Greek

Greek is a paradox. On the one hand, now with some background in it from years ago, a whole year of undergraduate Greek and the better part of a year of graduate level Greek, one would think I'd finally be comfortable with the language. Up until recently, I didn't think it would ever happen; nevertheless, even without that, there is something amazing about reading a so-called “dead language” and bringing it back to life, especially when one realizes the words one is reading are the words God inspired. If, as Christians believe, the Bible is God's written account of His entering into this world, how amazing it is to see a grammatical construction — even if it is extremely frustrating — and think, “wow, that was written by the author of John, it is not an attempt to reconstruct what was written by the author of John in English. This is the real thing.” A frustrating periphrastic construction can suddenly seem almost exciting (admittedly, it is not always so).

In the midst of that, as of this weekend, I finished translating the book of 1 John for class. I've read through all of 2 John and 3 John in Greek as part of an assigned 10 minute devotional reading each day, and I've read some interesting key parts of the Gospel of John for the same assignment (you can read anything Johannian you feel like, other than Revelation). Doing that much translation — and I've tried to translate all of 1 John twice in the last month, once on the official class scratch paper, and once on the final assignment pages — along with the timed, non-translated reading, I realize I am not yet thinking Greek, but I am beginning to. I can anticipate common phrases used in these books. When I do not recognize a word, often I can figure out enough from the rest of the words to know what it means with some degree of certainty — it is starting to feel more like reading unmodernized Chaucer than reading untranslated Beowulf.

That's pretty neat; I'm excited. I'd still like to expand into Classical Greek, but one step at a time…

Three Positions: Exclusivism, Inclusivism, Pluralism

I'm presently trying to get a paper published on this subject (or, more particularly, my interactions with John Hick's variant of Pluralism), and I'll be presenting that paper for the second time next week — this time to an adult Sunday School class at church. But, that aside, I think this is a helpful point to consider not only later in soteriology, but also while we remain in the prolegomena of dogmatics. Why here and why now? Well, we need to define how this theological system interacts with other ones. But, first a little observation from C.S. Lewis on this own experience as he edged toward his youthful atheism:

“The accepted position seemed to be that religions were normally a mere farrago of nonsense, though our own, by a fortunate exception, was exactly true. The other religions were not even explained, in the earlier Christian fashion, as the work of devils. That I might, conceivably, have been brought to believe.” (Surprised by Joy, 59-60)

Common within exclusivist camps' viewpoint is a polar view on the issue of the possible positions. We have exclusivists and the inclusivists. The correct view, according to this camp, is exclusivism, of course, which rejects all other religions as false while affirming one's own, as Lewis talks about in the quote. The inclusivist, again, according to this camp's schema of the world, accepts all religions as equally true. This model is far too simplistic, whether one is exclusivist or no. The model I find much more helpful, which I was first introduced to via Hick, is the three position view. What was previously called inclusivism is relabeled pluralism, and inclusivism becomes a compromise in between. E.g., “Christianity is the most direct revelation of God, but there is some truth to other religions.” I like the three model view, but prefer to place those terms as pinpoints on a wide spectrum, rather than suggesting that the types are three clear cut categories.

Let's stay out of the whole issue of salvation until this subject comes up again later and deal with this merely as an issue of epistemology. Pluralism must reject the full and direct knowledge of God because the Christian revelation is only one truth among equals. These truths do not say the same thing — contrast Christianity with the atheistic Theravada Buddhism if you need proof of that. Ultimately, the fullest form of pluralism necessarily becomes an exclusivism by making a truth claim that suggests what the core is that everyone else is pointing to. This is my point of attack against Hick's religious pluralism. (I can go into that more, if anyone is interested.)

Somewhere a bit off from this extreme we encounter something of Schleiermacher's system. Essentially here we have a unilineal evolution of religion in which Christianity is not really all that different from all the other religions, but somehow is a bit more highly evolved. Revelation is still diminished substantially, but at least Schleiermacher makes an attempt to suggest that there is some uniqueness to his Christianity without pretending to be perfectly relative as Hick does (which is not to say I think Hick is insincere).

On the far other end is the exclusivists already mentioned, but I'd suggest there are few real exclusivists in daily practice. Most who would claim the title still get uncomfortable suggesting that the “unreached people groups” that missions agencies will talk about are unequivocally damned for our lack of having reached them. I think most will appeal to natural revelation and fiddle with vague notions to try to soften this up, and eventually profess uncertainty. The point not being to decide whether that person is right or wrong, but to suggest that few actually seem to consistently and fully operate with in the exclusivist's realm. The realm problem is elucidated by Lewis's remark, I'd suggest. It seems unbelievable when we simply state that Christianity is a priori completely true and everything is, by the same basis, entirely false.

Hence we proceed to the middle: the inclusivist position. This is the position I will generally advocate. For those wondering, I am on the exclusivist side of inclusivism (remember, I'm thinking in a spectrum), but I do not think that is terribly important. The big point is that in this grouping we are going to admit that there is natural revelation and there is some truth — even if it is “through a glass darkly” — in things outside of Christianity. In following this line, we adopt something of Thomas's synthesis. Aristotle, Homer and the rest of the classical writers, but certainly not limited to classical writers, may witness to the truth without being inside God's self-Revelation through His Word. They are not really outside of His Word, but rather “prefigure” that revelation, which in turn “fulfills” them (to borrow Lewis's terms from an unquoted part of that paragraph).

So, how do we fit this into the Barthian context that I have been working with? Good question. My contention would be that we should not say “Nein” entirely to natural theology; I think “Paul and the Areopagus” in Acts, and the other natural law proof texts, are on to something. Rather, we must affirm that the only complete — or as complete as we need and want it — and pure knowledge of God is that which comes directly through Christ. That does not mean we must say that natural law does not exist. Natural law, much like the Bible, is not the Revelation itself, but rather a witness to the single, complete revelation of God in Christ. Perhaps more useful is to say that natural law is potentially dangerous, for the temptation is to use it, interpreted through “reason,” as the key to God's special revelation rather than vise versa. Jesus must be the starting point and the ending point.

I would argue that while I may end up conflicting with Church Dogmatics a bit as I proceed on this issue, that by and large, Barth acts like an inclusivist. He is not a pluralist, for he sets Christ above all else, but he also does not seem to act like an exclusivist. If anything, he eludes classification, which is something perhaps with trying to do. These waters are murky and it is not good to make them too clear while we dabble in the purely theoretical form of dogmatics.

All that said, inclusivism bears fruit for our pursuit. While it is not a license to, say, tie Christianity down to Aristotle, it is a grant of permission to observe where Scripture can be illuminated by that wise man's understanding. Likewise with Plato and others. And, speaking of which, Plato's cave is as useful as any illustration of the inclusivist view: God's revealing of Himself is the sun, but that does not mean the shadows on the walls of the cave are entirely irrelevant.

Summing Up the Evangelical Defense of Barth

So, I have spent a number of posts considering the issue of Barth and Scriptural inerrancy. I should be careful not to suggest that I think this is the key point to the prolegomena of the theology I have been “constructing” (in the loosest sense) here on my blog. Rather, I have gone through this several times in an attempt to show that Barth's rejection of Scriptural inerrancy need not be a stumbling block to proceeding with Neo-Orthodoxy inside Evangelicalism. Scripture isn't the point, but the means to the point. Christ is the point. My goal is not to construct an Evangelical theology, but rather to construct a theology that can be shown to be compatible with Evangelicalism.

The other contentions that I considered earlier are not nearly as much of a problem to this end, but bear a final consideration. If we adopt a Neo-Orthodox system, one is naturally going to ask if that means rejecting natural theology. Much as with the case of Scripture, I'm going to suggest that the correct answer is not yes or no but indifference. Natural theology can only be interpreted usefully within the interpretive framework of special revelation. While Paul seems to advocate the existence of natural law in Romans chapter 1, it is not a saving law, but rather a condemning law. Our concern is with the Gospel, and not the law. Natural law exists, but there is no point of contact because no one can make the leap of faith without the working of the Holy Spirit. Instead, what the natural law does provide is at least a sense of intelligibility. The Christian faith can be analyzed outside of belief, but it cannot be entered into through reason alone.

The second point, Universalism, I think is surprisingly easy for modern Evangelicals to deal with. I will again insist that Barth is no universalist, but the fact that he refuses to draw a firm line of the saved and the damned is something even fairly hard lined Evangelicals will do today. Few people are comfortable with suggesting the eternal damnation of those who have not and will not ever be given the chance to hear the Gospel, and while our comfort is not the guiding principle of interpretation, it is helpful to note that many Evangelicals will do precisely what Barth does — push the line between election to grace and election to condemnation into the realm of mystery — and so we ought not judge Barth for this. I think Barth is wise and draws out a principle of how we should do something from this (hi Ed!): in one of the best put statements in 2.2 (and there are a lot of great remarks in there), he says that church is to act on the Good News we do know and not on the bad that we do not know. Our mission is simple: to make disciples, so we ought to worry about that and leave the rest to God.

With these points aside the question is where does one go next? Barth starts his dogmatic theology with the Trinity; Aquinas starts his system with the existence and nature of God; Calvin starts with God as Creator. I am tempted by that alluring muse of Philosophy to follow Aquinas. In fact, I think it is perhaps helpful while still in the mode of prolegomena to consider the arguments for God, particularly since the framework I am trying to build hinges on paradox, and the arguments for God are going to help build the case of paradox. What do you think?

Are We Asking the Wrong Questions?

My friend Ed raised some good points last week (while I was immersed in finals) in a response to my last post on Barth.

Ed notes that in his opinion, Barth is asking the wrong question when he delves into the inerrancy of the Bible, and likewise, I am really going no where useful in attempting to create a deconstructionist framework around the same basic principles as Barth. So, are we asking the wrong question?

Perhaps, but I think it is an important wrong question at least. I was reading some assigned sections of Paul Tillich's Systematic Theology the other day (don't worry Ed, I'm not going to defend Tillich), and he was busy making the distinction between kerygmatic and apologetic theology. Barth, he correctly notes, is in the kerygmatic camp: Barth's intention (which I think he is fairly good at sticking to) is to let the Bible ask the questions and provide the answers. Tillich on the other hand wants to pose modern questions to the Bible, the apologetic approach. I think in as much as Barth is sticking to questions from the Bible, Ed wouldn't complain about Barth's approach.

But, Barth does worry about inerrancy and a bunch of other things, and I would say that is rightly so. My posts have essentially formed the prolegomena of my “theology,” and the sections of Barth we are dealing with are likewise from his prolegomena. When Barth rejects the inerrancy of the Bible and shifts the focus to the self-Revelation of Christ which is witnessed to in the Bible, he is setting the base assumption from which he will proceed. I would argue that the question is not perhaps the most relevant — we spend way too much time arguing about inerrancy — but at the same time, Barth does his readers a favor by explaining his methodology up front. He really must deal with the question, because people want to deal with that question.

It all comes down to admitting we all use a methodology. We cannot escape operating within frameworks. No matter how much we try to get to the core of the text (not only with the Bible, but with any text), we are still stuck interpreting it from within layers of frameworks — frameworks of experience, frameworks of knowledge of other texts, frameworks of personality and so on. We can skip over the question of interpretation, because it is primarily abstract and has little to do with doing, but I would assert that does not bring us closer to the meaning of the Bible, because we are still going to be reading it within the frameworks that we are stuck in. Admitting that does not suddenly fix the problem, but it brings us closer to the source of the problem. Ed writes,

If the audience is culturally, geographically and historically far away from Jesus' fresh footprints in the sand, then it's yours to also bring them to that understanding, place and time. As some put it, we are to incarnate the Word, bring it/Him to life. Absolutes were never possible from the moment of the Fall, so don't fret. God expects obedience. Surely that assumes what He expects of you He will put within your reach? What other purpose is there for calling you into His Kingdom? Theology from a Spiritual viewpoint embraces your best understanding of what Old and New Testaments testified.

I think he is right that we need to try to read the Bible from the perspective of its authors, but I would argue that in doing so, we are trying to establish a particular critical framework, we are not abolishing the work of the prolegomena altogether. The traditional views of Higher Criticism, from which Barth is working, actually argues that we should ground the text historically.

Ed's contention is that we must quit just focusing on using our reasoning abilities and actually live the Gospel. I agree. However assuming we want to understand what we are living, I think a good first step is to analyze our mode of interpreting what it is we are to live. We will live differently if we proceed under Schleiermacher's assumptions than if we proceed under Barth's. But not only that, but consider if we read the Bible under Pentecostal assumptions? Clearly living the Gospel takes on a very different light in that context. Barth's observation that we must focus on the living Word of God (Christ) as revelation is critical to that, because Christ's self-revelation to us gives us the confidence to then live what we believe.

To some extent, it is absurd to live out any text, because we cannot ever completely understand the text. Here we have our paradoxical absurdity for our inner Kierkegaardians to delight in. But the Christian is not living a text, but living in the eternal revelation of God in Christ.

Barth, Scripture and Inerrancy

In April of 2006, a post of mine brought about a thoughtful critique of Barthianism by Eduardo. He gave a three point critique of Barth's theology focusing on its antagonism of natural theology, unique perspective on revelation and its implicit universalism. I have already provided a response concerning natural theology and universalism, but I do not believe I ever responded in full concerning Barth's view of revelation. Barth's view of revelation works into the theological framework I've been tinkering with here and here, so now seems like a great time to deal with this.

Let's set everything on the table from the start. Barth rejects the inerrancy of Scripture. That's the basic matter of contention, perhaps an even worse stumbling block to Barthian theology in Evangelical churches than the accusations of universalism (and, unlike the other accusation, I cannot deny that Barth indeed does hold the position he is accused of here). So my task today is not to explain why I think those who accuse Barth of rejecting inerrancy are wrong, but to show, if possible, that Barth's view is really inconsequential in itself and to the overall usefulness of Barthian/Neo-Orthodox theology. Before you prepare to burn me at the stake, bear with me and I'll explain why; don't put away the torches either — you still may want to burn me in a little while.

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Christ and Culture

My two brothers in Christ, Ed and Brad both touch on elements of directions I want to follow concerning the issue I remarked about in my last post about Archbishop Burke, and societal issues in general. I'm torn, you see.

In my church history textbook tonight, I got to the section on my “theological hero,” the good Dr. Karl Barth. Barth is not only almost unanimously judged the most important twentieth century theologian, he is also probably the most important theologian most people haven't heard about. His story always fascinates me. After World War I, Barth rejected the liberal theology he had pretty much bought wholesale precisely because he saw it was a toothless giant. Liberal Protestantism was of the world and hence went right along with what happened in society, supporting World War I and, eventually, the Reich Church in World War II.

Disillusioned, like many young Europeans who saw the destruction of the first world war, he rethought his whole theology. Out of that came der Römerbreif (the Epistle to the Romans), Barth's commentary on the Apostle Paul's letter to the Romans, which sent shockwaves throughout the theological world that we are still sorting out today. His Kierkegaardian Existentialist influenced, but highly orthodox views, which would become later known as Neo-Orthodoxy, set the stage for a showdown in Germany in the 1930's.

When Hitler established the Reich Church and the majority of Protestants bowed to the Third Reich's policies (and many even endorsed them), the Confessing Church stood up against it. In addition to Barth, a better known figure, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, participated in this movement.The Confessing Church issued the Barmen Declaration, authored by Barth, which rejected the eclipsing of the Gospel by another, worldly gospel. I think this probably in large part agrees with what Brad is expressing.

However, like all things Barthian, paradox abounds. In addition to rejecting the Gospel influenced by society, the Confessing Church also stood up with the Gospel against society. Bonhoeffer went so far as to participate in an attempted assassination of Hitler. While the Confessing Church refocused the center of the Church on the Word of God, its members lived out their faith in working against an evil regime. Likewise, great Christians throughout the ages have stood against evil societal forces — for example the abolitionists and their stance against slavery. Which are regimes we called to stand against and which are societal issues that merely distract from the Gospel and even threaten to become another gospel?

I am not sure.

This is a paradox that I think yields no easy answers. I think the Catholic Church is doing a better job at grappling with this than many of us who are Protestant are. The Catholic Church is quite firm in its stand against abortion, cloning, and the like, but it also lives the Gospel out in its many mercy ministries, charities and other works to help the poor and sick. I think that's why many outside of the church hold in higher esteem the pope than they do many Evangelical leaders. I think much of the problem in Protestantism is not that we take stands for political causes, but that we let them take over our message. We are pro-life, but we also should care for the sick. We stand against sin, but we are also sinners. I think this is what Roland Martin was getting at in a piece I blogged about a few weeks ago. We should live out the Gospel, but in a consistent manner, not just in a few key issues that support our favorite political party. At the center must be the Gospel. The problem is that the center becomes decentered.

That's the challenge.

Barthism for the Day

Karl Barth on Paul's inclusion of Timothy in the greeting in Philippians 1.1:

A hero, a genius a “religious personality” stands alone; an apostle has others beside himself like himself and sets them on his own level. He speaks in an office occupied by many. He can fall, but his Lord does not fall with him.

Hmm… that's an interesting insight. I just discovered Barth's Epistle to the Philippians, which appears to be a fairly thorough commentary on the book of Philippians. Like all of Barth's works, it appears to have a thoughtful, pastoral tone. I need to look into getting a copy (I'm viewing what I can using Amazon's “Online Reader.”).

Another nugget from his section on 1:3-4:

The proper basis for thinking of each other and praying for each other among Christians is that they thank their common Lord. That is indeed the proof of whether in the prayers they offer they are really turning to him, the Lord, and not to some God of their own making.

The Narrow Mission of the Religious Right

Roland Martin posted an excellent op-ed on CNN.com.

An African-American pastor I know in the Midwest was asked by a group of mostly white clergy to march in an anti-abortion rally. He was fine with that, but then asked the clergy if they would work with him to fight crack houses in predominantly black neighborhoods.

“That's really your problem,” he was told.

They saw abortion as a moral imperative, but not a community ravaged by crack.

If abortion and gay marriage are part of the Christian agenda, I have no issue with that. Those are moral issues that should be of importance to people of the faith, but the agenda should be much, much broader.

Most people would consider me a member of the religious right. I am pro-life, fairly politically conservative (and vote Republican more often than not, although I am not tied to the party), opposed the demythologization of the Bible, and so on. Generally speaking, that descriptor fits me better than any other that comes to mind politically. I'm Christian and I'm on the right of the political spectrum. OK. Another term people might use is “Evangelical,” which in today's culture is essentially synonymous with the first term.

With that in mind, I think this gentleman is right on the money. While I think abortion is one of the central moral issues of this present time period, that does not mean Christians are allowed to avoid all of the other issues. It does not excuse us from needing to exert a positive force in our communities. I think this is even truer when the issue is Homosexuality. While abortion is concerned with saving lives, when we seek to fight against “homosexual rights” we are merely fighting against one sin among many. While I agree that it is a sin, does a homosexual ever change his or her ways or, more importantly, come to Christ because we attempt to oppose the homosexual political action committees?

Our primary — and, really, only — allegiance is to Christ. If our politicking prevents one person from accepting the Gospel, we ought to suspend it. It would be much better for us to live in a country where our “rights” as Christians were stepped on and the government did what it wanted (it will anyway) than for Christians to be associated with moralism instead of the Gospel.

At Covenant Seminary there is a big focus on putting the indicatives (the Gospel of Grace) before the imperatives (how we should reform our morals and other things God requires of us). I think when we focus on a sin, such as homosexuality, to the exclusion of evangelism, helping the poor, and so on, we are putting the imperatives before the indicatives. We are yelling, “Evil world, reform! By our political savvy we will make you reform! Oh, and once you do, you'd be welcome to come to church and learn about Jesus.” Instead, we should say, “Come and know Jesus!” Once people know Christ, He and He alone will be able to reform the individual into His plan for him or her.

This mixup of indicatives and imperatives is precisely why Evangelical means little more than “religious right” these days. We are so focused on the imperatives as they translate into political action, our central message is lost in the noise of our vain attempts at national righteousness.

On Easter, and everyday, may we resolve to know nothing but Christ and Him crucified!

He Is Risen!

A joyous Easter to all of my friends in the blogosphere!

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Were You There?

Courtesy of the CyberHymnal, a traditional African-American spiritual that is always hauntingly appropriate for Good Friday:

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?

Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?