a God whose justice predominates.”1  Perhaps one of the most succinct examples of this trend is found in the works of Fr Georges Florovsky, when he declares that “The Cross is not a symbol of Justice, but the symbol of Love Divine.”2  Such discourse is also taken up in certain evangelical circles, which pits the mercy of God over and against the justice of God.  Most of this discourse is tied to the polemics against post-Reformation Protestant understandings of atonement which posit that, in such atonement frameworks, God’s justice needs to be satisfied (all of which is based on a bad reading of Anselm as I’ve pointed out before) in order for humanity to be forgiven of their sins.  Justice, within these polemics, functions as some type of outside necessity: God “must” work within these external boundaries in order to relay forgiveness to humanity.  In short, the conditions of justice must be met before salvation can take place.  

This article does not intend to tackle all the issues with penal substitutionary atonement nor its variations, but to relay some insights from Saints Athanasius and Irenaeus regarding the relationship between God and justice.  Several critics of the aforementioned understanding of justice argue that God is thus bound to outside rules and thus place an economic limit on the infinite God.  One vocal critic states:

“We are the ones who mindlessly say, ‘God can't forgive; he has to satisfy justice.’  But this is ridiculous.  It's a projection of our own pettiness upon the grandeur of God.  Of course God can just forgive!  That's what forgiveness is!  Forgiveness is not receiving payment for a debt; forgiveness is the gracious cancellation of debt.  There is no payment in forgiveness.  Forgiveness is grace.  God's justice is not reprisal.  The justice of God is not an abstract concept where somehow sin can only be forgiven if an innocent victim suffers a severe enough penalty.  In the final analysis punitive justice is not justice at all; it's merely retribution.”3

There are several assumptions in the above statement at work, with the foremost being the relationship between forgiveness, salvation, and justice.  Yes, it is true that God can indeed forgive without condition.  However, the conditions of salvation are not met just by mere forgiveness nor by mere repentance.  This point is made clear by Saint Athanasius in On the Incarnation.  Athanasius posits the corruption of humanity as a movement from being into non-being, an ontological movement that leads humanity’s death.4  This corruption begins with the transgression of the law given in Eden, which Athanasius states is the very conditions of God’s law:

“For [God] brought them into His own garden, and gave them a law: so that, if they kept the grace and remained good, they might still keep the life in paradise without sorrow or pain or care besides having the promise of incorruption in heaven; but that if they transgressed and turned back, and became evil, they might know that they were incurring that corruption in death which was theirs by nature: no longer to live in paradise, but cast out of it from that time forth to die and to abide in death and in corruption.”5

Athanasius problematizes this situation even further: in order for humanity to be redeemed from the law of death, God cannot merely undo the law of death because of humanity’s repentance (which presupposes Divine forgiveness) since (1) God is not a liar,6 (2) God must remain consistent with the Divine Law put forth,7 and (3) repentance does not undo the ontological consequences.8  Since God is the one who put the law of death into effect, for God to go back and change the conditions would make God out to be liar and therefore inconsistent and untrustworthy, according to Athanasius.  It would be “monstrous that before the law was fulfilled it should fall through”; in other words, since God freely created and entered into the conditions of upholding the law, it cannot simply be undone, with the previous reasons of God’s truthfulness and consistency acting as a deterrent for its undoing.  Furthermore, repentance does not undo corruption.  A “further step” is needed, according to Athanasius.9  This is nothing less than the union between both God and man found in the body of Jesus Christ, whose suffering and death on behalf of all took human nature through death and conquered it, thereby “the law involving the ruin of men might be undone (inasmuch as its power was fully spent in the Lord's body, and had no longer holding-ground against men).”10  There is a logic at work here within Athanasius’ proposal: the law of death cannot be undone because God must remain consistent with the very law put in place by the Divine.  Salvation is thus achieved by working within the bounds of the law, not outside of it.  God is consistent with the law; God is just; God is a God of justice.

A short insight from Irenaeus is worth noting here as well.  In his diatribe against Marcion in Against Heresies, Irenaeus asserts that Marcion splits God into two: one “good” and the other “judicial.”11  Yet, Irenaeus argues, if God lacks either quality, then God is not God at all: “For he that is the judicial one, if he be not good, is not God, because he from whom goodness is absent is no God at all… how can they call the Father of all wise, if they do not assign to Him a judicial faculty?”12  Irenaeus sees no need to divide the Divine, for God by nature must be perfect in all operations:

“For He is good, and merciful, and patient, and saves whom He ought: nor does goodness desert Him in the exercise of justice, nor is His wisdom lessened; for He saves those whom He should save, and judges those worthy of judgment. Neither does He show Himself unmercifully just; for His goodness, no doubt, goes on before, and takes precedency.”13

One may possibly interpret the latter statement – that goodness takes precedency – as evidence that Irenaeus upholds one aspect of God over the other, but that completely misses the entire context of the argument.  Irenaeus’ framework of goodness and justice is not an either-or between goodness and justice (or, transposed into modern discussions, mercy and justice) – that argument belongs to Marcion.  Goodness and Justice are ever present within God and never in conflict.  God’s mercy is justice for it is consistent with God’s operations in this world.  Thus, contra Florovsky, the Cross of Christ is the very consistency (Athanasius) and presence (Irenaeus) of both God’s justice and God’s love.

__________

[1] Stephen Thomas, “Deification,” The Encyclopedia of Eastern Orthodox Christianity (Two Volumes), ed. John Anthony McGuckin, (Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 1.186. [2] Georges Florovsky, Creation and Redemption (Volume Three in the Collected Works of Georges Florovsky), (Belmont, Mass: Nordland Publishing, 1976), 103. [3] Brian Zahnd, Sinners in the Hands of a Loving God: The Scandalous Truth of the Very Good News (New York, NY: Waterbrook, 2017), 103. [4] Athanasius, On the Incarnation 4. [5] Ibid. 3.4. [6] Ibid. 7.1. [7] Ibid. [8] Ibid. 7.3-5. [9] Ibid. 7.4. [10] Ibid. 8.4. [11] Irenaeus, Against Heresies 3.25.3. [12] Ibid. [13] Ibid.

[thepoorinspirit]

“Unknown to Me”: Augustinian Reflections on Otherness, Friendship, and God

An apophatic anthropology, as I have previously discussed, recognizes the “diversity… utterly immeasurable”1 that is contained within the human self.  According to St Gregory of Nyssa, if the image of God within humanity is a proper image of the prototype, then it must retain the prototype’s attributes in a proper manner, or else it is no longer a proper image.   Therefore, since incomprehensibility is an aspect of the Divine nature, so must human nature also be incomprehensible.2  In a very real sense, we are a mystery to ourselves, both in a theological and existential sense, as we are made in the image of the ultimate Mystery.  What does this mean, however, for knowing the Other and for friendship?

For Augustine, this inability to know one’s self is directly related to the limits of knowing one’s friends.   In his Soliloquies, engaged in a dialogue with “Reason,” Augustine connects an apophatic anthropology of the self to the apophasis within friendship:

Reason: ...if someone said to you, ‘I will make you know God in the same way that you know [your friend] Alypius,’ would you not thank him and say, ‘That is enough’?

Augustine: I would indeed thank him, but I would not say that it was enough.

Reason: Why, I would like to know?

Augustine: Because I do not know God as well as I do Alypius, and even Alypius I do not know sufficiently.

[...]

Reason: Then you dare to say that your friend and intimate acquaintance is unknown to you?

Augustine: Why should I not dare?  ...since I do not know myself, how can it be held against me if I say that someone is unknown to me, especially when, as I believe, he does not know himself?3

“Reason” assumes that one may know the Other in a sufficient manner and thus finds Augustine’s proposal that friends can be “unknown” to each other quite perplexing.  However, by interpreting Augustine’s statements within a framework of apophatic anthropology, there is an inner logic at work here, though it does require a one major claim to be “universal,” namely that no one knows themselves in a fully comprehensive manner.  How, then, can I expect to know others do not fully know themselves?  Being unknown to ourselves also means being unknown to others.  The inability to totally comprehend our own self implies that we are unable to fully relay our self, to communicate all the mysteries of the self, to the Other.  Augustine thus maintains an approach to friendship consistent with an apophatic anthropology, ensuring that friends truly remain “Other.”  

Although working within a vastly different set of presuppositions, the insights of the Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas regarding one’s relation to and understanding of the Other has some overlap with Augustine.  Levinas stresses the “alterity constitutive of the very content of the other”;4 in short, an Other cannot be totalized and thus is not reducible to my comprehension.5  This observation is congruent with Augustine’s position that one does not know one’s self: I am unable to fully comprehend the Other since the Other is not able to fully comprehend their own self.

It is apropos to turn to the phrase often attributed to Aristotle, first recorded by Diogenes Laertius, later cited by Montaigne, plays a significant role in Jacques Derrida’s reflections on friendship: “Oh my friends, there is no friend.”6  The vocative “friends” is in stark contrast to the reflection that “there is no friend,” setting forth a paradox in the very address of the statement.  How can one call someone else a friend if there is no friend, no true fulfillment of this role as “friend,” since there are only “Others”?  Is the distance between two subjects marked only by alterity?  Derrida offers a surprisingly hopeful interpretation of this phrase:

“The performative contradiction would be as vivid and present as a simple logical absurdity, in the best of cases the playful exercise of a paradox, if the structures of the two utterances were symmetrical and if they belonged to a presently homogeneous set.   This is not necessarily the case...   [It] resembles at one and the same time an act of recalling and a call, an appeal.  It resembles an appeal because it makes a sign toward the future: be my friends, for I love or will love you [...], listen to me, be sensitive to my cry, understand and be compassionate, I am asking for sympathy and consensus, become the friends to whom I aspire...  [It] does not say, ‘there is no friendship,’ but rather, ‘there is no friend.’  Perhaps this is because we have an idea of friendship and what it should be, in the ideality of its essence or telos (teleia philia), and thus in the name of friendship we must conclude, alas, that if there is friendship, ‘there is no friend.’ [...]   Here is what I am calling you to, answer me, it is our responsibility.  Friendship is never a given in the present; it belongs to the experience of waiting, of promise or of engagement.  Its discourse is that of prayer, and at stake there is what responsibility opens to the future.”7

Diogenes Laertius also reports that Aristotle characterized complete friendship as “one soul abiding in two bodies.”8  This idea of being “one soul” with another depicts a complete communion with the Other, a complete resonance that is only distanced by embodiment.9  There is no alterity, no “otherness” between the I and the Other.  Interestingly enough, Augustine uses this phrase (“one soul abiding in two bodies”) to describe one friendship in Confessions 4.6.  Here, we must read Augustine of the Confessions with Augustine of the Soliloquies (some may posit this as reading Augustine contra Augustine, though such a divisive framework tends toward a mutually exclusive dichotomy rather than the hopeful nuance depicted below).

If being a friend is based on the idea that I know the Other and thus achieve the status of being “one soul” with them, then there is no “true” friend since a full comprehension of the Other is outside of our reach.  To reiterate Augustine’s discourse in the Soliloquies, the ideal friend is nonexistent because of the limits of our knowing: we are incapable of comprehending ourselves and others.  Yet, this does not mean that striving to become friends with the Other is a fruitless task, for (as even Derrida admits) friendship is possible. Some shared knowledge between the I and the Other is possible: by offering what we do know about ourselves to the Other, a journey toward friendship is initiated.   Here, there is a distinction between knowledge of the Other, which always remains partial, and comprehension, which is an all-encompassing grasp regarding the totality of the Other.  The latter remains hidden from us because it also remains hidden from the Other and the Other is unable to offer to us what they are unable to grasp and put into language.  This inability to fully comprehend the Other thus means that there is no ideal friend.  The presence of the Other and the “otherness” that distances the I from the Other means that there will always be alterity, yet this does not negate one’s ability to approach the Other nor does it mean that friendship is impossible.  A pessimistic attitude toward the reality of alterity sees friendship as an impossible goal that one can never achieve; an optimistic attitude sees engagement with the Other as a “promise” for something better, a striving to know and be known.

Returning to Levinas, there is then a connection between approaching the Other, the reality of alterity, and God:

“…the first shock of human psychism, its first pulsation, is precisely a search for alterity...  [S]uffering is experienced par excellence as being closed up within oneself, this superlatively passive suffering is like the impossibility of ‘getting out of it.’  At the same time there is, in this being closed up in oneself of suffering, the sigh or the cry which is already a search for alterity: I would even say, but many precautions would be necessary here, that this is the first prayer.  And by saying prayer, evidently I anticipate the word God...  To the face of the other man, the alterity of the other, I connect the idea of a first shock where God comes to mind.”9

This connection, if imperfect, between one’s relation between the Other and the Divine is not totally unrelated to apophatic theology and apophatic anthropology in the context of knowing others: as God is outside the scope of comprehension, so are other human beings outside the scope of our own full comprehension.  This is not to say that God and humanity are equal mysteries or equally inaccessible; there is no question of God’s status as an Infinite Mystery that transcends being (or however one may posit God’s relationship to being) that is unique to the Divine.  However, what needs to be emphasized is the level of inaccessibility between the I and the Other, whether that other is human or Divine.  The “I” is unable to fully comprehend the Other.   However, whereas God is unable to be comprehended due to Divine transcendence and complete ontological difference, the human Other is unable to be comprehended due to the shared inability to fully comprehend and the subsequent limits of offering our self to each other.  What is the common denominator in both situations is the epistemological limits of the “I” in relation to the Other – the alterity contains a distance that is unable to be breached.  

The theological exception is God’s knowledge of us: God is not limited by human comprehension of the self and thus is able to know ourselves better than we can comprehend.   In his third exposition of Psalm 36, Augustine states in his remarks against the Donatists: “God knows me better than I know myself.”10  This statement is nothing less than a succinct summary of Augustine’s various statements on being known by God in the Confessions:

“May I know you, who know me.  May I ‘know as I also am known’ (1 Cor. 13:12)… Indeed, Lord, to your eyes, the abyss of human consciousness is naked (Heb. 4:13).  What could be hidden within me, even if I were unwilling to confess it to you?  I would be hiding you from myself, not myself from you.”11

By knowing us better than we know ourselves, God is the true friend, overcoming ontological alterity and knowing the abyss contained within each person.  God’s transcendence and immanence means that, for God, there is no “Other,” as the Logos of God knows all things and “has filled all things everywhere,” in the words of Saint Athanasius.12   However, this does not mean that we are then equally friends with God, for God remains Divinely Other.

This alterity which saturates the human experience fuels our striving to know the Other; it is the very framework in which friendship and love is made possible.  If it were easy to know the Other, then friendship and love would require little to no effort, thus emptying them of the content intrinsic to their enjoyment, the very struggle which makes friendship and love so sweet.  In the face of alterity, we are faced with a decision to be defeated by otherness or to journey toward a “promise,” a hope for things not yet seen.

___________ [1] Augustine, Confessions 10.17.26 in Augustine, Confessions (Oxford World Classics), trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford, UK: Oxford, 2008). [2] Gregory of Nyssa, On the Making of Man 11.2-4. [3] Saint Augustine, Soliloquies: Augustine's Interior Dialogue, ed. John E. Rotelle, O.S.A. and trans. Kim Paffenroth (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2008), 26-28. [4] Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Boston, MA: Martinus Nijhoff, 1979), 39. [5] Ibid., 79-81. [6] Derrida, “Politics of Friendship,” trans. Gabriel Motzkin and Michael Syrotinski with Thomas Keenan, American Imago, Vol. 50, No. 3 (1993), 360. [7] Ibid., 367-368. [8] Diogenes Laertius, Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers 5.11. [9] Emmanuel Levinas, Is it Righteous to Be?: Interviews with Emmanuel Levinas, ed. Jill Robbins (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 2001), 57. [10] Saint Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms Volume 2: 33-50 (III/16) (The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century), ed. John E. Rotelle, O.S.A and trans. Maria Boulding, O.S.B. (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2000), 144. [11] Augustine, Confessions 10.1.1-10.2.2. [12] Athanasius, On the Incarnation 8.

[thepoorinspirit]

The Unknown Imago Dei: Constructing An Apophatic Anthropology From Nyssa and Augustine

Who am I?  Who are you?  What does it mean to be human?  Such existential questions are as old as history, with a variety of philosophers and theologians offering answers.  In Judaism and Christianity, the most theologically robust answer is that humanity is made in the “image of God” (Genesis 1:27).  However, Christian theologians debate exactly what the content of this imago dei exactly is and what it entails.  Several questions within these debates are worth highlighting: does humanity retain the imago dei after the Fall?1  Is humanity made in the image of the Christ (making humanity “the image of the Image [of God]”)2 or in the image of the Trinity?  If the latter, does this mean there is a tripartite composition to humanity3 or does it mean that humanity is made for community4 (or both)?  Some brief responses to these questions from St Gregory of Nyssa and St Augustine are noteworthy, which leads into an exploration of apophatic anthropology constructed from their observations.

The Contributions of St Gregory of Nyssa

Writing in the 2nd century, St Irenaeus posits that the imago dei is fundamental to the creation and identification of humanity, but he does not give any major exposition on this elusive doctrine.5  This vacuum signals the theological lack within the early stages of theological anthropology concerning the imago dei in Christianity.  In the 4th century, St Gregory of Nyssa dedicates an entire discourse to the topic of humanity’s creation entitled On the Making of Man.  Although placing the image of God within the mind of humanity, Nyssa is quick to remark that this is not a mind-body dualism, since “the union of the mental with the bodily presents a connection unspeakable and inconceivable,” descriptively interdependent their functions.6  One clarification Nyssa brings to the table is the connection between the imago dei, goodness, virtue, and a will free from compulsion:

“[God] made human nature participant in all good; for if the Deity is the fullness of good, and this is His image, then the image finds its resemblance to the Archetype in being filled with all good.  Thus, there is in us the principle of all excellence, all virtue and wisdom, and every higher thing that we conceive: but pre-eminent among all is the fact that we are free from necessity, and not in bondage to any natural power, but have decision in our own power as we please; for virtue is a voluntary thing, subject to no dominion: that which is the result of compulsion and force cannot be virtue.”7

Nyssa points the imago dei as a reflection of the Divine goodness, the foundation for humanity’s potential to achieve excellence, yet this is only obtained through our own voluntary acts and not compulsion.8  Although humanity was affected by the Fall, Nyssa asserts that all of humanity still retains the image of God9 despite sin tempting the passions of the flesh to cover the imago dei “like some ugly mask.”10  Thus, for Nyssa, the image of God points to humanity’s participation in goodness via acts free from compulsion in order to reflect the Divine in virtue.

 Augustine

Leaving behind his psychological readings of the tripartite structure of the human mind aside for right now, St Augustine also identifies the image of God as residing in the mind.11  Though often accused of holding to a mind-body dualism, it is perhaps better to say that Augustine prioritizes the mind, yet this prioritizing does not necessarily come at the expense of the body.12  In locating the imago dei in the mind, Augustine presents an argument that considers biological sex, something of a modulation of Nyssa’s own argument that the image of God precedes sex.13  Upon considering Galatians 3:28 (“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” [NRSV]), Augustine reflects in On the Trinity:

“Have the believing women, therefore, lost their bodily sex? Yet because they are renewed there to the image of God, where there is no sex, man is made there in the image of God, where there is no sex, namely, in the spirit of his mind… thus the image of God does not remain except in that part of the mind of man in which it clings to the contemplation and consideration of the eternal reasons, which, as is evident, not only men but also women possess… Therefore, in their minds a common nature is recognized; but in their bodies the division of this one mind itself is symbolized.”14

Augustine is cautious about locating the image of God within the body since such a move may lay the groundwork for others to associate sexed bodies with the Divine.  There are two plausible reasons for doing so: first, Augustine posits that the image of God is invisible, which properly reflects the invisible Trinity;15 second, Augustine views sexed bodies not as inherently sinful, but because sexed human bodies are inherently human.16  In being careful with the imago dei and analogical language, Augustine understands that it is not merely a theological anthropology at stake when discussing the image of God, but also theology proper: what one posits about the nature of humanity – which is constituted by the Divine image – has implications for one’s doctrine of God.  Unfortunately, Augustine makes a fatal mistake when he claims that women, when functioning in the role of “helpmate,” are not made in the image of God in a way equal to males: “the woman together with her husband is the image of God, so that that whole substance is one image. But when she is assigned as a helpmate, a function that pertains to her alone, then she is not the image of God; as far as the man is concerned, he is by himself alone the image of God, just as fully and completely as when he and the woman are joined together into one.”17 Augustine attempts to reconcile several Pauline texts regarding women18 with Genesis, ultimately privileging males in his anthropological construction.

However, one can modify Augustine’s reading by reading Augustine against himself, as Judith Chelius Stark does in her feminist interpretation of Augustine’s understanding of the imago dei: “there are ways out of Augustine’s dilemma embedded in his own texts, even though he himself failed to make use of the solutions that were available to him in his own thinking.”19  Recall that Augustine locates the image of God in the mind,20 something shared by both sexes, yet the mind is “where there is no sex.”  By giving priority to the mind, Augustine (again, without falling into some strong metaphysical dualism21) distinguishes between one’s sex from one’s mind.  By taking this position with upmost serious and reading this distancing into other sections of his work, the arguments that pay attention to sexed bodies ought to be nullified, since it is not within sexed human bodies that the image of God is to be found, but in the human mind.  This is a better stepping stone to one of Augustine’s conclusions where he states:

“…no one can doubt that man [in the general sense] has been made to the image of Him who created him, not according to the body, nor according to any part of the mind, but according to the rational mind where the knowledge of God can reside.”22

When Augustine asks, “Have the believing women, therefore, lost their bodily sex?” we can draw out his answer as “physically, ‘no,’ but spiritually, ‘yes,’” and this would also ring true for males, since there is nothing implicit or explicit within the male body as a sexed body that reflects the image of God.  Going back to an earlier point, theological anthropology directly draws upon one’s doctrine of God and since the Divine is invisible, then the image of God must be located in an aspect of human composition that is maintains distance from the sexed human body.  Therefore, the image of God resides in the mind of both females and males.23 

 Apophatic Anthropology in Nyssa and Augustine

There are two aspects worth exploring further: the relationship between the body and mind and the dependency of theological anthropology on theology proper.  For Nyssa, there is this “unspeakable and inconceivable” union between the body and mind, whereas Augustine posits it more as a distance.  Both distance sex from the imago dei: for Nyssa, the imago dei precedes sex; for Augustine, the imago dei resides in the mind where, according to him, there is no sex.  Both recognize the relationship between theological anthropology and their understanding of God: for Nyssa, goodness and the freedom to be virtuous mark humanity’s reflection of the Divine; for Augustine, the image signals humanity’s potentiality to be perfected “by the Christian faith and the doctrine of godliness… [so that] ‘we might be transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as through the Spirit of the Lord’” (2 Corinthians 3:18).24  However, for as much as Nyssa and Augustine can respond to the existential questions of humanity within a Christian context, there is still within both thinkers a large abyss when it comes to knowing the depths of humanity.  When an apophatic understanding of God enters the discourse of theological anthropology, one must begin to speak of an apophatic anthropology.  An extended reflection from Nyssa articulates this connection between apophatic theology and theological anthropology25:

“‘Who has known the mind of the Lord?’” the apostle [Paul] asks; and I ask further, who has understood his own mind? Let those tell us who consider the nature of God to be within their comprehension, whether they understand themselves — if they know the nature of their own mind. It is manifold and much compounded. How then can that which is intelligible be composite? Or what is the mode of mixture of things that differ in kind? Or, it is simple, and incomposite. How then is it dispersed into the manifold divisions of the senses? How is there diversity in unity? How is unity maintained in diversity?  But I find the solution of these difficulties by recourse to the very utterance of God; for He says, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.’  The image is properly an image so long as it fails in none of those attributes which we perceive in the archetype; but where it falls from its resemblance to the prototype it ceases in that respect to be an image; therefore, since one of the attributes we contemplate in the Divine nature is incomprehensibility of essence, it is clearly necessary that in this point the image should be able to show its imitation of the archetype.  For if, while the archetype transcends comprehension, the nature of the image was comprehended, the contrary character of the attributes we behold in them would prove the defect of the image; but since the nature of our mind, which is the likeness of the Creator evades our knowledge, it has an accurate resemblance to the superior nature, figuring by its own unknowableness the incomprehensible Nature.”26

Nyssa offers a profound apophatic approach to theological anthropology grounded in both existential reflection and theology.  Nyssa rhetorically asks, “who has understood his own mind?”  The demand to “know thyself” (γνῶθι σεαυτόν) in antiquity is thus problematized.27  In Plato’s Philebus, Socrates refers to those who do not know themselves as having the “vice” of being “ridiculous.”28  In the context of the humanity bearing the imago dei, Nyssa turns its logic on its head: how can we know ourselves when the image of God resembles the incomprehensible God?  It is thus ridiculous to claim that one can fully know oneself!  If one claims to exhaust and completely comprehend what constitutes the image of God, then they make three mistakes: (1) they falsely claim to have solved the mystery of humanity’s composition of unity maintained in diversity; (2) they misunderstand the nature of the image and the importance of maintaining a resemblance to the prototype in all of its attributes; (3) they fail to see a connection between the incomprehensibility of God and human nature.  There are aspects of humanity, then, that are unknowable to us.  In a very real sense “we are other to ourselves, we are our own otherness.”29

Reflecting upon his own confessions in his aptly titled Confessions, Augustine struggles with knowing himself:30 “Let me confess too what I do not know of myself.  For what I know of myself I know because you grant me light, and what I do not know of myself, I do not know until such a time as my darkness becomes ‘like noonday’ before your face.”31  For Augustine, it is in memory that “I meet myself and recall what I am, what I have done, and when and where and how I was affected when I did it.”32  However, it is not through simple recollection that one immediately encounters their Self.  Memory “is a vast and infinite profundity.”33  So vast and infinite is memory that Augustine marvels at its depths:

“Who has plumbed its bottom?  This power is that of my mind and is a natural endowment, but I myself cannot grasp the totality of what I am.  Is the mind, then, too restricted to compass itself so that we have to ask what is that element of itself which it fails to grasp?  Surely that cannot be external to itself; it must be within the mind.  How then can it fail to grasp it?  This question moves me to great astonishment.  Amazement grips me...”34 

Later, Augustine continues his existential reflections:

“Great is the power of memory, an awe-inspiriting mystery, my God, a power of profound and infinite multiplicity.  And this is mind, this is I myself.  What then am I, my God?  What is my nature?  It is characterized by diversity, by life of many forms, utterly immeasurable.  See the board plains and caves and caverns of my memory.  The varieties there cannot be counted, and are, beyond any reckoning, full of innumerable things… I never reach the end.  So great is the power of memory, so great is the force of life in a human being whose life is mortal.  What then ought I to do, my God?  You are my true life… I will pass beyond even that power of mind which is called memory, desiring to reach you by the way through which you can be reached, and to be bonded to you by the way in which it is possible to be bonded.”35

Reading Augustine’s observations of the imago dei in On the Trinity along with his self-reflection in the above passages from Confessions produces an anthropology not unlike Nyssa, though Augustine is much more existential in form.  Recall that Augustine locates the imago dei in the mind and, in the above passages, Augustine formulates that the power of memory is located (or “is”) mind, and “this is I myself.”  This resonates with the discussion of memory both within the human self and in God in On the Trinity.36  Memory is part of the “trinity of the mind”37 which, along with understanding and will, makes up “one life.”38  The mind that “remembers itself, understands itself, and loves itself” comes close to depicting “an image of God.”39  However, “this trinity of the mind is not on that account the image of God because the mind remembers itself, understands itself, and loves itself, but because it can also remember, understand, and love [God] by whom it was made.”40  Since memory is prioritized to the point of becoming synonymous with “mind” and even the “I,” making the image of God strongly tied to this idea of remembrance and Augustine’s reflections in Confessions. 

This point is made explicit in one of Augustine’s sermons explaining the Creed to catechumens around 425 CE, forming an explicit connection between the incomprehensibility of the mind and the image of God reminiscent of Nyssa: “[God] also made man to his own image and likeness in the mind; that, you see, is where the image of God is to be found.  That’s why the mind cannot be comprehended even by itself, where the image of God is to be found.”41  Whereas Nyssa explains the connection between the incomprehensibility of God with the incomprehensible imago dei, Augustine does not make such an articulation and one should not force Nyssa’s logic onto Augustine.  However, Augustine does cite the incomprehensibility of the imago dei as rooted in God, though the connection lacks an explicit explanation.

 Conclusion

What is the point in constructing an apophatic anthropology?  First, it does justice to the depth and variety of both the human self and humanity at large, as well as the concept of having an existential crisis.  Narrow conceptions of the human person will always fail to capture the “vast and infinite profundity” within the human self.  The feeling that one’s self is an “other” is not a testament to something necessarily wrong, but a reflection of the larger mystery that is the human person.  This also creates further space for theological and postmodern conceptions of the self to dialogue.  Second, an apophatic anthropology removed from the sexed body may remove some male privileging within theological construction,42 although the placing of the imago dei within the mind, particularly within Augustine’s framework, does raise other issues about the concept of the imago dei whenever the rational faculties are performing what some may deem an “atypical” level.43  Third, and perhaps most importantly, it takes serious the connection between theological anthropology and theology proper.  As Nyssa points out, if an image does not represent the attributes of the prototype in worthy manner, can it still be called a true image?  If God is incomprehensible and we are made in the image of God, then there must be an element of incomprehensibility within humanity.

_______________________________

1. Martin Luther is in the minority within the history of Christianity when he asserts that, post-Fall, humanity does not retain the image of God (Martin Luther, Luther Still Speaking: The Creation; A Commentary on the First Five Chapters on the Book of Genesis [With the Text], trans. Henry Cole [Cambridge: 1858], 89). 2. Panayiotis Nellas, Deification in Christ: Orthodox Perspectives On the Nature of the Human Person (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary, 1987), 21-25. 3. Augustine, On the Trinity 12.7.12 (Augustine, On the Trinity: Books 8-15 [Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy], ed. Gareth B. Matthews and trans. Stephen McKenna [Cambridge, UK: Cambridge, 2002]). 4. John D. Zizioulas, Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary, 1997); Miroslav Volf, After Our Likeness: The Church as the Image of the Trinity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998); Leonardo Boff, Holy Trinity, Perfect Community, trans. Phillip Berryman (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2000). 5. Irenaeus, Against Heresies 3.23.1-2, 4.20.1, 5.6.1. 6. Gregory of Nyssa, On the Making of Man 15.3; cf. 12.3. 7. Ibid. 16.10-11, emphasis mine; cf. Gregory of Nyssa, Great Catechism 2 and 5. 8. There are several ways to read this, though for the sake of brevity I will point out two: first, it may seem that Nyssa could in fact be arguing against some form of determinism and upholding a strong “free will” view, yet it must be remembered that Nyssa does acknowledge that “[God] saw beforehand by His all-seeing power the failure of [humanity’s] will to keep a direct course to what is good” (Ibid. 17.4).  However, this reading fails to take into account Nyssa’s other statements regarding God’s providence within creation, namely “that in the Divine foreknowledge and power all humanity is included in the first creation; for it is fitting for God not to regard any of the things made by Him as indeterminate, but that each existing thing should have some limit and measure prescribed by the wisdom of its Maker” (Ibid. 16.16).  This second reading thus follows this clarification that all of humanity’s participation and freedom from compulsion is within the realm of God’s foreknowledge and power. 9. Ibid. 16.18, 18.6-9. 10. Ibid., 18.6. 11. Augustine, On the Trinity 12.7.12. 12. Mark Ellingsen is quick to note the diversity within Augustine's anthropology, although Ellingsen jumps the gun in asserting that a body-soul dualism exists within Confessions and On the Trinity, although I do agree with Ellingsen that Augustine's reference to the body as the garment of the soul in Augustine's Exposition of the Book of the Psalms does run into some problematic territory.  However, in the City of God, as Ellingsen points out, there is a much more holistic depiction of humanity (Mark Ellingsen, The Richness of Augustine: His Contextual and Pastoral Theology [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2005], 68).  See Stephen J. Duffy, “Anthropology,” Augustine Through the Ages: An Encyclopedia, ed. Allan D. Fitzgerald, O.S.A. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 24-31. 13. Nyssa, On the Making of Man 16.14, 17.4, 22.4. 14. Augustine, On the Trinity 12.7.12-12.8.13. 15. Ibid. 14.12.16, 15.3.5. 16. Augustine, City of God 14.26.  “…Augustine does not suggest that sexual relations are of a different order from other human relations.  Rather, he is proposing that sexual relations are the same as, and perhaps even the paradigm of, all social relations in paradise.  Harmonious, properly ordered, and fundamentally passionless…” (Julie B. Miller, “To Remember Self, to Remember God: Augustine on Sexuality, Rationality, and the Trinity,” Feminist Interpretations of Augustine, ed. Judith Chelius Stark [University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University, 2007], 252).  However, the Incarnation complicates this claim... 17. Augustine, On the Trinity 12.7.10, emphasis mine; cf. 12.7.11, 12.12.19. 18. 1 Corinthians 11:5-8; 1 Timothy 2:15, 5:5. 19. Judith Chelius Stark, “Augustine on Women: In God's Image, but Less So,” Feminist Interpretations of Augustine, 217. 20. Augustine, On the Trinity 14.8.11. 21. Duffy rightly asserts that “[a] metaphysical dualism was unacceptable to [Augustine], yet an existential dualism haunted him” (Duffy, “Anthropology,” 31). 22. Ibid. 12.7.12, emphasis mine. 23. This Augustinian formulation has some interesting implications, namely that our minds are not “sexed.”  However, this runs into some issues with different scientific studies regarding the differences between male and female brains.  Two counterpoints: first, the mind is a much more abstract concept than the physical brain; second, there are more studies that complicate the portrait between “male” and “female” brains as something that can be easily distinguished, although such a discussion is outside the scope of our discussion. 24. Augustine, On the Trinity 15.11.20. 25. Kallistos Ware, “The Soul in Greek Christianity,” From Soul to Self, ed. M. James C. Crabbe (New York, NY: Routledge, 1999), 49.  Kathryn Tanner, Christ the Key (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge, 2010), 53-54. 26. Nyssa, On the Making of Man 11.2-4, emphasis mine. 27. Kallistos, “The Soul in Greek Christianity,” 49. 28. Plato, Philebus 48c-48d. 29. William Desmond, Philosophy and Its Others: Ways of Being and Mind (Albany, NY: State University of New York, 1990), 51. 30. Some of the following thoughts regarding Augustine and apophatic anthropology were inspired by and build upon James K.A. Smith, Speech and Theology: Language and the Logic of Incarnation (New York: Routledge, 2002). 31. Augustine, Confessions 10.7 in Augustine, Confessions (Oxford World Classics), trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford, UK: Oxford, 2008), 182-183. 32. Ibid. 10.8.14. 33. Ibid. 10.8.15. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid.  10.17.26. 36. Augustine, On the Trinity 15.7.11-13. 37. Ibid. 15.3.5. 38. Ibid. 10.11.18. 39. Ibid. 14.8.11. 40. Ibid. 14.12.15. 41. Augustine, Sermon 398.2 in Augustine, Sermons III/10 (341-400) (The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century), trans. Edmund Hill, O.P. (Hyde Park, NY: New City, 1995), 446. 42. I am aware of the feminist and womanist criticisms that may arise here: one’s existential experience and therefore memory are inextricably tied to one’s sexed experience and the social contexts where one’s sexed body plays a major role (school, work, church, etc.).  These criticisms are valid, yet the pros of an apophatic anthropology need to be considered. 43. If one’s theological anthropology leads one to conclude that those in coma, those suffering from Alzheimer’s, or those who are not “neurotypical” do not carry the image of God, then there is a major ethical issue in how the doctrine is received.

[thepoorinspirit]

Mid-2017 Reading List Check-In and Summer Plans

It is the 26th week of the year (halfway to 2018[!]), which means it’s time to check in on my reading list.  So far, I’ve managed to read about 52 books.  It’s a bit hard to believe, but between the 5 courses for my Spring semester and the Summer intensive course on Apocalypticism, as well as the research for my presentation at the 2017 Florovsky Symposium, there was a lot of work to do.  Thankfully, I managed all A’s in my courses (somehow). Theoretically, if I keep up this pace, I will read just a little over 100 books this year, so we’ll see how that goes.  Quality, not quantity, right? My plans for the summer are to read several works on apophaticism, Charles Taylor’s The Language Animal, and revisiting some Gadamer.  I also plan to take the GRE as well.  I have also started introductory work on German and Latin, although I am taking everything a bit slow for now (I mean, I am supposed to be on vacation).  Lord willing, I’ll finish up my other two articles on apophaticism soon, as I plan to tackle the subject as part of the thesis for my Master’s degree. Pray for me, a sinner.

[thepoorinspirit]

An Introduction To Apophatic/Negative Theology: Part I – Towards a Definition

There is an incredible lack of introductory resources for those wanting to become familiar with apophatic/negative theology (also referred to as “apophaticism”).  This series will address three topics: defining apophatic theology through a brief historical approach, the place of apophatic theology in systematic theology, and a brief reception of apophatic theology in modern discourse.  These are not meant to be comprehensive but, while attempting to stay at a prefatory level so that readers may jump into further studies, the footnotes at the bottom point to resources for deeper engagement with apophatic theology. What is Apophatic Theology? Searching For Meaning in History and Consensus

There is something of an inherent danger in positing the question of what apophatic theology is, since it may be misunderstood that all manifestations of apophaticism are the same.  As we shall see in the section on reception history, not all employments of apophatic theology are exactly alike – there are different emphases and nuances that work against any totalizing definition of apophatic theology.  Thus, there are two routes possible for forming a definition of apophatic theology: the historical approach, which goes back as far possible to trace the earliest apophatic elements in literature, or the consensus approach, which highlights the commonalities among the varied uses of negative theology, bringing together these shared traits to sketch out the “essential” features of apophaticism.  However, the historical approach presupposes a definition, as one assumes certain characteristics with which to judge whether a thinker is actually employing apophatic theology or simply just employing language similar in appearance.  While recognizing the interdependency of both the historical and consensus approach as well as the risk of oversimplifying definitions, the words of Orthodox scholar Andrew Louth provide some basic elements as to what one is looking for when searching for apophatic theology:

“[Apophatic theology] begins with an assertion of the incomprehensibility of God… we are approaching a mystery that is beyond human comprehension…”1

While Louth’s definition is simplistic in form, the contents and implications of apophaticism have been the topic of conversation for centuries, even millennia.  The incomprehensibility of God is the starting point for apophaticism, taking seriously the ontological gap between humanity and Divinity, which has epistemological implications for humanity “knowing” the Divine.  If God is completely Other, then what does that mean for our theological assertions?

This topic goes as far back to, at the very least, the 5th century BCE, with the pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Protagoras (481-411 BCE) waxing eloquently in his work regarding deities: “About the gods, I am not able to know whether they exist or do not exist, nor what they are like in form; for the factors preventing knowledge are many: the obscurity of the subject, and the shortness of human life.”2  Many Greek philosophers, especially Plato and his legacy (Middle and Neo-Platonists), put forward various, sometimes incompatible, responses to this question of how mortal, material beings may know the immortal, immaterial gods.3  There is no definitive “apophatic theology” at work among the Greek philosophers; rather, the insight that there is an epistemological issue when finite beings approach seek to know divine beings is the motivation that drives these inquiries.

It is not until Philo of Alexandria (ca. 25 BCE – 50 CE), the well-educated Jewish exegete, that we see a comprehensive apophatic treatment of the Jewish scriptures.  It is important to refer to Philo on this topic as he lays the foundation for later Christian apophaticism.  However, in referring to Philo as “the Father of negative theology,” Louth perhaps overstates his case, considering the apophatic elements already present within Greek philosophy.4  Perhaps if one qualifies the statement by saying that Philo is “the Father of monotheist negative theology,” then the title comes closer to the truth.  In De Mutatione Nominum, Philo reveals a bit about his apophatic approach to God:

“Do not however suppose that the Existent which truly exists is apprehended by any man; for we have in us no organ by which we can envisage it, neither in sense, for it is imperceptible by sense, nor yet in mind . . . And why should we wonder that the Existent cannot be apprehended by men when even the mind in each of us is unknown to us? For who knows the essential nature of the soul?”5

There are some important elements here that call for highlighting.  First, Philo presupposes that God, in a very real sense, “exists,” as he refers to God as “the Existent which truly exists.”  This ontological topic is debated within apophatic discourse, as shown later.  Second, God is unable to be apprehended by humanity.  Below, we will see Philo qualify what he means by “apprehension,” although, for now, it is enough to say that humanity is unable to fully know God.  Third, there is a finite element that is already present within human epistemology: how can humanity apprehend God “when even the mind in each of us is unknown to us?”  This particular insight from Philo goes back to Greek philosophy,6 yet theologians and philosophers have revitalized this topic due to its useful correctives for not only theological and philosophical construction, but also for anthropological discourse and interpersonal communication.7  The first two elements - the existence of God and the inability of humanity to apprehend God – are the starting points for apophatic discourse in Philo’s framework.  In his re-telling of Moses requesting to see God’s face, Philo reconstructs God’s response in a philosophically creative manner:

“Do not, then, hope ever to be able to apprehend Me or any of My powers in Our essence. But I readily and with right goodwill will admit you to share of what is attainable. That means that I bid you come and contemplate the universe and its contents, a spectacle apprehended not by the eye of the body but by the unsleeping eyes of the mind. Only let there be a constant and profound longing for wisdom which fills its scholars and disciples with verities glorious in their exceeding loveliness.”8

 After reinforcing the inability of humanity’s ability to apprehend God, Philo claims that God does share “what is attainable” to humanity.  Presumably, this is, given the context, a type of knowledge of God attainable to humanity.  The contents of “what” is attainable become a central debate in later apophatic discourse.  What is also noteworthy here is a monotheist division between God’s essence and the contents of what is attainable, a foundational separation which is exploited in later Christian and even Jewish thinkers.  Another point worth singling out is the idea of contemplation: for Philo, it is not the physical senses that are most important, but the “unsleeping eyes of the mind” of those who desire wisdom that will reach what is attainable, albeit still unable to fully apprehend God.

These themes in Philo are then picked up and in developed in Patristic literature, namely by (but not limited to) Saints Clement of Alexandria,9 the Cappadocians (Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory Nazianzus, Basil of Caesarea),10 Augustine of Hippo,11 Pseudo-Dionysius,12 John of Damascus,13 and Maximus the Confessor.14  However, this does not mean that Philo was the sole source of apophaticism within the early Church; the Church Fathers drew upon a multitude of Greek philosophers with Philo’s interpretations of God’s incomprehensibility largely influencing these appropriations of Greek philosophy, as seen in some Patristic writings, especially Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses.

 Pseudo-Dionysius The Mystical Theology

The most influential figure on the topic of negative theology from the Patristic corpus is the mysterious Pseudo-Dionysius of the late 5th/early 6th century CE, writing under the pseudonym “Dionysius the Areopagite,” a follower of Paul mentioned in Acts 17:34.  Very little information is known about the actual author other than their texts, which provide Neoplatonist Christian constructions of mystical theology.  In fact, the most popular work by Pseudo-Dionysius (henceforth “Ps-D.”) is entitled The Mystical Theology, which opens with a prayer to the Trinity:

“Trinity!  Higher than any being, any divinity, any goodness! Guide of Christians in the wisdom of heaven! Lead us up beyond unknowing and light, up to the farthest, highest peak of mystic Scripture where the mysteries of God’s Word lie simple, absolute and unchangeable in the brilliant darkness of a hidden silence.”15

Ps-D. is adamant that God is “beyond all being and knowledge.”16  Ps-D.’s work touches upon the first element  – the existence of God – in the opening of The Mystical Theology, although there is a dispute regarding how to interpret the language of Divine ontology in Dionysius’ corpus and, building upon one’s interpretation of this issue, whether or not Ps-D.’s approach is representative of orthodox theological construction.  This issue is not simply limited to Patristic or even medieval Christian discourse, but one that occupies modern theologians and postmodern philosophers.

The issue revolves around Ps-D. positing God as “beyond all being” (υπέρ πάσαν ουσίαν).17  The Greek word “υπέρ” (hyper) can be translated as either “over,” “above,” “beyond,” or “excessive.”  The phrase, then, can be translated with at least three possibilities: God is over, above, or beyond all being, or excessive being (if one wishes, “being in excess”).  Later in The Mystical Theology, Ps-D. asserts that God is τον υπερούσιον ύπερουσίως18 which Colm Luibheid and Paul Rorem translate as “the Transcendent One in a transcending way.”19  Jacques Derrida translates the phrase as “what is beyond Being in a hyperessential mode.”20  What is the nature of this “transcendence” or “hyperessential mode”?  Recall that Philo posits God as “existing.” Within classical theism, God’s being is fundamentally different from all other beings: “God is the self-sufficient, eternal, immutable (unchanging) perfect being… God’s being is perfect and complete.”21  However, there are rare cases when ύπερ, when functioning as a prefix, can become a negation through an overemphasis of the “above” or “beyond” element,22 possibly being translated as “without.”23  Thus, one could translate-interpret τον υπερούσιον ύπερουσίως as akin to “the One above Being without being,” “the One beyond being without being,” with even more radical approaches, such as “the One without being [that] transcends all being,” “beyond be-ing beyond-beingly before all,” or the Levinasian formulation, “otherwise than being.”24  What is ultimately at stake is how to construe God’s relationship to being: (1) is God the perfect being, (2) a being which transcends all being while maintaining a hyperessential form of existence (“a supreme being beyond the categories of being”), (3) or does God escape such constructions in such a way that one must say that God is “without” being?  We will leave this topic behind at the moment and move on the second element, that God is unable to be apprehended by humanity.  What most theologians historically agree on is that God is “Other” (whether that otherness is understood as ontological or transcending ontology) and that humanity is incapable of completely comprehending God.  God will always be, in a very real sense, a mystery.  The difficulty now lies within the paradox of apophaticism and theology and the possibilities of “(not) speaking of God”: if theology is the study of or discourse about God and apophaticism is the recognition of the limits of human epistemology and language being unable to fully represent or capture God, then apophatic theology is best defined as “that speech about God which is a failure of speech.”25  Here, one comes to a division between theologians who tend to be more positive (kataphatic) or negative (apophatic) and different uses of negative theology.  Theologians who tend to be more positive generally agree with theologians who tend to be more negative that we will never comprehend God’s essence, as God is incomprehensible.  However, there is a different degree of emphasis as to how much one may know of God, which is not unrelated to how one interprets Ps-D. 

Aquinas and Dialectical Negative Theology

One may view the medieval Catholic Thomas Aquinas as one of the more well-known positive theologians.  However, this classification needs to be highly qualified.  Aquinas does incorporate insights regarding negative theology from Ps-D. in his own writings,26 with Aquinas affirmingly quoting the Areopagite when the latter states that “God does not exist in a certain way”27 and that the names humans apply to God “can be both affirmed and denied of God. They can be affirmed because of the meaning of the name; they can be denied because of the mode of signification.”28  Aquinas is quite clear that the created intellect (namely, humanity in this instance) is unable to comprehend God.29  However, Aquinas does insist that the “blessed” (saints) will “see” God’s essence,30 though this “seeing” is still limited as God is infinite and humans remain finite:31 “he who sees God's essence, sees in Him that He exists infinitely, and is infinitely knowable; nevertheless, this infinite mode does not extend to enable the knower to know infinitely; thus, for instance, a person can have a probable opinion that a proposition is demonstrable, although he himself does not know it as demonstrated.”32  (It must be mentioned at this point that Eastern Orthodox theologians generally disagree with Aquinas regarding his assertion that saints can see (again, but not comprehend!) the essence of God; for the Orthodox, to the essence of God is to disregard the ontological otherness of the Creator, thus making this a continuing point of contention between Catholic and Orthodox understandings of beatitude/deification/theosis33).  Aquinas’ positivity regarding humans being able to know something of God is demonstrated in his employment of negative theology:

“Now, in considering the divine substance, we should especially make use of the method of remotion [literally “through the use of negative”; via remotionis utendum]. For, by its immensity, the divine substance surpasses every form that our intellect reaches. Thus, we are unable to apprehend it by knowing what it is. Yet we are able to have some knowledge of it by knowing what it is not. Furthermore, we approach nearer to a knowledge of God according as through our intellect we are able to remove more and more things from Him.”34

Here, one detects that Aquinas’ use of apophaticism is a bit different than that of Ps-D., a claim rooted in Aquinas’ ontological grounding and his positive epistemology.  First, despite positively quoting various ontological statements from Ps-D. regarding God’s being and existence, Aquinas consistently defers to his fundamental claim that God is Subsistent Being (esse) Itself.35  Second, and relatedly, Aquinas posits God as a subject that can be seen and known based on his understanding of 1 John 3:2 (“for we will see him as he is”, NRSV) and the connection between actuality and knowledge: “Since everything is knowable according as it is actual, God, Who is pure act without any admixture of potentiality, is in Himself supremely knowable.”36  So, in Aquinas’ view, one can gain knowledge of God through the language of negation, since God is knowable; however, God is incomprehensible as an infinite being, so finite beings are not able to comprehend or contain God within their created intellect.  Aquinas’ use of negative theology seeks to “correct the oversights and deficiencies of affirmative theology and doing the best it can to construct a negative theology of the One who cannot be known essentially.”37  This approach to negative theology as a “simultaneous-dialectical” apophaticism, where “negative theology and positive theology are hopelessly inseparable,”38 is still influential in many theological circles.  Thus, Aquinas, while still incorporating Ps.-D’s mystical elements, still retains some type of rational hope in his quest to know God.

However, Ps-D.especially attempts to move beyond the bounds of rational theology, transcending both negations and affirmations.  The language of negation is not simply a denial of positive statements so that the latter can be corrected and the knower can come to some knowledge of God.  Rather, Dionysius wants to go beyond the interplay39 between positive and negative statements of God, as seen in Aquinas, as he yearns to portray a true ignorance of the Divine that is unable to comprehend God qua God:

“There is no speaking of it, nor name nor knowledge of it.  Darkness and light, error and truth – it is none of these.  It is beyond assertion and denial.  We make assertions and denials of what is next to it, but never of it, for it is both beyond every assertion, being the perfect and unique cause of all things, and, by virtue of its preeminently simple and absolute nature, free of every limitation, beyond every limitation; it is also beyond every denial.”40

The above passage is the conclusion of Ps-D.’s The Mystical Theology, which offers an apophaticism that goes beyond positive and negative statements: it is, altogether, an attempt to portray God as something ultimately ontologically other in the most extreme way possible. This prevents any true knowledge of God.  Dialectical apophaticism, the negation of positive theological statements, is not enough to adequately capture Ps-D’s project.  One may even dare speak of a “post-ontological” view of God within The Mystical Theology.

 Conclusion: On (Not) Speaking of Definitions

Reading Philo in light of Ps-D. and Aquinas reveals that apophatic theology tends to morph through the centuries and that one can only come up with a definition that recognizes repeated elements rather than a definition that encompasses all apophatic discourse.  Whereas Philo and Aquinas overlap in terms of their language of God’s existence and God sharing “what is attainable” to humanity, both the two figures and Ps-D. all agree that humanity is unable to fully apprehend/comprehend the incomprehensible God. How one understands Ps-D.’s language of τον υπερούσιον ύπερουσίως affects how to categorize the Areopagite.  If Ps-D. really does describe God as so far beyond being that one could say that God is “without” being or, as he states in The Divine Names, that “God is not some kind of being,” then that places the goal of Ps-D.’s apophatic approach into an entirely different category: one cannot speak of God just because the Divine is incomprehensible by virtue of being the most perfect being (Aquinas), but incomprehensible because God transcends even our attempts to gain knowledge of the Divine via dialectical negative theological discourse.  This is the total Otherness of God realized.

In recognizing two distinct employments of negation – the simultaneous-dialectical approach of Aquinas and the “post-ontological” approach of Ps-D. – defining apophatic theology becomes problematic.  While maintaining a view of God that remains transcendent, Aquinas posits that some, though not a completely comprehensive, knowledge of God is possible through negation.  Ps-D. disagrees completely: everything must be denied, even our negations.  However, between these two figures, both posit that God is incomprehensible and is totally distinct from Creation.  Thus, one may define apophatic theology as the discourse about God which is a failure of speech when faced with God’s incomprehensibility and Otherness.

  ____________ [1] Andrew Louth, Introducing Eastern Orthodox Theology (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2013), 29. [2] Protagoras, On the Gods, as quoted in Deirdre Carabine, The Unknown God: Negative Theology in the Platonic Tradition: Plato to Eriugena (Louvain Theological and Pastoral Monographs) (Louvain: Peeters, 1995), 13. [3] Carabine, The Unknown God, 13-187. [4] Andrew Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys, 2nd ed. (New York, NY: Oxford, 2007), 18.  Louth is, of course, aware of these apophatic elements within the Greek philosophers, though he does not seem to count them as genuine negative theologies. [5] De Mutatione Nominum 7, 10, as quoted in Louth, Origins, 19. [6] Louth, Origins, 19. [7] Chris Boesel and Catherine Keller, eds., Apophatic Bodies: Negative Theology, Incarnation, and Relationality (New York: Fordham University Press, 2010). [8] De Specialibus Legibus (i. 49ff.), as quoted in Louth, Origins, 20. [9] Henny Fiska Hagg, Clement of Alexandria and the Beginnings of Christian Apophaticism (Oxford Early Christian Studies), eds. Gillian Clark and Andrew Louth (Oxford, UK: Oxford, 2006). [10] Jaroslav Pelikan, Christianity and Classical Culture: The Metamorphosis of Natural Theology in the Christian Encounter with Hellenism (Gifford Lectures at Aberdeen, 1992-1993) (New York, NY: Yale University, 1993), 40-56. [11] Augustine of Hippo is perhaps the most controversial figure to place within this last as some scholars do not consider him to be a “true” apophatic theologian when compared to, say, Pseudo-Dionysius, with the former only carrying elements of negative theology within his work and the latter holistically engaging theology through an apophatic lens.  Lewis Ayres, Augustine and the Trinity (New York, NY: Cambridge, 2010), 262n26.  Vladimir Lossky, “Elements of ‘Negative Theology’ in the Thought of St Augustine,” SVTQ 21 (1977), 67-75.  For a view that affirms that Augustine maintains negative theology that still distinguishes his project from most other Patristic thinkers, see Paul van Geest, The Incomprehensibility of God: Augustine as a Negative Theologian (Leuven: Peeters, 2011); cf. Maarten Wisse, Trinitarian Theology Beyond Participation (T&T Clark Studies in Systematic Theology Volume 11), eds. John Webster, Ian A. McFarland, Ivor Davidson (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2011), 88-92. [12] Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works, trans. Colm Luibheid and Paul Rorem (New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1987).  Andrew Louth, Denys the Areopagite (Outstanding Christian Thinkers) (New York, NY: Continuum, 1989). [13] Andrew Louth, St John Damascene: Tradition and Originality in Byzantine Theology (Oxford Early Christian Studies) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 89-116. [14] Ysabel De Andia, “Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite and Maximus the Confessor,” The Oxford Handbook of Maximus the Confessor, ed. Pauline Allen and Bronwen Neil (Oxford, UK: Oxford, 2015), 177-193.  Andrew Louth, Maximus the Confessor (The Early Church Fathers), ed. Carol Harrison (New York, NY: Routledge, 1996), 51-52. [15] Pseudo-Dionysius, The Mystical Theology I (997A-997B) in Pseudo-Dionysius, 135. [16] Mystical Theology I (997B) in Ibid. [17] Corpus Dionysiacum, Volume II: Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita. De Coelesti Hierarchia, De Ecclesiastic Hierarchia, De Mystica Theologia, Epistulae (Patristiche Texte Und Studien), eds. Gunter Heil and Adolf M. Ritter (Boston, MA: de Gruyter, 2012), 142.  Translation mine. [18] Ibid., 145. [19] Mystical Theology II (1025A) in Pseudo-Dionysius, 138. [20] Jacques Derrida, “How to Avoid Speaking: Denials,” Derrida and Negative Theology, eds. Harold Coward and Toby Foshay (Albany, NY: State University of New York, 1992), 80. [21] Roger E. Olson, The Westminster Handbook to Evangelical Theology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 274. [22] Kevin Hart, The Trespass of the Sign: Deconstruction, Theology and Philosophy (Perspectives in Continental Philosophy), ed. John D. Caputo (New York, NY: Fordham University, 2000), 202. [23] Jean-Luc Marion, God Without Being, 2nd Ed., trans. Thomas A. Carlson (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago, 2012). [24] Hart, The Trespass of the Sign, 202. [25] Denys Turner, The Darkness of God: Negativity in Christian Mysticism (New York, NY: Cambridge, 1999), 20. [26] Summa Contra Gentiles 1.26.10, 1.28.9, 1.29.4, 1.30.3, 1.49.6, 1.58.10, 1.91.4-14, 1.93.11.  [27] Ibid., 1.28.9.  Aquinas is citing Pseudo-Dionysius, On the Divine Names 5.4. [28] Ibid., 1.30.3. [29] Summa Theologica 1.12.7. [30] Ibid., 1.12.1. [31] Ibid., 1.7.1-4. [32] Ibid., 1.12.7.ad3. [33] A.N. Williams, The Ground of Union: Deification in Aquinas and Palamas (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 16-17. [34] Summa Contra Gentiles 1.14.2.  Emphasis mine. [35] Gregory P. Rocca, O.P., Speaking of the Incomprehensible God: Thomas Aquinas on the Interplay of Positive and Negative Theology (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 2004), 72. [36] Summa Theologica 1.12.1. [37] Rocca, Speaking of the Incomprehensible God, 72. [38] Merold Westphal, Transcendence and Self-Transcendence: On God and the Soul (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University, 2004), 116, 120; cf. 116-123.  Westphal’s portrayal of Pseudo-Dionysius’ apophaticism is lacking, particularly in his exploration of what he terms the “successive-diachronic” relationship between negative and positive theology, as he portrays it as one leaving behind and moving beyond cognitive acts in relation to God; for Pseudo-Dionysius, it is more than this – it is a break from the “dia,” the interplay between positive and negative, altogether (Ibid., 116). [39] Rocca, Speaking of the Incomprehensible God, 353-354. [40] Mystical Theology V (1048A-1048B) in Pseudo-Dionysius, 141.  Emphasis mine. [41] Heiko A. Oberman, The Reformation: Roots and Ramifications, trans. Andrew Colin Gow (New York, NY: T&T Clark, 2004), 81.

[thepoorinspirit]

Transcendent and Immanent Pneumatology in Orthodox Morning Prayers

Eastern Orthodoxy posits that theology is first and foremost doxology and, as such, begins with prayer: “If you are a theologian, you will pray truly.  And if you pray truly, you are a theologian.”1 Orthodox theology, then, is fundamentally Trinitarian, as the typical language of both the liturgical and private prayers within Orthodoxy are made “to the Father, through the Son, and in the Holy Spirit.”2 However, a common tradition within Orthodoxy is to begin one’s morning prayers by first invoking the Trinity and then praying directly to the Holy Spirit:

“O heavenly King, the Comforter, the Spirit of truth, who art everywhere present and fillest all things, the Treasury of blessings, and Giver of life, come and abide in us.  Cleanse us from all impurity and save our souls, o good One.”3

Immediately following this prayer, a different invocation of the Trinity, known as the Trisagion, follows: “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us.”4  In contrast to much of Protestantism, especially those denominations influenced by the historical tendency among German systematic theologians who have historically focused on the Father and the Son at the expense of the Spirit,5 which subordinates Pneumatology to Christology and Theology proper,6 Orthodoxy maintains a rich pneumatology due to its theological tradition being strongly influenced by the early theologians who contended for the divinity of the Holy Spirit, such as Athanasius and Cyril of Alexandria, along with Basil the Caesarea.7

The doxological construction of the morning prayers within Orthodoxy is congruent with aspects of Sarah Coakley’s thesis that the Spirit plays a fundamental role in experiencing the Trinity: the Holy Spirit prays in us, disrupting the human monologue, “interrupts the fallen worldly order and infuses it with the divine question” and “the divine life,”8 and thus is our “point of entry in a movement of progressive ‘ascent’” to be incorporated into the life of the Holy Trinity.9  While avoiding the tendency to de-personalize and subordinate the Spirit within Trinitarian thought by overplaying the term “Spirit,”10 the above prayer also posits the Spirit as “everywhere present and fill[ing] all things” yet, at the same time, requests the Spirit to “abide” in us.  The Spirit as a Person of the transcendent Trinitarian God may at first seem to conflict with its immanence in the world, especially when the transcendent realm is understood as something akin to realm of the Platonic Forms which has no overlap with the material realm.  This is understandable given the dominance of Platonic vocabulary within the early Christian theologians. 

However, two counterpoints must be offered: first, the appropriation of Platonic language by Christian theologians to discuss the doctrines derived from Scripture is a double-edged sword: not only does Scripture now enter a different language game by entering into the metaphysical discourse of Middle and Neo-Platonism (one of the tenants of the “Hellenization of Christianity” theory), but the Platonic vocabulary is now fit into a new narrative matrix of God becoming human, or the “invisible becoming visible,” to recall Irenaeus.11  In short, there is a dialectical and dialogical evangelizing of vocabulary. 

Second, negative or apophatic theology, especially as developed by the Cappadocians (Sts Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory Nazianzus, and Basil of Caesarea), undercuts the dogmatic Platonic dualism of the transcendent realm and the immanent realm by positing such human constructions of distance more as heuristic devices indicative of humanity’s epistemological limitations rather than any topographic realities representative of the spatial arrangements between God and creation.12  Thus, the paradox of God being both transcendent and immanent need not be mutually exclusive, especially if one grants the boundaries of finite knowledge. 

Centuries later, Maximus the Confessor offers a reading that illustrates this overlap of the Trinity being both transcendent and immanent, as well as taking into account the ascent of humanity to participate in the Triune life: “Revelation is the inexpressible interpenetration (περιχώρησις) of the believer with the object of belief…”13  Thus, in God’s οἰκονομία, humanity is led by and participates in the Triune life via the Holy Spirit, who is everywhere present and filling all things.

_______________ [1] Evagrius, “On Prayer” 60 [61] (Patrologia Graeca 79:1180B) in The Philokalia: The Complete Text (Vol. 1), eds. G. E. H. Palmer, P. Sherrard and K. Ware (trans.) (London, UK: Faber & Faber, 1979), 62.  This quote is cited either implicitly or explicitly in a number of works on Orthodox Theology, with the prime example being Dumitru Staniloae, Orthodox Dogmatic Theology: The Experience of God (Volume I: Revelation and Knowledge of the Triune God), ed. and trans. by Ioan Ionita and Robert Barringer (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox), 86. [2] Andrew Louth, Introducing Eastern Orthodox Theology (Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity, 2013), 28. [3] A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary, 1983), 2.  Modified. [4] Ibid. [5] Wilson Varkey, Role of the Holy Spirit in Protestant Systematic Theology: A Comparitive Study of Karl Barth, Jurgen Moltmann, and Wolfhart Pannenberg (Cumbra, CA: Langham, 2011), 9-14.  Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, “‘By the Washing of Regeneration and Renewal in the Holy Spirit’: Towards a Pneumatological Theology of Justification,” The Spirit and Christ in the New Testament and Christian Theology: Essays In Honor of Max Turner, eds. I Howard Marshall, Volker Rabens, and Cornelis Bennema (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans: 2012), 312-313. [6] Steven M. Studebaker, “Beyond Tongues: A Pentecostal Theology of Grace,” Defining Issues in Pentecostalism: Classical and Emergent, ed. Steven M. Studebaker (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2008), 49.  The main Protestant denomination to avoid this issue is Pentecostalism, though the Pneumatological tendencies within Pentecostal practice range from historically balanced to overemphasized. [7] Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology: The Holy Spirit in Ecumenical, International, and Contextual Perspective (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2002), 12. [8] Sarah Coakley, God, Sexuality, and the Self: An Essay ‘On the Trinity,’ (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge, 2013), 55-56. [9] Ibid., 142. [10] Kallistos Ware, The Orthodox Way, Rev. Edition (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary, 1995), 92. [11] Against Heresies 3.16.6. [12] Jaroslav Pelikan, Christianity and Classical Culture: The Metamorphosis of Natural Theology in the Christian Encounter with Hellenism (Gifford Lectures at Aberdeen, 1992-1993) (New York, NY: Yale University, 1993), 200-214. [13] Maximus the Confessor, On Difficulties in the Church Fathers: The Ambigua, Volume I, 17, PG 91.1228C-D as quoted in Verna Harrison, “Perichoresis in the Greek Fathers,” St Vladimir's Theological Quarter 35 (1991), 58.

[thepoorinspirit]

Bulgakov: Does the Filioque Have “Practical Life-Significance”?

“Orthodox writers also argue that these two consequences of the Filioque – subordination of the Holy Spirit, over-emphasis of the unity of God – have helped to bring about a distortion in the Roman Catholic doctrine of the Church.  Because the role of the Spirit has been neglected in the west, the Church has come to be regarded too much as an institution of this world, governed in terms of earthly power and jurisdiction.  And just as in the western doctrine of God unity was stressed at the expense of diversity, so in the western conception of the Church unity has triumphed over diversity, and the result has been too great a centralization and too great an emphasis on Papal authority.”1

The summation above by Metropolitan Kallistos Ware is a portrait of how many in the Orthodox community, both lay and clergy, approach the Filioque issue, despite Kallistos offering his own corrective interpretations on how to reconcile Eastern and Western emphases.  Ware makes two things clear: the Filioque was not always historically associated with Catholic Papal claims and the Latins are not sacrificing diversity to uphold unity (will Orthodox theologians criticize their own methodology for sacrificing unity for diversity?  Probably not, as it is easy to claim that one’s own theology is always “balanced”!).2  Despite Ware’s work, The Orthodox Church, being somewhat of a common household item within American Orthodox settings, one still hears the same blame game being played in many Orthodox settings: St Augustine opened the doors, and the Roman Catholics walked right into the trap.

What is infuriating is not just that these tired criticisms against the Filioque are painfully rehearsed in many Orthodox writings and discussions, but some Orthodox critics act as if this fundamentally alters one’s spiritual life.  However, Fr Sergius Bulgakov expresses the opposite opinion.  Exhibiting his own frustration with this topic in the early 20th century, Bulgakov states:

“Each side in this dogmatic dispute attacked and anathematized the other for distorting the most important dogma concerning the Holy Spirit.  Therefore, it would have been natural to expect that the existence of such a grave heresy, of such a fundamental dogmatic divergence, would permeate the entire life of the two churches and their entire doctrine.  Over the course of many years, I have sought traces of this influence, and I have attempted to comprehend the life-significance of this divergence and to find out where and in what it is manifested in practice.  And I must admit that I have not been able to find this practical life-significance; and, more than that, I deny that there is any such significance.”3

However, Bulgakov should not be mistaken as one who does not see the theological ramifications of the Filioque: “The Filioque doctrine, which is entirely a theology of originations, must be rejected as such.”4  However, Bulgakov does not reject the Filioque for the same reasons many other Orthodox theologians do – in fact, he also rejects the “anti-Filioque theology” as perpetuated in the East.5  Rather, discussions of “principle[s] of production or origination must, in general, be eliminated from the doctrine of the Holy Trinity.”6  Thus, for Bulgakov, the Filioque controversy is akin to a “mirage”: merely an optical illusion formed by differences in theological emphases rather than differences related to ecclesiological life.7  The Filioque remains an esoteric discussion that many attempt to participate in so that they may take theological jabs at the other party, not knowing they are actually just throwing punches underwater. _________ [1] Timothy Ware, The Orthodox Church, Rev. ed (New York, NY: Penguin, 1993), 216. [2] Ibid., 216-217. [3] Sergius Bulgakov, The Comforter, trans. Boris Jakim (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004), 131.  Author’s emphasis. [4] Ibid., 128. [5] Ibid. [6] Ibid., 129. [7] Ibid., 128.

[thepoorinspirit]

On Hospitality: Excerpts From the Early Church

As one who came to this country at a young age, the situation regarding the current immigration policy and the subsequent reactions, both for and against the recent executive order by Trump, conjure up some of my earliest memories of being on a plane to a land unknown.  I recall that my immediate family relied on the hospitality of my extended family.  With terrorist organizations not unheard of in my own country of origin (the Philippines), imagining the trauma of moving such a long distance at a young age to find out one is “banned” due to national security reasons is a bit jarring (of course, one should not discount discussions of national security itself – that is, understandably, a real issue and one must not forget that the Obama administration also placed limited restrictions of traveling to certain countries within the Middle East in 2015).  The issue is incredibly political, with hospitality being caught up with religious ethics.  The political is always personal.

I am reminded of a wonderful work by Christine D. Pohl entitled Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition and her optimism in returning to early Christian attitudes regarding hospitality:

“For the early church, then, hospitality both participated in and anticipated God's hospitality.  Christians offered hospitality in grateful response to God’s generosity and as an expression of welcome to Christ ‘who for your sake was a stranger.’  For them, hospitality was connected to the promises of God and to the presence of Christ.  It condensed attention to spiritual, social, and physical dimensions of life into one potent practice which was fitting conduct within the household of God.  Hospitality to needy strangers distinguished the early church from its surrounding environment.  Noted as exceptional by Christians and non-Christians alike, offering care to strangers became one of the distinguishing marks of the authenticity of the Christian gospel and of the church.  Writings from the first five centuries demonstrate the importance of hospitality in defining the church as a universal community, in denying the significance of the status boundaries and distinctions of the larger society, in recognizing the value of every person, and in providing practical care for the poor, stranger, and sick.  Our contemporary situation is surprisingly similar to the early Christian context in which the normative understandings and practices of hospitality were developed.  We, like the early church, find ourselves in a fragmented and multicultural society that yearns for relationships, identity, and meaning.  Our mobile and self-oriented society is characterized by disturbing levels of loneliness, alienation, and estrangement.  In a culture that appears at times to be overtly hostile to life itself, those who reject violence and embrace life bear powerful witness.  People are hungry for welcome but most Christians have lost track of the heritage of hospitality.” (33)

In the spirit of Pohl’s words, I offer the following passages from Saints Augustine, John Chrysostom, and Gregory Nazianzus:

“Acknowledge the duty of hospitality, thereby some have attained unto God. You take in some stranger, whose companion in the way you yourself also art; for strangers are we all. He is a Christian who, even in his own house and in his own country, acknowledges himself to be a stranger. For our country is above, there we shall not be strangers. For every one here below, even in his own house, is a stranger. If he be not a stranger, let him not pass on from hence. If pass on he must, he is a stranger. Let him not deceive himself, a stranger he is; whether he will or not, he is a stranger. And he leaves that house to his children, one stranger to other strangers. Why? If you were at an inn, would you not depart when another comes? The same you do even in your own house. Your father left a place to you, you will some day leave it to your children. Neither do you abide here, as one who is to abide always, nor to those who are so to abide, will you leave it. If we are all passing away, let us do something which cannot pass away, that when we shall have passed away, and have come there whence we may not pass away, we may find our good works there. Christ is the keeper, why do you fear lest you should lose what you spend on the poor?”

– St Augustine, Sermon 61 on the New Testament

“But if others have plundered your property, display your hospitality out of such things as you have. What excuse then shall we have henceforward, when they, even after the spoiling of their goods, were thus admonished? And he did not say, Be not forgetful of the entertaining of strangers, but of hospitality: that is, do not merely entertain strangers, but [do it] with love for the strangers. Moreover he did not speak of the recompense that is future, and in store for us, lest he should make them more supine, but of that already given. For thereby some (he says) have entertained angels unawares.”

– St John Chrysostom, Homily 33 on Hebrews

“Does a poor man approach you? Remember how poor you once were, and how rich you were made. One in want of bread or of drink, perhaps another Lazarus, is cast at your gate; respect the Sacramental Table to which you have approached, the Bread of Which you have partaken, the Cup in Which you have communicated, being consecrated by the Sufferings of Christ. If a stranger fall at your feet, homeless and a foreigner, welcome in him who for your sake was a stranger, and that among His own, and who came to dwell in you by His grace, and who drew you towards the heavenly dwelling place. Be a Zaccheus, who yesterday was a Publican, and is today of liberal soul; offer all to the coming in of Christ, that though small in bodily stature you may show yourself great, nobly contemplating Christ. A sick or a wounded man lies before you; respect your own health, and the wounds from which Christ delivered you. If you see one naked clothe him, in honour of your own garment of incorruption, which is Christ, for as many as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.  If you find a debtor falling at your feet, tear up every document, whether just or unjust. Remember the ten thousand talents which Christ forgave you, and be not a harsh exactor of a smaller debt— and that from whom? From your fellow servant, you who were forgiven so much more by the Master. Otherwise you will have to give satisfaction to His mercy, which you would not imitate and take as your copy.”

– St Gregory Nazianzus, Oration 40

Wisdom, let us attend.

[thepoorinspirit]

What I Pray When I Don’t Know What to Pray

In Eastern Orthodoxy, there are many staple prayers that are part of the Church’s prayer life: the daily prayers of the morning, noon, and evening; the Lord’s prayer; the prayers for the departed; pre-communion prayers; the Jesus Prayer, etc.  Before converting to Orthodoxy, I was never really all that “good” at praying (by “good,” I mean knowing what to pray).  In fact, I can’t really say that I am any better at praying since after my conversion – I just happen to have more resources and am much more open to reciting pre-written prayers.  Often, my failure to pray often stems from not knowing what to pray.  There is an internal, spiritual struggle that occurs when it comes time to consciously reflect and meditate on my own life: am I being selfish for asking this? Have I taken enough time to reflect on my sins?  Am I focusing on the right thing here?

I am no pastor, no priest, no spiritual adviser.  I often shy away from speaking about spiritual practices since I have no authority to speak on directing others’ spiritual lives.  My consistent readers will note that this is a bit off-topic from my usual discussions of hermeneutics, historical theology, and biblical explorations.  I only offer this prayer I learned, though there is a tiny backstory: a little over a year ago, my former housemates gave Aubrey and I a sheet of paper (I believe it accompanied an icon) and one of them said to note the prayer by Saint/Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow.  I remember organizing a few things in our bedroom and eventually reading the following prayer on this tiny slip of paper:

“O Lord, I know not what ask of Thee.  Thou alone knowest what are my true needs.  Thou lovest me more than I myself know how to love.  Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me.  I dare not ask either a cross or consolation.  I can only wait on Thee.  My heart is open to Thee.  Visit and help me, for Thy great mercy’s sake.  Strike me and heal me, cast me down and raise me up.  I worship, in silence, Thy holy will and Thine inscrutable ways.  I offer myself as a sacrifice to Thee.  I put all my trust in Thee.  I have no other desire than to fulfill Thy will.  Teach me how to pray.  Pray Thou Thyself in me.  Amen.”

The prayer sparked something within me.  I was reading my very own doubts, though my doubts were now transposed as a prayer.  Rather than my struggles keeping me from fully engaging in prayer, my struggles became my prayer: “Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me.” This prayer is a proper orientation of the self to the Divine, a pre-requisite for any prayer. In fact, this prayer is a prayer for learning how to pray: “Teach me how to pray.” This quickly became my favorite personal prayer outside of the liturgical community prayers of the Church.

There are still many times I catch myself not knowing what to pray, so I often return to this prayer by Saint Philaret.  However, even in times of spiritual confidence – or, perhaps more precise, spiritual arrogance – when I think I know what I should be praying for, I still recite this prayer, reminding myself that I am still learning how to pray.

[thepoorinspirit]

Philo: The “Jewish Church Father (honoris causa)”?

Philo of Alexandria (25 BCE – 50 CE) is the most revered Jewish exegete (save for the figures in the Christian Scriptures) within the early Church due to his allegorical exegesis that supposedly anticipated some later Christian doctrines.  In fact, in the Christian Byzantine Catenae (excerpts of biblical commentary), his works are sometimes given the heading Philônos Episkop(o)u, roughly translated as Philo the overseer, which, in ecclesial terms, means Philo the Bishop.1 There is admittedly some debate as to whether this is a scribal mistake, confusing Philo of Alexandria with an actual Christian bishop sharing the same name.2 However, the preservation of Philo of Alexandria’s works by the early Christians is often credited as the reason that Philo’s works have survived – Philo did not receive the same reception within Rabbinic Judaism.3  The works of Philo were treasured by many early Christian figures and even led some Christian writers within the Patristic period to relay stories regarding Philo’s relationship with Christianity.

For example, in the well-known Ecclesiastical History by Eusebius, Philo is said to have met the first Egyptian Christians as well as St Peter in Rome.  Regarding the meeting of Philo and Peter, St Jerome concurs with Eusebius, adding that the two figures became friends.  Epiphanius reports that Philo even attended a Pascha celebration.  A pseudonymous fifth century work states that Philo was baptized after the apostle John healed his wife of leprosy.  A report of an Armenian translator from the sixth century states that Philo was part of the Jewish crowd that argued with St Stephen (Acts 6.9).4 Of course, these “reports” are written centuries after Philo’s lifetime and are regarded as legendary tales to support the use Philo’s works within Christian literature. St Isidore of Pelusium, a fifth century ascetic, offers some insight as to what Philo’s Jewish writings offer to Christian theologians:

“For the teaching of the truth has embedded the concept of the holy Trinity so clearly and lucidly, also in the Old Testament, for those who wish to observe it that Philo, though a Jew and a zealous one at that, in the writings which he left behind comes into conflict with his own religion. When he examined the words spoken by God, ‘in the image of God I made man’ (Gen 9:6), he is constrained and compelled by the truth also to recognize the divine Logos as God. What is the case? Even if he calls him who is coeternal with the Father ‘second’ and ‘higher than number and time’, failing therein to reach precision, nevertheless he did gain a conception of another person.”5

Although reading Philo through a Christian lens (which sees some of Philo’s theological exegesis in conflict with Judaism), Isidore rightly notes the peculiarity of Philo’s Logos theology.  Philo did in fact refer to the mysterious “Logos” as a “second god.”  How Philo remains a monotheist while holding to a “second god” concept is itself worth many books, but the main point Isidore makes is that there is some overlap between Philo’s theological grammar regarding his understanding of the Logos and the Nicene understanding of Jesus, as the Logos, who is homooúsios with the Father.  Although Philo’s works did not escape Christian criticism,6 the influence of Philo on some prominent Christian theologians (particularly those from Alexandria, the foremost being Origen),7 the authors of the New Testament authors,8 is undeniable.  Philo is not named explicitly as a source in Christian theology until Clement of Alexandria (second century), but this relative lateness as a source does not stop his work from being cited by or alluded to in the works of Origen, Didymus the Blind, Gregory of Nyssa, Ambrose, and Augustine.9

David. T. Runia, the foremost scholar on the reception of Philo within early Christianity, offers his own insight on the reception of Philo within early Christianity:

“Philonism never penetrated to the core of Christianity, which is focused on the Cross and the conviction of the continuing presence of the risen Lord.  But it did impinge significantly on Christian biblical exposition and theological doctrine.  Through the study and emulation of Philo's example early Christians were able to locate certain fundamental philosophical principles within the words of scripture itself.  And so the foundation was laid for the edifice of Christian dogma, in which features of both Judaism and Hellenism have their place.  The final result we reach, therefore, is somewhat paradoxical.  Philo made a contribution to the evolution of Christian doctrine which helped turn Christianity into a religion very different from the way his own Judaism developed.  It was not a coincidence that Philo found his future in the Christian church.”10

Without Philo of Alexandria, the voice of certain Christian theologians would look much different:  Origen’s allegorical exegesis and Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses are both deeply indebted to Philo, causing one to wonder if such either figure would be known for their relative trademark if not for their reading of Philo.  Philo’s literature is too often overlooked in Patristic studies, which is unfortunate given that Philo’s works may bridge some important gaps in historical theology, such as: the source of Hellenistic grammar within early Christianity and its Jewish precedent; the development of Logos theology within Second Temple Judaism and its reception in the Church Fathers; the theological foundations for allegorical interpretation; the deification of Moses as one foundation for Christianity’s later doctrine of theosis.  The twentieth century saw a resurgence in Second Temple studies that played a large role in shaping biblical studies for New Testament scholars thanks to the Dead Sea Scrolls, archaeology, and shifting paradigms in interpreting Palestinian Judaism.  Christian Biblical scholars are quick to note the importance of understanding Judaism in order place Scripture within its historical context. Unfortunately, historical and Patristic theology remain largely untouched by such developments, despite having Philo as something of an honorary “Jewish Church Father honoris causa.”11

 ____________________

[1] David T. Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature (Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum Ad Novum Testamentum) (Minneapolis: Brill, 1993), 3.  James R. Royse, The Spurious Texts of Philo of Alexandria: A Study of Textual Transmission and Corruption with Indexes to the Major Collections of Greek Fragments (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 14-16. [2] Royse, The Spurious Texts of Philo of Alexandria, 15-16. [3] David T. Runia, “Philo and the Early Christian Fathers,” The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge Companions to Philosophy), ed. Adam Kamesar (Cambridge University Press, 2009), 228-229.  Cristina Termini, “Philo’s Thought within the Context of Middle Judaism,” Ibid., 95.  Robert Goldenberg, “Religious Formation in Ancient Judaism,” Educating People of Faith: Exploring the History of Jewish and Christian Communities, ed. John Van Engen (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004), 42-43. [4] Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature, 4-6.  Other details are explored by Runia; I have selected some of the more striking examples for brevity. [5] As quoted in Ibid., 161. [6] Runia, “Philo and the Early Christian Fathers,” 229. [7] A wealth of information is analyzed by David T. Runia, Philo and the Church Fathers: A Collection of Papers (New York, NY: Brill, 1995). [8] Ronald Williamson, Jews in the Hellenistic World: Volume 1, Part 2: Philo (Cambridge Commentaries On Writings of the Jewish and Christian World) (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 119. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, eds., Philo Und Das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen: I. Internationales Symposium Zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum, 1.-4. Mai 2003, Eisenach/jena (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004).  One alternative view: L.D. Hurst, The Epistle to the Hebrews: Its Background of Thought (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 4-72, 82, 92.  Hurst tentatively proposes that Philo “can be seen as the representative of a much broader movement of Hellensitic Judaism,” and thus argues that the author of Hebrews is not necessarily dependent on Philonic ideas, but on a general tradition found within Hellenistic Judaism (Hurst, Epistle to the Hebrews, 12).  However, Termini states that Philo “probably does not represent the typical Jew of the Diaspora” and that “his writings may also reflect the acme of a Jewish Hellenistic tradition” associated with the cultured elite, complicating his status as representative of Hellenistic Judaism (“Philo’s Thought,” Cambridge Companion to Philo, 96). [9] Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature, 335, 339. [10] Ibid., 342. [11] Runia notes how, much later on in history, Philo lost his status as “Church Father honoris causa” (Ibid., 31-33).

[thepoorinspirit]

The East/West Division and the Need for a Diacritical Ecumenical Hermeneutic

It is not uncommon to see theologians from either the “Western” or “Eastern” schools criticize those on the other side based on theological differences rooted in differing historical developments.  Sometimes, theological arguments between the West and the East are centered around how a certain word or phrase is initially translated into another language, commonly interpreted within that language, and then said interpretation is systematically conceptualized by influential theologians.  At some point, one party is essentially blamed for not sharing the same theological language and grammar of its critics.  This does not just happen at the lay level, but is unfortunately present within academic settings.  Such engagements often lack nuance, charitable interpretations, and any openness to the Other.  Such openness is labelled as the “heresy of ecumenism”; that is, an uncritical (“soft”) approach to intercommunion with others despite doctrinal, ecclesial, and dogmatic differences.  But ecumenism need not be uncritical nor simply an open dialogue: it must be diacritical in order to recognize both the theological differences and overlap between parties.  We need a diacritical ecumenical hermeneutic.

What does a diacritical ecumenical hermeneutic entail?  Richard Kearney, in his work Strangers, Gods, and Monsters: Interpreting Otherness, defines “diacritical hermeneutics” and its aims.  Neither falling into optimistic hermeneutics of romanticism which endorses something akin to objective interpretations nor the pessimistic view of postmodernism which emphasizes the differences between the self and the other as ultimately a state of inescapable alterity, diacritical hermeneutics opens up the exploration of “possibilities of intercommunion between distinct but not incomparable selves.”1 Kearney explains:

“The diacritical approach holds that friendship begins by welcoming difference (dia-legein). It champions the practice of dialogue between self and other, while refusing to submit to the reductionist dialectics of egology governed by the logos of the Same. Between the logos of the One and the anti-logos of the Other, falls the dia-logos of oneself-as-another.”2

Kearney suggests that diacritical hermeneutics advocates for charitable interpretations – understanding the Other on their own terms – while maintaining a critical eye.3 No doubt this is a difficult balance.  However, the difficulty should not be a deterrent, but rather an indicator of the state of dialogue and dialectic: many are not able to charitably listen and respond to the Other.  The mid-twentieth century philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer asserts that true dialogue occurs when parties are engaged with the “art of questioning even further – i.e. the art of thinking.”  However, there are certain conditions to be met in dialogue for it to be true: first, the other person “is with us,” with both parties allowing each other “to be conducted by the subject matter to which the partners in the dialogue are oriented.”4 Gadamer continues:

“It requires that one does not try to argue the other person down but that one really considers the weight of the other’s opinion. Hence it is an art of testing. But the art of testing is the art of questioning…  A person skilled in the ‘art’ of questioning is a person who can prevent questions from being suppressed by the dominant opinion. A person who possesses this art will himself search for everything in favor of an opinion. Dialectic consists not in trying to discover the weakness of what is said, but in bringing out its real strength. It is not the art of arguing (which can make a strong case out of a weak one) but the art of thinking (which can strengthen objections by referring to the subject matter).”5

Dialogue and the art of questioning is itself an acknowledgement of difference, a movement toward understanding the Other who sees from a different horizon, a different perspective.  However, returning to Kearney’s diacritical hermeneutics, sometimes an understanding of the Other leads to understanding true differences and the need to be critical (again, with the balance of hospitable interpretations).  A diacritical ecumenical hermeneutic has an end-goal in mind: understanding and critiquing the religious Other and their theological positions as well as being open to their critiques with the hope of coming together in some type of communion.  Here, I am admittedly more indebted to romanticism than to the radical hermeneutics of postmodernism since I still find Gadamer’s arguments persuasive.  However, the critical element is often overlooked in hermeneutics rooted in romanticism and is crucial for any ecumenical legitimacy.  Cheap ecumenism is not ecumenism at all.

Perhaps such a diacritical ecumenical hermeneutic is espoused by David Bentley Hart in his essay “The Hidden and the Manifest: Metaphysics after Nicaea.”  I quote Hart at length due to his incisive critiques and wise insights:

“In any modern engagement between Christian East and Christian West, we begin from the long history of an often militant refusal – on both sides – of intellectual reconciliation; more to the point, we begin from very different theological grammars, and with terminologies that can achieve only proximate correspondences, and from within conceptual worlds whose atmospheres are not perfectly congenial to one another’s flora, and from a settled tradition of mutual (and frequently willful) incomprehension.  All too often, moreover, this incomprehension takes the depressing form of a simple and deplorable failure of imagination: an inability to appreciate that, in order to understand another intellectual tradition, rooted in a different primary language, it is not enough to translate its terms into one’s own dialect and then proceed to interpret them according to the rules of one’s own tradition.  And the consequence of this is that, as often as not, ‘ecumenism’ between East and West consists in little more than a relentless syncope of category errors: the drearily predictable alarm and indignation with which traditional Thomists find that Gregory Palamas, transposed into Thomas’ Latin, is not a Thomist; the deep and slightly macabre delight with which earnest Palamites discover that Thomas, read through Palamite lenses, proves to be no Palamite; arch dismissals of eastern understandings of grace as ‘semipelagian’ by doctrinaire Augustinians; the reckless intensity with which a particular kind of Orthodox polemicist fixes upon some single principle found somewhere in Latin theological tradition – like ‘subsistent relations’ or ‘created grace’ – violently misinterprets it, and then uses it to diagnose a fundamental deformity in western theology that must estrange it forever from the wellsprings of Orthodox truth; and so on… It would be humbling indeed to discover that many of our most finely wrought systems of thought possess many accidental elements, peculiar to our particular cultural sensibilities or native tongues, or that perhaps our ways of depicting the truth to ourselves might be only partial and corrigible approximations to a truth that others, under extremely different forms, have approached with equal or better success.  More terrible yet is the possibility that many of our differences will prove to be only differences of sensibility and language, and not of substance at all, thus reducing our systems to relative expressions of the truth, rather than the pristine vehicles of truth we wish them to be.”6

Here, Hart is both critical of Western and Eastern renderings of the other’s theological system.  Hart points to a core issue between traditional Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox polemics: reading Aquinas in an attempt to fit him in with Palamas and reading Palamas to fit in with Aquinas.  Both theologians are claimed to be representative of a theological tradition, with Aquinas in the “West” and Palamas in the “East.”  However, there are some presuppositions often at work in being a self-proclaimed Thomist or Palamite, with the most dangerous one being a fatal hermeneutical mistake.  The mistake is reading the Patristic corpus through a strict Thomist or Palamite lens, which will no doubt obscure the differences among the Church Fathers.  For example, in Andrew Radde-Gallwitz’s review of David Bradshaw’s 2004 Aristotle East and West, wherein Bradshaw points to the theological superiority of the Eastern tradition and its fidelity to the Church Fathers, Radde-Gallwitz criticizes Bradshaw for “read[ing] Palamas back into earlier sources.”7 Bradshaw’s aim to track energeiai from Aristotle to its Christian reception in an “East vs. West” format that deliberately champions the Eastern tradition is representative of the Eastern Orthodox tendency to read particular Church Fathers, the Cappadocians especially, as proto-Palamites.8  Thomas Aquinas is himself critical of certain statements made by the Church Fathers, sometimes “correcting or refining certain statements by the Fathers,” thus placing a question mark after any Thomistic assertion that Aquinas is a pure heir to the Church Fathers.9  All of this is to say there is much more work to be done in critically assessing one’s own theological presuppositions, the polemics that sustain division, the repeated arguments based on either lack of evidence or gross misreadings, and whether or not we are actually hearing the other party when they speak.  Thus, the need for a diacritical ecumenical hermeneutic.

____________ [1] Richard Kearney, Strangers, Gods, and Monsters: Interpreting Otherness (London: Routledge, 2003), 18; cf. 15-17. [2] Ibid., 18. [3] Ibid., 18, 99. [4] Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, translated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. 2nd rev ed. (London: Continuum Publishing Group, 2004), 360. [5] Ibid., 361. [6] David Bentley Hart, “The Hidden and the Manifest: Metaphysics after Nicaea,” Orthodox Readings of Augustine, eds. George E. Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimirs Seminary Pr, 2008), 192-193. [7] Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, “Aristotle East and West: Metaphysics and the Division of Christendom (Review),” Journal of the History of Philosophy 45:3 (July 2007), 494. [8] Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 222.  For a helpful article on assessing the difficulties of whether St Gregory of Nyssa is a “proto-Palamite,” see Fr Aidan Kimel, “Was St Gregory of Nyssa a Proto-Palamite?,” https://afkimel.wordpress.com/2014/05/05/was-st-gregory-of-nyssa-a-proto-palamite/ (accessed 1/3/2017). [9] Leo J. Elders, “Thomas Aquinas and the Fathers of the Church,” The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West: From the Carolingians to the Maurists (Volume I), ed. Irena Backus, (New York, NY: Brill, 1997), 341; cf. 339-342.  Jean-Pierre Torrel, O.P., claims that “Thomas regarded himself as the legitimate heir of the Greek Fathers” (Saint Thomas Aquinas: Volume II: Spiritual Master, trans. Robert Royal [Catholic University of America, 2003], 127).

[thepoorinspirit]

Top 10 Books I Read in 2016

I managed to read 65 books during this year of great change (moving + starting school)!  My reading list begins with mostly Orthodox works, revisiting some Patristic texts, books on hermeneutics and interpretation, and then some required reading for school.  The most dominant theme in my reading list is that of “mysticism.”  Although not explicitly in the title of many works, I started to notice in the past several months my repeated encounters with mysticism and its role in various areas: Eucharist, Patristic material, mystical readings of Plato in Middle and Neoplatonism, Philo, and even mysticism and hermeneutics.  Usually reserved for discussions on Gnosticism or for more thoroughly “eastern” religions, mysticism plays an important role in the history of Christianity and deserves some serious revisiting in both academia and in the life of the Church.  I’ll save that rant for later and present the top ten books I read in 2016:

Life Abundant: Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril - Sallie McFague This work by McFague was required reading for my Christian Theology class and I thoroughly enjoyed her nuanced approach to theology, despite ultimately disagreeing with her on several key aspects of her methodology and conclusions.  Nevertheless, her emphasis on being environmentally aware when reviewing theology and the implications of theology are worth noting.  She appropriates several key aspects from Patristic and Orthodox material, re-interpreted in her system of metaphorical theology which raises key questions about how one interacts with general Christian tradition while keeping an eye on global concerns. The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys - Fr Andrew Louth Louth goes all the way back to Plato and hops, skips, and jumps through early Christian history to present his readers various key developments of Christian mysticism.  This work is a reminder of the deeply Platonic language (and, often, structure) of mysticism that is deeply embedded within Christianity.  Louth importantly points out how mythological images within Plato are read by later theologians and exegetes to expound on experiential truth.  Although now somewhat dated, this work provides a framework for understanding Christian mysticism that deserves further exploration. For the Unity of All: Contributions to the Theological Dialogue between East and West - John Panteleimon Manoussakis An incredibly short work that attempts to cover some major theological divisions between East and West, with mixed results.  It is refreshing to see some diacritically nuanced ecumenical theology from an Orthodox figure, although the topics covered here – Mary, the filioque, and Petrine primacy, Augustine and Palamas, will and grace – all deserve books rather than chapters and Manoussakis is under no impression that he has solved all the theological difficulties that inhibit communion between opposing theological parties.  Rather, this work provides an important assessment of both sides and their theological stances, although not without some inevitably controversial remarks from Manoussakis on possible resolutions (again, emphasizing that he does not hold all the answers). Predestination: Biblical and Theological Paths - Matthew Levering As formerly Reformed-turned-Eastern-Orthodox Christian, I personally have a lot of history with the term “predestination” and its theological implications.  However, quite a few people, when they hear “predestination,” they automatically think of “double predestination” in which God elects both those who will be saved and those who will be damned.  Enter Matthew Levering’s impressive exploration regarding how predestination is used in various passages within Scripture and throughout Church History.  This book challenged my own presuppositions and gave a historical depth often not present within predestination debates that flatly represents any nuance as either Calvinism or Arminianism.  A must-read for all theologians. On the Tree of the Cross: Georges Florovsky and the Patristic Doctrine of Atonement - Matthew Baker, Seraphim Danckaert, and Nicholas Marinides (Editors) This book challenges many modern Orthodox presuppositions regarding atonement.  The essays by Khaled Anatolios and Matthew Baker are enough to place a big question mark against many Orthodox readings of Athanasius’ On the Incarnation, a work championed by Orthodox theologians as representative of Incarnational, rather than juridical, atonement theology.  Florovsky receives both respect and criticism for his role in shaping modern Orthodox atonement theology, although one wonders if this work will receive wide reception among Orthodox theologians or if it will be denounced as a work with too much Protestant influence. The Two Horizons: New Testament Hermeneutics and Philosophical Description - Anthony C. Thiselton Difficult reads often pay off, and Thiselton’s landmark tome is no exception to the rule.  A familiarity with Schleiermacher, Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Gadamer is necessary to grasp Thiselton’s work as he weaves through the philosophical complexities of hermeneutics and its implications for approaching biblical texts.  A work that deserves a lifetime of revisiting. Traversing the Imaginary: Richard Kearney and the Postmodern Challenge - Peter Gratton and John Panteleimon Manoussakis (eds.) Having read three of Kearney’s works this year, it was difficult to select which one to place on this list.  I was pleasantly surprised to come across this compilation of essays which include, in part, some of Kearney’s interviews with several philosophers, such as Paul Ricoeur, Jacques Derrida, and Charles Taylor.  Kearney’s philosophy, particularly his work On Stories, puts to language some of my own thoughts regarding self-identity, otherness, and hermeneutics.  The concept that Kearney chooses to focus on is “story,” the narrative structure in which humanity attempts to sort their memories.  In short, Kearney forces me to revisit just how fundamental hermeneutics is to human existence: we are always interpreting, homo interpres.  (Interesting to note that Manoussakis, the Orthodox writer mentioned earlier, is a student of Kearney). Mother Maria Skobtsova: Essential Writings – St Maria Skobtsova A twentieth century Orthodox saint that died in a holocaust camp, St Maria of Paris is both compassionate in ministry and fierce in her writings.  In my eyes, she is not discussed enough and her vision regarding “Christian social work” needs to be taken seriously as it stems from a thoroughly biblical vision that implements an ascetic focus away from the self and to the Other.  She was not afraid to critique – albeit sometimes too harshly – her sisters and brothers on the topic of Orthodox spirituality, but these criticisms were rooted in love and concern for her neighbor.  Mother Maria is not just a saint, but a modern prophet of Orthodoxy. Christianity and Classical Culture: The Metamorphosis of Natural Theology in the Christian Encounter with Hellenism - Jaroslav Pelikan An extensive study on Sts Basil, Gregory Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa, Pelikan obliterates the Harnackian theory that Christianity uncritically adopted the theo-philosophical ideals of Hellenism.  Pelikan shows how the Cappadocian Fathers transfigured Hellenistic concepts to fit the Christian theological vision, offering evidence after evidence that just because these early Christians use the same terminology of the Greek philosophers does not make them parrots that have abandoned their faith.  I actually revisited some works by Plato to further grasp Pelikan’s points and the hermeneutics employed by the Cappadocians.  This gave me both a deeper appreciation for Plato and these particular Church Fathers. Modern Orthodox Thinkers: From the Philokalia to the Present – Fr Andrew Louth Yes, Fr Andrew Louth deserves to be listed twice, with Modern Orthodox Thinkers as (somewhat oddly enough) being my favorite book of this year.  On the surface, it does not seem like a first choice: it covers various Orthodox figures and their unique contributions to modern Orthodox thought.  The format is somewhat like a history textbook, working on a path from older to more recent figures.  However, Louth not only provides an important framework to understand modern Orthodoxy, but provides balanced commentary that highlights key aspects of each figure, including biographical notes.  The work is engaging, allowing one to feel familiar with figures often placed on pedestal.  Louth helpfully summarizes very difficult concepts of certain thinkers and how Orthodox figures engaged with each other, including the good, bad, and the ugly.  This is the roadmap I personally needed to wade through the geography that is modern Orthodox thought and was thankful to be led on this trip by Louth’s keen insights. What are my reading plans for 2017?  I have not set my eyes on anything particular (despite my mountainous “to-read” list) and perhaps this is for the best since I will taking on 5 classes for the Spring semester as well as possibly preparing some presentations.  My goal is 50 books overall.  I do plan to read David Bradshaw’s Aristotle East and West with a fellow blogger-friend of mine, as well as hoping to read more Orthodox material on ecumenical theology.

[thepoorinspirit]

“What Use Is Christ, Then?”: Vikings, McFague, and Theological Pragmatism

I have started watching the TV show Vikings since I was given multiple recommendations and am surprisingly shocked by the explicit, yet mature, engagement with religion in the show.  In the second episode of season one, the Vikings raid a Christian monastery in England, and eventually make their way into a small altar room.  The scene is a brutal, historical portrayal of Viking raids on monastic communities.  They begin to plunder the gold and silver ornaments (which, we later find out, were donated to the monastery by lay Christians) as well as the cup for the Eucharist and various crosses.  Behind the altar itself are beautiful icons witnessing the destruction of this little temple.  However, what is interesting is not the raiding itself, but the dialogue between the Vikings when they first stumble upon the altar and see a wooden carving of the Crucified Christ:

“Why do they leave such treasures unprotected? Is there some spell, some magic which protects them?” “It appears not.  Perhaps they think their God protects them.” [The camera cuts to a woodcut portrayal of the Crucified Christ]. “If this is their God, then he’s dead.  He is nailed to a cross.  He cannot protect anyone.  He is not alive, like Odin, Thor, or Freya.  What use is he then?”

Of course, Christian theologians would be quick to object that Christ, God-in-flesh, is not dead, but is resurrected.  However, there is a point to be taken here: what protection can this God really offer to humanity if this God also succumbs to death?  This God is useless to the Vikings since this God is unable to offer anything that the Norse gods are already capable of doing themselves.  Belief in this God-on-the-Cross is misplaced since this God offers no help.  This is largely a pragmatic critique, exemplified in the last line of the dialogue: “What use is [this God] then?”  This is an interesting criticism, since theological pragmatism, as a methodology, is no stranger to Christianity, particularly to select Western liberal theologians.  One such theologian, Sallie McFague, contends that “pragmatic criteria is important for ontological claims regarding God,” since “a ‘true’ model of God will be one that is a powerful, persuasive construal of God as being on the side of life and its fulfillment in our time.”¹  One’s pragmatic concerns are largely contextually dependent on a variety of factors, leaving one open to “the Feuerbachian critique that language about God is nothing but human projection.”²  Theological “additions and renovations are desired and needed” to fit the the ever-shifting pragmatic needs of Christianity (of which it needs to be asked: which community? Whose interpretation?).³

What is particularly odd about some theological pragmatism is its use of classical doctrines of Christianity.  The Trinity, for instance, in such a pragmatic scheme functions as a theological model express some other truth in a helpful manner, rather than as a revelation of God: “There is, then, a kind of pragmatism” for using Trinitarian language since “it has proved fruitful and illuminating,” not because it is true in and of itself.⁴

There is a resemblance between the critique of the Vikings and theological pragmatism: if it does not help, then what use is it?  However, whereas the Vikings cite their own gods as an alternative to this Christian God, Christian theologians that employ theological pragmatism still insist on incorporating Christianity rather than abandoning it.  However, it should be asked: “If Christianity does not work for you, then what use is it for you?”  Why not follow Odin, Loki, Thor, or Freya?  Or, why not adopt a religion that already incorporates one’s pragmatic concerns?  Why be a Christian if Christianity needs so much reworking?  These are serious questions that Christians must ask themselves before engaging in theological pragmatism.  Indeed, womanist theologian Karen Baker-Fletcher takes up this critique against McFague, asserting that “McFague’s turn to a revisionist task in her understanding of theology renders her insights only minimally helpful for such persons of faith.”⁵

I am not arguing that there is no development of doctrine, but that development of doctrine rooted in pragmatic concerns makes theology tentative and pastoral care uncertain.  The movement from “what is true?” to “what works?” is a shift from a goal of theological stability to unstable theological novelty, with the latter risking instability with one’s own relationship with God.  

___________ [1]  Sallie McFague, “Response,” Religion & Intellectual Life, 5 (Spring, 1988), 42-43. [2]  Ibid. [3]  Sallie McFague, Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), 182. [4]  Ibid., 183-184. [5]  Karen Baker-Fletcher, Dancing with God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective (Danvers, MA: Chalice Press, 2006), 57.

[thepoorinspirit]

Interpret Thy Neighbor as Thyself: Political Hermeneutics and Dialogue

It seems that one is unable to engage in political discussions without alienating another party.  This is understandable, given the highly personal nature of politics.  Laws affect our everyday lives—“the Political is Personal.” I have written before about the religious nature of politics and vice-versa; however, just like in religion, when two people see their political differences as mutually exclusive and as a roadblock to interpersonal communion, there is a schism – a break in community, understanding.  This “disowning” of the Other is a reality for those on both the political Right and Left (speaking within the context of American politics).  In our current post-election climate, both parties see the other party’s views and policies as detrimental to their well-being, as well as the nation’s direction, and so communication is cut-off.  Politics are not discussed at the dinner table because one disagreement may prevent future dinners altogether.

Why are we unable to talk about politics, even with some (or many) of our loved ones, when politics is so important to our lives?  Perhaps the extremely polemical nature of American politics is to blame.  This is best observed, at its most extreme level, on social media.  Ad hominem is the name of the game when it comes to discussing politics on Facebook and Twitter.  Calling someone “racist,” “communist,” “baby killer,” “homophobic,” “degenerate,” or “libtard” is a way to voice anger at someone, but it is not effective for understanding the Other’s presuppositions and how they hermeneutically engage with political information and interpret the present and future political atmosphere.  In short, we tend to think our own political engagement is nuanced and correct (why else would we hold our views) while the Other’s political views are ignorant, misinformed, and ultimately wrong.  We must interpret thy neighbor as we interpret ourselves, which means understanding the complexities (though that may not always be apparent) of how people come to their political conclusions.

A friend recently posted an interesting thought experiment from the Wall Street Journal entitled “Blue Feed, Red Feed.”  This site mimics the what pro-Liberal and pro-Conservative Facebook feeds looks like, side-by-side.  The information people surround themselves with affects their political horizon; that is, “the range of vision that includes everything that can be seen from a particular vantage point.”¹  If one chooses only to read from select sources with a certain political bent, we can speak of a “narrowness of horizon”; inversely, the openness to questions, other viewpoints, and even other horizons creates the possibility of expanding one’s own horizon, even “the opening up of new horizons.”²  A conservative and liberal may read the exact same piece from a credible news source, but may (and often will) interpret the information differently because their political horizon shapes their understanding so that their interpretations of the source are different (this is perhaps why it can be sometimes puzzling to understand foreign politics: we have no horizon or proper framework in order to understand and make a value judgement on what we are reading).  Our horizons effectively become stunted and risk falling into a dualistic view of politics: my side is only good, the other side is only evil.

We may then move onto questions of hermeneutics and interpretation: how does one process information that does not fit within their horizon?  What are the limits of my own horizon, the blind spots in my field of vision?  Do I understand my political opponents in their best terms, the critiques against my own claims, and address them?  Have I generalized others?  Most importantly: do I engage in dialogue with those that have a different horizon without resorting to caricatures?  I propose that many of us fail to answer these questions adequately.  It is easier to generalize than to understand, since generalizing allows our own horizons to remain intact, fortified against the nuance of the political Other.  It is also easy to give ourselves, our fellow political neighbors, and our favored candidates the benefit of the doubt when a difficult topic arises and not give the same room for nuance to those we politically disagree with.  This self-justification is made even worse when neither political party addresses violence done their party’s name, while using the examples of the other party as a “norm” for the other party’s ethics.  It is easy to post a video or article that portrays the violence of a few and blame one’s political opponent, but difficult to address the violence within one’s own party and see the good in the Other.

This is where many of my own liberal friends will critique me: why should one, especially one who is LGBTQ+ and/or a PoC (targets of the recent hate rhetoric and physical attacks), dialogue with those who voted for Trump?  The alternative is to continue our mutually exclusive monologues, reinforcing and exacerbating the chasm between political parties.  If there is no communication, then politics will always fall into polemics, hateful rhetoric, and violence.  The vicious cycle will continue.  Dialogue is a means for human survival and human flourishing.  Without dialogue, we give up hope for understanding and will fail to love our neighbors as ourselves.

____________ [1] Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, trans. by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall, 2nd rev ed. (London: Continuum Publishing Group, 2004), 301. [2] Ibid.