Scriptural Minefields for Journalists . . .

David Brooks
NYT

In an otherwise exemplary column, "Religion and Inequality" (International Herald Tribune (Global Edition of the New York Times), page 9a-c, June 15-16, 2013), David Brooks writes:

In Corinthians, Jesus tells the crowds, "Not many of you were wise by worldly standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong."

Just for the record, that's Paul (not Jesus) writing (not speaking, except maybe to an amanuensis) in I Corinthians 1:26-27 (not just "Corinthians" -- and it's from the New International Version). Also, Paul is not addressing a crowd, but rather, the Church at Corinth. As I expected upon reading this misattribution by Brooks, there were a lot of sarcastic responses throughout the Internet, which I see no need to post here. If only Brooks believed in the verbal plenary inspiration of the Bible and could argue like Ken Ham that "Jesus wrote ALL of the Bible":

"Jesus, the Creator, is the Word. The Bible is the written Word. Every word in the Bible is really the Word of the Creator -- Jesus Christ"

An excuse, perhaps problematic in its own right, but an excuse. Brooks, however, doesn't share that theology -- not by a long shot -- so he doesn't have this way out, and he has since 'corrected' the attribution:

In I Corinthians, Paul tells the crowds, "Not many of you were wise by worldly standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong."

Brooks needs to let those crowds disperse, too, but he was at least forthright:

The column . . . incorrectly described a passage from I Corinthians that ends with the statement, "God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong." It was written by Paul, not spoken by Jesus.

Right, but not written to crowds, though possibly to a crowded Corinthian church . . .

A Calvinist Reading of Romans 1:19-32?

Skull Galaxy
Weird Creation as Intelligent Design?

(Wikipedia)

Some weeks ago, I questioned a Calvinist reading of Romans 1:19-20:

I don't see that this passage in Romans provides strong evidence for the Reformed (i.e., Calvinist) view. Look again at Romans chapter 1, verse 20, quoting this time from the Morphological Greek New Testament (though it looks to be identical this time to the Textus Receptus):

τὰ γὰρ ἀόρατα αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ κτίσεως κόσμου τοῖς ποιήμασιν νοούμενα καθορᾶται ἥ τε ἀΐδιος αὐτοῦ δύναμις καὶ θειότης εἰς τὸ εἶναι αὐτοὺς ἀναπολογήτους.

I'll just borrow a translation from the New King James Version:

For since the creation of the world His invisible [attributes] are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, [even] His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse.

As I noted above, the translation of "καθορᾶται" in verse 20 reads "are clearly seen." The Greek verb comes from καθοράω and means "to see thoroughly, perceive clearly, understand." The sense of this verb seems to run counter to the Reformed view of "total depravity" since it appears to insist that human beings can infer the invisible attributes of God from the visible creation, and this human capacity for natural theology is precisely what leaves human beings "without excuse."

Whether or not Paul is right about this human capacity, his argument seems to assume that humans have the ability even in their sinful state, and that doesn't appear to be consistent with Reformed views on "total depravity."

My interlocutor, Professor Adolfo García de la Sienra, responded:

You cannot interpret Romans 1:20 leaving aside the next verse, 1:21, where it is said that "their foolish hearts were darkened". The whole passage seems to describe the condition of the human race which, at the beginning, had the capability to find God in creation.

I've only now had some time to reply to the professor's remark. The verse that he cites occurs within a longer passage that speaks of God allowing human beings to descend into reprobation. It does not seem to refer to a one-time event, such as the Fall, but to a process of darkening described in verses 21 through 32. But even this darkening of the heart, i.e., the understanding, does not extinguish knowledge of God, notes Paul, nor even of God's judgment concerning their sin, for verse 32 points out:

Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

The word Greek term here for "knowing" (ἐπιγινώσκω, epiginōskō) means not only "to know" but even "to become thoroughly acquainted with, to know thoroughly." The tense of the Greek is "second aorist active participle," which I suppose could be translated as "having known," as in Young's Literal Translation, but the other eleven translations offered by the Blue Letter Bible prefer "knowing" or "know." Even the YLT, however, presupposes that those whose hearts were darkened had known of God's judgment, and given that verses 21-32 describe a process that does not seem relegated to a one-time event, then I would read this process as one that every individual might undergo.

Moreover, even if individuals "did not like (cf. οὐ, ou + δοκιμάζω, dokimazō) to retain God in [their] knowledge" (verse 28), this translation seems to imply a choice in the matter, a point that the other eleven translations offered seem to agree upon.

The natural man can therefore gaze at the form of the galaxy in the image above and see the hand of God forming a cosmic man, for the skull and brain are already visible! Okay, just kidding about the specifics there. But I would like to note that Christianity has from its inception argued for a natural theology and has developed this form of theology rather highly. Modern theologians such as William Lane Craig engage in such theological reasoning as evidence for God's existence, pointing to the so-called "fine-tuning" of the universe's fundamental constants as suggesting an intelligence designing the world. Whatever one might think of the particular arguments, the presupposition seems to be that Christianity can defend God's existence on the basis of evidence interpreted by reason and that the non-Christians are capable of following such reasoning.

I suppose that some Calvinists would disagree . . .

"Total Depravity" and Romans 1:20

Adolfo García de la Sienra

(Image from Metanexus Institute)

I have had a LinkedIn site for about a year now because an old Baylor friend wanted to link to me, but I did little with it until recently, when I began filling in my page with a few details, including my publications.

I decided to fill it in with more details only after I received a link request from Adolfo García de la Sienra, professor of philosophy and economic theory at Universidad Veracruzana in Mexico. I'm not sure why he wanted a link . . . though I might have had contact with him several years ago when I was doing some research concerning John Milton's views on divine grace and human free will, for his name is somehow familiar to me.

Anyway, I had a bit of time to spare when I received his link request, so I took a look at his paper on "Christian Faith as Trust" (Balkan Journal of Philosophy, Volume 2, Issue 1, 2010) and noticed that in one of his quotes from the Greek New Testament, he'd left off a verb. I therefore sent him a note on that and asked a few questions:

I read your article "Christian Faith as Trust" a few moments ago. Interesting, if a bit over my head. I happened to notice that your quote of Romans 1:19 on page 15B was missing the Greek verb "ἐφανέρωσεν" (showed [aorist]). This verb, by the way, is aorist.

The translation is not greatly affected, though I would use past (made it plain) rather than present perfect (has made it plain). Here are verses 19-20:

1:19 διότι τὸ γνωστὸν τοῦ θεοῦ φανερόν ἐστιν ἐν αὐτοῖς ὁ γὰρ θεὸς αὐτοῖς ἐφανέρωσεν

1:20 τὰ γὰρ ἀόρατα αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ κτίσεως κόσμου τοῖς ποιήμασιν νοούμενα καθορᾶται ἥ τε ἀΐδιος αὐτοῦ δύναμις καὶ θειότης εἰς τὸ εἶναι αὐτοὺς ἀναπολογήτους.

I have a question, however. The translation of "καθορᾶται" in verse 20 is given as "have been clearly seen" in your paper, but this is a present tense and should read "are clearly seen." Does this affect your argument, which seems to depend upon God's eternal power and divine nature to have been "originally visible, manifest and evident to all men" (emphasis mine)? The verb "καθορᾶται" would seem to imply that God's eternal power and divine nature are currently "visible, manifest and evident to all men."

I hope that this email is of some use.

I received an answer fairly quickly:

Your translation makes sense to me and I will certainly take it into account in my Spanish translation of the paper. The point is that God's eternal power and divine nature "are there" to be seen by men. The problem is that men can't see it due to a corruption of their spirit caused by sin. This is what Reformed theology calls "total depravity" (an inappropriate term for a clear concept). Spiritual regeneration removes this incapacity.

I understand his point. However, I don't see that this passage in Romans provides strong evidence for the Reformed (i.e., Calvinist) view. Look again at Romans chapter 1, verse 20, quoting this time from the Morphological Greek New Testament (though it looks to be identical this time to the Textus Receptus):

τὰ γὰρ ἀόρατα αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ κτίσεως κόσμου τοῖς ποιήμασιν νοούμενα καθορᾶται ἥ τε ἀΐδιος αὐτοῦ δύναμις καὶ θειότης εἰς τὸ εἶναι αὐτοὺς ἀναπολογήτους.

I'll just borrow a translation from the New King James Version:

For since the creation of the world His invisible [attributes] are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, [even] His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse.

As I noted above, the translation of "καθορᾶται" in verse 20 reads "are clearly seen." The Greek verb comes from καθοράω and means "to see thoroughly, perceive clearly, understand." The sense of this verb seems to run counter to the Reformed view of "total depravity" since it appears to insist that human beings can infer the invisible attributes of God from the visible creation, and this human capacity for natural theology is precisely what leaves human beings "without excuse."

Whether or not Paul is right about this human capacity, his argument seems to assume that humans have the ability even in their sinful state, and that doesn't appear to be consistent with Reformed views on "total depravity."

But I'm no expert, and Professor Adolfo García de la Sienra may very well have an answer.

"Death is swallowed up in victory"

Skeletal Death

Hungry?

(Image from Wikipedia)

In yesterday's blog entry, I noted that both John Milton and John Donne depict "an all-devouring Death that ultimately submits to God and dies" and that both "are drawing upon scripture for inspiration." I promised to explore this point today, but I don't have much time, so I'll just note two scriptural passages. Both are surely thinking of St. Paul's doctrine, expressed in 1 Corinthians 15:54, which describes the resurrection in which believers will receive immortal bodies:

ὅταν δὲ τὸ φθαρτὸν τοῦτο ἐνδύσηται ἀφθαρσίαν καὶ τὸ θνητὸν τοῦτο ἐνδύσηται ἀθανασίαν τότε γενήσεται ὁ λόγος ὁ γεγραμμένος Κατεπόθη ὁ θάνατος εἰς νῖκος

So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.

The Greek expression for "is swallowed up" is κατεπόθη (katapothē), which is the aorist passive indicative of καταπίνω (katapinō), which means "1) to drink down, swallow down 2) to devour 3) to swallow up, destroy." Paul is drawing upon an Old Testament verse, Isaiah 25:8, for his point:

בִּלַּע הַמָּוֶת לָנֶצַח וּמָחָה אֲדֹנָי יְהוִה דִּמְעָה מֵעַל כָּל־פָּנִים וְחֶרְפַּת עַמֹּו יָסִיר מֵעַל כָּל־הָאָרֶץ כִּי יְהוָה דִּבֵּֽר׃

He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth: for the LORD hath spoken [it].

The Hebrew term for "he will swallow up" is בִּלַּע (billa`), the piel perfect for בָּלַע (bala`), which means "1) to swallow down, swallow up, engulf, eat up a) (Qal) 1) to swallow down 2) to swallow up, engulf b) (Niphal) to be swallowed up c) (Piel) 1) to swallow 2) to swallow up, engulf 3) squandering (fig.) d) (Pual) to be swallowed up e) (Hithpael) to be ended."

Paul, of course is using some Greek version (unless he's translating the Hebrew), but he's not using the Septuagint Greek version that's come down to us since that has "κατέπιεν ὁ θάνατος ἰσχύσας" ("He will swallow up death in victory"), whereas Paul has "Κατεπόθη ὁ θάνατος εἰς νῖκος" ("Death is swallowed up in victory").

This doesn't enlighten us a great deal on where Milton or Donne ultimately got their image of an all-devouring death, but there's a certain appropriate irony in the fact that death also gets devoured and dies . . .

Lady Anne Southwell: "All maried men desire to have good wifes"

Creation of Eve

Sistine Chapel

Michelangelo

(Image from Wikipedia)

Yesterday after I had been thoroughly thrashed among the Miltonists for my "blatant misogyny," another Milton scholar posted a wonderful poem by Lady Anne Southwell celebrating Eve, "All maried men desire to have good wifes":

All.maried.men.desire.to.have good wifes:
but.few.give good example.by thir lives
They are owr head they wodd have us thir heles.
this makes the good wife kick the good man reles.
When god brought Eve to Adam for a bride
the text sayes she was taene from out mans side
A.simbole of that side, whose sacred bloud.
flowed for his spowse, the Churches savinge good.
This is a.misterie, perhaps too deepe.
for blockish Adam that was falen a sleepe

I have this from the Milton scholar's post but also from page 62 of Early Modern Women's Manuscript Poetry (Manchester University Press, 2005), edited by Jill Seal Millman and Gillian Wright, which remarks on the odd punctuation but doesn't explain it, and I can't either. But I can, perhaps, modernize the poem for most people's comprehension:

All married men desire to have good wives,
but few give good example by their lives.
They are our head; they would have us their heels.
This makes the good wife kick, the good man reels.
When God brought Eve to Adam for a bride,
the text says she was taken from out man's side,
a symbol of that side, whose sacred blood
flowed for his spouse, the church's saving good.
This is a mystery, perhaps too deep,
for blockish Adam that was fallen asleep.

I encountered a bit of difficulty with the word "reles," which had me stuck between "releases" and "reels," but I found the answer on page 120 of Erica Longfellow's Women and Religious Writing in Early Modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004), which also quotes the entire poem (so I suppose that I also have the poem from that book).

The poem is a very clever use of scriptural passages, reminding men who would employ St. Paul's words in 1 Corinthians 11:3, "the head of every woman [is] the man," that Paul also says, in Ephesians 5:25, "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it," thereby suggesting, by means of Southwell's implicit Pauline prooftexting, that being the head entails sacrificial responsibilities, which Southwell complexly alludes to in her symbolic cross-references to Genesis 2:21-24 ("taene from out mans side") and John 19:34 ("that side, whose sacred blood flowed"), showing that the husband is not to dominate the wife by treating her as his heel but is to love her even unto death, for if he is her Christ, she is Christ's blood.

And if the husband doesn't understand this, Southwell implies, then he's not the head but a mere blockhead.

More on Bibliophagy: Our Primitive Condition

The Book of Pi

Stephanie Krause and Robert Christie

Béatrice Coron

(Image from New York Times)

Yesterday, we looked at Holbrook Jackson's reference to St. John the Divine eating an edible if indigestible book of divine prophecies, but the poor saint was just following orders (and that, perhaps, only in a vision); we see from the above image, however, that some individuals also seek to prepare edible books of secular knowledge, though some thinkers have maintained that to know mathematics is to know the mind of God, so perhaps this book above is also rather too rich for human digestion.

I owe this image to Blake Eskin's New York Times article "Books to Chew On" (March 26, 2006), an essay on bibliophagy that notes such illustrious bibliophagi as St. John the Divine, Ezekiel the Prophet, and every very young child. Concerning puerile bibliophagi, I especially like the quote from that 'famous' collector of books A. S. W. Rosenbach:

"A young child's attitude toward a book is not unlike that of a cannibal toward a missionary."

Eskin tells us that Rosenbach made this remark to explain why "so few first editions of early children's classics have survived." From yesterday's post, we see that a similar remark would also perhaps explain why the original Book of Revelation is missing, and we can now possibly extend the explanation to include the Book of Ezekiel (cf. 2:9-3:4), for we are all the children of God our father, or so implies St. Paul in Acts 17:28, quoting the pagan writer Aratus: "For we are indeed his offspring."

By the way, I say 'famous' collector because I'd never heard of Mr. A. S. W. Rosenbach even though there exists an entire museum and library in Philadelphia dedicated to him and his collection, namely, the Rosenbach Museum and Library. He may not be quite famous, as Eskin merely calls him "the noted book collector," but I've now 'noted' him as well. Apparently, he popularized the collecting of American literature, if we can believe Wikipedia, which also informs us that he helped "assemble the extensive collections of the Huntington Library and the Folger Shakespeare Library."

But he doesn't seem to have eaten any books, though he could have enjoyed such rare delicacies as such as James Joyce's manuscript of Ulysses, which he possessed -- and which, incidentally, is far more digestible than Finnegans Wake.

Mr. Rosenbach might have been tempted, however, by the above-depicted Book of Pi (not pie), which -- though it may indeed be too rich for human consumption -- certainly looks to be considerably more of a testament (taste-ament?) to the digestibility of books than the inspiring original, or even than a certain more lively possible inspiration, where another "Pi" also risks being eaten.

But that's a different blog post . . .

Is the Money Good?

Simon Critchley

(Image from New School for Social Research)

I don't think that I'd ever heard of the philosopher Simon Critchley before, but the man has penned an amusing if rambling essay on money in "Coin of Praise" (August 30, 2009) for an opinion series called "Happy Days" that the New York Times has set up. About this series, the NYT informs us:

The severe economic downturn has forced many people to reassess their values and the ways they act on them in their daily lives. For some, the pursuit of happiness, sanity, or even survival, has been transformed.

Happy Days is a discussion about the search for contentment in its many forms -- economic, emotional, physical, spiritual -- and the stories of those striving to come to terms with the lives they lead.

I suppose that humor must be one of those ways of coming to terms with life, and Professor Critchley has offered us a humorous essay -- at least, I found it amusing . . . but also serious and informative.

But at the risk of taking seriously an off-the-cuff remark meant unseriously, let's look carefully at this passage:

[T]he legitimacy of money is based on a sovereign act, or a sovereign guarantee that the money is good, that it is not counterfeit. Money has a promissory structure, with a strangely circular logic: money promises that the money is good. The acceptance of the promise is the approval of a specific monetary ethos. We all agree that the money is worth -- in the best of circumstances -- more than the paper on which it is printed. To buy and sell in the U.S. dollar, or any other currency, is to trust that each bill is making a promise that it can keep.

Critchley's is an ironic way of putting things, I presume, but let's take him literally for the moment. Money has no "strangely circular logic" on this point, for money does not itself promise that it is good. Rather, it carries the promise made not by the money itself but by another entity, usually the government. Take the analogy of this blog. Gypsy Scholar is not analyzing Critchley's passage; it is bearing an analysis made by the blog's author: Jeffery Hodges (in case you'd forgotten).

Critchley himself knows this -- not about me but about money -- for he immediately goes on to state:

This ethos, this circular money-promising-that-the-money-is-good, is underwritten by sovereign power.

He still insists on his ironic point, but the "underwritten" guarantee is the actual promise that the money is good. But to his 'credit', Critchley immediately procedes to offer up some satisfyingly etymological details:

It is worth recalling that gold coins called "sovereigns" were first minted in England under Henry VII in 1489 and production continues to this day. It is essential that we believe in this power, that the sovereign power of the bank inspires belief, that the "Fed has cred," as it were. Credit can only operate on the basis of credence and credibility, of an act of fidelity and faith (fides), of con-fid-ence. As historians of language have shown, there is a strong etymological link between ideas of belief, faith and forms of economic exchange. The goddess Fides or trust was sometimes depicted on the verso of Roman coins. "In Fed We Trust," as the title of David Wessel's new book has it.

Interesting. Money as religion, as Critchley notes:

There is a theological core to money based on an act of faith, of belief. One can even speak of a sort of monetary civil religion.

Much of this is tongue-in-cheek, I guess, but it has an earnest intent and gives rise to some serious insights about our potentially idolatrous attitude toward money. Perhaps Paul was writing with authentic insight in 1 Timothy 6:10, where -- in what I've long taken as an overstatement -- he maintains:

For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. (King James Version, Blue Letter Bible Website)

Perhaps Paul meant that those who "coveted" money "erred from the faith" because they had found a new 'faith' -- trust in money above trust in their God. On the other hand, rightly understood, trust in money is necessary -- as is trust in a friend, or a spouse, or anything in which we must place trust.

Even in Critchley, who -- I trust -- has a serious point in his irony and a way with words in coining the phrase "Coin of Praise" and thus deserves some serious attention from a fellow like me who appreciates a good wordsmith.

St. Paul: "Love . . . is not . . . resentful"

Saint Paul Writing His Epistles

Artist: Valentin de Boulogne or Nicolas Tournier

Sixteenth Century

(Image from Wikipedia)

Yesterday, I cited I Corinthians 13: 4-7 in the New International Version (NIV) to suggest a source for Jane Austen's understanding of love's power to overcome resentment in Pride and Prejudice. In looking further, I discovered that the Revised Standard Version (RSV) offers the following translation for verse 5:

[Love] is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful.

Austen, of course, would have been using the Authorized Version (AV, aka King James Version (KJV)) or some variant of that, for the RSV was authorized later. Here's the old AV for verse 5:

[Love] doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil.

For the record, the AV uses an old term for "love," namely, "charity." Moreover, "thinketh no evil" does not immediately connote "is not . . . resentful." The larger passage, however, would lend itself to an understanding that true love is not resentful:

13:4 Charity suffereth long, [and] is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, 5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; 6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

The Greek behind the AV version, the so-called Textus Receptus, has the following for verse 5:

13:5 οὐκ ἀσχημονεῖ οὐ ζητεῖ τὰ ἑαυτῆς οὐ παροξύνεται οὐ λογίζεται τὸ κακόν

The phrase "οὐ λογίζεται τὸ κακόν" is what the RSV has translated as "is not resentful." The term "λογίζομαι" (logizomai, pronounced lo-gē'-zo-mī) means "to reckon, count, compute, calculate, count over" and can have the sense of "to take into account, to make an account of," or, metaphorically, "to pass to one's account, to impute." Since "κακός" (kakos, pronounced kä-ko's) means "evil," then "λογίζεται τὸ κακόν" (logizetai to kakos) could have the meaning of "to pass evil to (some)one's account," which would certainly overlap with the sense of "being resentful." The negative particle "οὐ" (ou, pronounced ü) negates the expression. Thus, true love is not resentful.

Of course, I can't assume that Jane Austen was reflecting on the meaning of the Greek original, but a next step would be to check old commentaries on 1 Corinthians 13:5 (and its context) to see if they offer any remarks on resentment.

Adam Smith: On Love and Resentment

Adam Smith

Etching by Cadell and Davies (1811),

John Horsburgh (1828),

or R.C. Bell (1872)

(Image from Wikipedia)

In The Theory of Moral Sentiments, the famous Scottish moral philosopher Adam Smith makes an interesting observation upon love and resentment:

"Love does not judge of resentment, nor resentment of love. Those two passions may be opposite to one another, but cannot, with any propriety, be said to approve or disapprove of one another." (Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, edited by Knud Haakonssen, Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), Part III, Chapter V, page 131)

I'm not certain what Smith intends by this. My hunch is that he means to say that the moral sentiments are fundamental and thus have to be acknowledged and taken as the brute facts upon which to base moral theory and to ground moral action.

I don't know that Jane Austen was aware of Smith's observation, but she might well disagree, for her novel Pride and Prejudice could as well have been titled Love and Resentment since the novel seems to be about the power of love to overcome even a "resentful" temperament like that of Darcy. Austen might rather appeal to I Corinthians 13: 4-7 for St. Paul's views on what love is and does:

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. (New International Version, italics mine)

I'll have more to say of this another time.

Divine Sovereignty and Human Freedom IV

Augustine of Hippo

Sandro Botticelli, c. 1480

(Image from Wikipedia)

I have the image above from Wikipedia, which confidently informs me that "Augustine of Hippo wrote that original sin is transmitted by concupiscence and enfeebles freedom of the will without destroying it." The anonymous contributer then cites an article on "Free Will" in The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (Oxford University Press, 1997), edited by F. L. Cross and E. A. Livingstone. The statement that Augustine 'affirmed' free will surprises me, for I thought that he had denied it. Unfortunately, I cannot check the article to see what the anonymous Wikipedia individual was referring to, for I do not have the book that contains it.

Well, that's my opening gambit, and it ain't much of one, but I liked the image of Augustine -- his eyes lifted up -- deeply engaged in moral and theological reasoning, for it's indicative of the deep waters into which I've gotten myself (my eyes also lifted up as I sink beneath the waves).

For instance, in an earlier post defending free will, I had innocently noted that "a 'should' entails a 'could.'" To this, Dominic Bnonn Tennant posted a response, asking:

[O]n what basis do you say that a "should" entails a "could"? All men should be perfect. Are you arguing that all men could be perfect? An imperative in no way leads one to infer an indicative.

I've been hesitating to reply to this because I felt that I needed better grounding in the philosophical thinking on this issue. I don't want to go about reinventing the wheel. The wheel has already been invented, improved, possibly even 'perfected', so my own wheel is likely to be a crude one, vastly inferior. But I'll make some suggestions and ask some questions.

First, the suggestions.

Bnonn's statement that "All men should be perfect" is a Christian one, probably based on Matthew 5:48:

Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect. (King James Version)

ἔσεσθε οὖν ὑμεῖς τέλειοι, ὥσπερ ὁ πατὴρ ὑμῶν ὁ ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς τέλειός ἐστιν (Textus Receptus)

I borrow this verse, both in English and Greek, from the Blue Letter Bible, as one might have expected. I admit that I've always been somewhat puzzled by this imperative, for it seems to be exhorting people to be something beyond their power. Possibly, one should understand the imperative to mean, "Try to be perfect, and you will learn that this is impossible, for the law is intended to teach you that you will fail" -- if one were to apply a Pauline hermeneutic here (cf. Romans 5:13-17 and Galatians 3:19-25, among other places). But maybe the point goes a bit further, namely, that perfection is possible, ultimately, if one accepts the grace offered and the glorification promised (again applying a Pauline hermeneutic, cf. 1 Corinthians 15:42-54). Perhaps one needs help to be perfect, but if one should be perfect, then one ought to accept that help.

I'll get to my questions in a moment, but I should note an example that Bnonn provided to illustrate that an "ought" does not always imply a "could":

Say a man embezzles a million dollars, and is subsequently caught. At trial, because of mitigating circumstances, the judge agrees to defer jailtime if the man simply pays back the money. Unfortunately, most of it has already been squandered. Surely we'd agree that the man ought to pay back the money (in fact, even if he were not so ordered, he still ought to pay it back) -- yet certainly he cannot pay it back. The imperative does not imply an indicative.

I think that the issue would be more complex than this. Of course, the man should not have embezzled the money in the first place, and presumably, he had a choice about that. Since he is guilty of a crime, he must make some sort of restitution or be punished (or both). One way would be for him to repay the money, and he should do this if he can. If he lacks the funds now, he could be required to pay back in installments. There is some possibility of repaying, even if the man currently lacks the money. By contrast, we would never say of a murderer that he should bring the dead man back to life, for that is not only currently impossible but also utterly beyond all human possibility. Returning to the embezzlement case, if for some reason -- let us assume -- we know that the man would not, ever, be able to repay, then the legal system could provide for punishment instead. The reasoning would be: "Since the man is guilty, then he should repay the funds if he can, but since he cannot repay the funds, then he should be punished with prison time." A legal system would be foolish to insist that the man should repay if he cannot. It would, rather, insist that the man serve time in prison.

Now for my questions.

How would an imperative make sense if the act demanded were impossible? I can understand that an imperative might be given to teach a lesson, e.g., "Okay, be perfect by your own efforts if you think that you can be (but you'll find that you cannot)." But would that be a genuine imperative? Or rather a means of teaching a lesson? In the embezzlement example above, however, the moral assumption is that the man had a choice between embezzling or not embezzling. If he were forced at gunpoint to embezzle, we would likely not hold him responsible. Or, to put things another way, we would not hold the man's computer responsible for the embezzlement, for the computer had no choice, being merely an instrument of the man's will. Would we say that the computer should not have carried out the man's will? Wouldn't that be demanding of a computer that it ought to act in a way that it cannot act? Would such a demand make any sense?

I'm not sure if I've adequately responded to this part of Bnonn's objections to my view that an "ought" implies a "could." Probably, I've merely chiseled a rough-hewn wheel from philosophical stone.

Blumenberg on Curiositas in the Catalog of vices: The Danger of a Voluntarist God

Karl Barth (1886-1968)

Defending a voluntaristic God?

(Not in the Image of God from Wikipedia)

In the concluding paragraph to his chapter titled "Curiosity Is Enrolled in the Catalog of Vices," Hans Blumenberg noted that God's status as Ruler of the Cosmos embued Him with a voluntarist character that bore implications in a time of somewhat arbitrary imperial power:

To the surrounding Hellenistic world in the time of the Caesars, the right of the Ruler of the World to arbitrariness vis-à-vis His creation could be made plausible more readily than the much more threatening meaning of the supposed miracles as announcements of the revocation of the existence of the world as whole. But just this concealed radicalness stands behind the disputes over the right of curiositas to guarantee itself the future of nature under laws. Dependability, rational constancy, regularity are characteristics of a concept of nature that does not want to admit the world as a metaphysical episode stretched between beginning and end, between creation and destruction. As the behavioral correlate of this concept of nature, with its insistence on man's intra-worldly possibilities, curiositas is definitively entered by Augustine into the catalog of vices. (Hans Blumenberg, The Legitimacy of the Modern Age, 323)

Thus does Blumenberg position Augustine at a crucial turning point in the development of Christian theology's conception of God's character, for Augustine emphasizes God's arbitrary will. In extreme form, this can pose problems, as Pope Benedict XVI noted in his Regensberg address by citing Theodore Khoury on the example of the Muslim scholar Ibn Hazm:

Theodore Khoury . . . observes [that] . . . for Muslim teaching, God is absolutely transcendent. His will is not bound up with any of our categories, even that of rationality. Here Khoury quotes a work of the noted French Islamist R. Arnaldez, who points out that Ibn Hazm went so far as to state that God is not bound even by his own word, and that nothing would oblige him to reveal the truth to us. Were it God's will, we would even have to practise idolatry. (Pope Benedict XVI, "Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections," University of Regensburg, September 12, 2006)

But the Pope acknowledges that this conception of a totally arbitrary, voluntarist deity was also a danger internal to Christian theology:

In all honesty, one must observe that in the late Middle Ages we find trends in theology which would sunder this synthesis between the Greek spirit [of reason] and the Christian spirit [of faith]. In contrast with the so-called intellectualism of Augustine and Thomas, there arose with Duns Scotus a voluntarism which, in its later developments, led to the claim that we can only know God's voluntas ordinata. Beyond this is the realm of God's freedom, in virtue of which he could have done the opposite of everything he has actually done. This gives rise to positions which clearly approach those of Ibn Hazm and might even lead to the image of a capricious God, who is not even bound to truth and goodness. God's transcendence and otherness are so exalted that our reason, our sense of the true and good, are no longer an authentic mirror of God, whose deepest possibilities remain eternally unattainable and hidden behind his actual decisions. (Pope Benedict XVI, "Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections")

Interestingly, the Pope cites the intellectualism of Augustine. Granted, Augustine was a complex thinker, but from Blumenberg's analysis, Augustine himself bore some degree of responsibility for the Nominalist conception of an arbitrary, voluntarist God.

But I think that the Pope is right in noting some things that preclude Christianity from falling completely into a radical voluntarism:

As opposed to this, the faith of the Church has always insisted that between God and us, between his eternal Creator Spirit and our created reason there exists a real analogy, in which -- as the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 stated -- unlikeness remains infinitely greater than likeness, yet not to the point of abolishing analogy and its language. God does not become more divine when we push him away from us in a sheer, impenetrable voluntarism; rather, the truly divine God is the God who has revealed himself as logos and, as logos, has acted and continues to act lovingly on our behalf. Certainly, love, as Saint Paul says, "transcends" knowledge and is thereby capable of perceiving more than thought alone (cf. Eph 3:19); nonetheless it continues to be love of the God who is Logos. Consequently, Christian worship is, again to quote Paul -- "λογικη λατρεία", worship in harmony with the eternal Word and with our reason (cf. Rom 12:1). (Pope Benedict XVI, "Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections")

The Pope here grounds Christian belief in a rational God on the anthropological-theological concept of a "real analogy" between human beings and God, which in turn is based on the biblical teaching that people are made in the image of God and can therefore trust that the human power of rationality can conceive truths about God. The Pope backs this up by reference to St Paul's thought in Romans 12:1 on God and human worship in harmony with reason, which is even more notable for what the Pope does not explicitly note, that he is also arguing against one influential Protestant tendency in its insistence upon the radical sovereignty of God, a tendency to deny the "real analogy" implied by the biblical teaching of mankind as being "in the image of God." I believe that the Pope is thinking of Karl Barth, who argues in his great commentary, The Epistle to the Romans, that when we stand confronted by God:

[W]e are bound to proclaim the entire absence of every human presupposition. We proclaim that God is free. The Gospel is the glad tidings, precisely because all human conjunctions and adjustments and presuppositions -- however transcendentally conceived of -- are there confronted by the sovereignty of God . . . . [W]e are concerned only with obedience . . . . Obedience means that there is encountered in the known man of this world a vacuum, a place of irruption, where the new [saved] man is able to breathe and move. Obedience is the sense for the specific peculiarity of the Divine and for the Wholly-Other-ness of God, the King, the Monarch, the Despot. (Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, translated from the sixth edition by Edwyn C. Hoskyns (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933), page 386)

One has to place this glorification of a God who is wholly other than mankind in the context of its times, for Barth was writing these words within earshot of battles being waged during the First World War, whose terrible toll on Europe destroyed belief in so many things, Christian faith among them, and Barth's theology is merely one step short of the agnosticism that much of his generation stumbled into from that war.

But beyond the specific circumstances of his time, Barth's appeal to a wholly-other God demonstrates that the Islamic option of the radically voluntarist deity remains ever a temptation in the unstable Christian coalition of reason and faith.

Bultmann on Pride

Gerhard Kittel, TDNT

(Image from biblesoft.com)

Yesterday's post on pride was nothing to boast about since it remained an unfinished meditation, so I'll say a few more things this morning, drawing upon Rudolf Bultmann's entry for "to boast" (καυχαομαι, kauchaomai) in volume 3 of Gerhard Kittel's Theological Dictionary of the New Testament.

For an abridged version of Kittel, go to the Amazon site for the Kittel volume, search inside the book for "boast," and read the entire entry on pages 423-425, but you may have to click on several items to find the right entry, for the pagination in the item list is incorrect (in my search).

An online source in pdf format can be found here that includes an outline of the information in Kittel's unabridged volume, but be careful, for it has mistranscribed the Greek, using a "xi" (ξ) where a "chi" (χ) is needed in section B, i.e., in "Word Group." Still, the source is useful, for it saves me the trouble of typing a paragraph from Bultmann:

In the OT there are many proverbs against self-glorying or boasting (1 Kings 20:11; Prov. 25:14; 27:1; cf. 20:9), though place is also found for justiable pride (Prov. 16:31; 17:6). Self-glorying, however, is not merely a casual fault. In many passages it is regarded as the basic attitude of the foolish and ungodly man (Psa. 52:1; 74:4; 94:3). For in it we see that man desires to stand on his own feet and not to depend on God, that he builds on that which he himself can accomplish and control. Hence "to boast" (התהלל) can be synonymous with "to trust" (נטח), Psa. 49:7. God, however, is the Almighty before whom all human boasting is to be stilled, Judg. 7:2; 1 Sam. 2:2f.; cf. Jer. 50:11; Ezek. 24:25). Paradoxically there is opposed to self-confident boasting the true boasting which consists in self-humbling before God (Jer. 9:22f.) who is the praise of Israel (Deut. 10:21) and who deals with Israel to His own glory (Deut. 26:19; Jer. 13:11; Zeph. 3:19f.). Hence the righteous, or the cultic community, can boast of acts of divine succour (Ps. 5:11; 32:11; 89:17f.; 1 Chron. 16:27f.; 29:11; Deut. 33:29; Jer. 17:14). Hence "to boast" (καυχασθαι in the LXX) can have the same cultic sense as verbs like "to rejoice," "to exult," with which it is often combined.... But occasionally it also has eschatalogical significance, since this glorying is finally actualised in the time of salvation (Zech. 10:12; Ps. 149:5; 1 Ch. 16:33). A constituent element in all such glorying is that of confidence, joy and thanksgiving, and the paradox is that the one who glories thus looks away from himself, so that his glorying is a confession of God. (Rudolph Bultmann, "καυχαομαι," in Gerhard Kittel, editor, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley, Volume 3 (Grand Rapids Michigan: W. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1965), pages 646-647)

So, given that boasting of oneself is mostly bad, what does Bultmann make of the passage from Galatians that we noted yesterday?

Galatians 6:3 If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. 4 Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride (καυχημα, kauchama) in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, 5 for each one should carry his own load. (New International Version)

This would fit the Old Testament category of justifiable pride, perhaps, but we're dealing with the New Testament, so what does Bultmann say?

[Paul] warns us in Gl. 6:4 that none can attain to his καυχημα by comparison with others, but only by self-scrutiny, by measuring his achievement in terms of the task which he is set. As the context shows, to do this also implies self-criticism. If, then, occasion is given to glory, this glorying is also thanksgiving.

Bultmann's point seems to be that Paul is not advocating any sort of self-glorification, for one is not supposed to compare one's achievement against the achievements of others in a competition for status. Rather, one is supposed to measure one's achievement against the task that God has set to be done.

To put this in evangelical terms, boasting 'in the spirit' is fine, for then one is taking pride in what God has done, but boasting 'in the flesh' is bad, for then one is taking false pride in what one has supposedly accomplished by one's own power.

In Galatians 6:4, the believer may appear to be taking self-pride but is actually taking pride in God's accomplishment in enabling one to fulfill divine purposes ... or so Paul would seem to mean.

Pride: Good or Bad?

Pride, South Portal, Chartres Cathedral

On a haughty high horse, going into a fall...

(Image from Wikipedia)

Last Sunday in the Bible study class that I attend in my church, we read 1 Corinthians 4:6 in the course of our study:

6 Now, brothers, I have applied these things to myself and Apollos for your benefit, so that you may learn from us the meaning of the saying, "Do not go beyond what is written." Then you will not take pride (phusiousthe) in one man over against another.

The trouble in the Corinth church stemmed from factionalism, with some believers identifying with Paul, others with Apollos, others with somebody else, and so on. Paul's warning about taking pride in one man over against another was a warning against this factionalism.

This led to a discussion of pride, which the Bible generally condemns as a very bad attitude. Typical examples occur in Proverbs 16:18 and 18:12:

Proverbs 16:18 Pride (MT: גָּאוֹן, gaon; LXX: υβρις, hubris) goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. (New International Version)

Proverbs 18:12 Before his downfall a man's heart is proud (MT: יִגְבַּהּ, yigbah; LXX: υψουται, hupsoutai), but humility comes before honor. (New International Version)

And of course, pride is often identified as the first sin in speculations about Satan's rebellion, based on interpretations of such passages as Isaiah 14:12-15:

12 How you have fallen from heaven,
O morning star (MT: הֵילֵל, helel; LXX: εωσφορος, heosphoros; Vul: lucifer), son of the dawn!
You have been cast down to the earth,
you who once laid low the nations!

13 You said in your heart,
"I will ascend to heaven;
I will raise my throne
above the stars of God;
I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly,
on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain.

14 I will ascend above the tops of the clouds;
I will make myself like the Most High."

15 But you are brought down to the grave,
to the depths of the pit. (New International Version)

The passage does not specify that the rebellious one is Satan, nor does the context do so, but the identification is traditional, based on the word "lucifer" in the Vulgate's Latin translation verse 12 and on such New Testament passages as Revelation 9:1 and 12:9 and 2 Peter 2:4. An interesting study on the identification of the figure with Lucifer-Satan can be found at the CRI/Voice, Institute, an online site about which I otherwise know nothing. At any rate, the 'story' of this figure in Isaiah 14:12-15 would appear to exemplify the warning given in Proverbs 16:18 and 18:12 about pride leading to one's downfall.

Yet, pride is not always condemned. In two passages, Paul refers to pride in favorable ways:

2 Corinthians 5:12 We are not trying to commend ourselves to you again, but are giving you an opportunity to take pride (kauchmatos) in us, so that you can answer those who take pride (kauchomenous) in what is seen rather than in what is in the heart. (New International Version)

Galatians 6:3 If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. 4 Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride (kauchama) in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, 5 for each one should carry his own load. (New International Version)

The related Greek words here, kauchaomai (verb) and kauchama (noun) -- "take pride in" and "pride," respectively -- differ from the Greek words hubris ("pride": Proverbs 16:18) and hupsoutai ("proud": Proverbs 18:12) as well as from Paul's negative use of phusiousthe in 1 Corinthians 4:6 (literally, "be puffed up").

The words kauchaomai and kauchama also occur elsewhere in a positive sense: by Paul in 2 Corinthians 5:12, 7:4, and 8:24 and by James in 1:9.

I suspect that the difference lies not solely in the words used but more in the attitude expressed. Perhaps "confidence" would be a better translation to consider when kauchaomai and kauchama are used positively, but I probably need to look into this point some more.

At any rate, pride can be good or bad, but I'll risk taking pride in my wife today as perhaps a good attitude, for this day is the twelfth anniversary of our very happy marriage.

"O death, where is thy sting?"

El Greco, Saint Paul

"much possessed by death"

(Image from Wikipedia)

In taking leave of Professor Warren Reich last Thursday, we spoke briefly about the Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor, who has recently had a book published on our modern secularity titled A Secular Age.

I hadn't heard of the book, but Reich informed me that my old Berkeley advisor Robert Bellah had praised it highly as "possibly the best book that he'd ever read." Those were Reich's words in recalling the blurb from Bellah on Secular Age's cover. On the basis of that recommendation, Reich told me that he intended to read the book.

I think that I'll also have to read it ... as soon as I finish Rosenstock-Heussy's Out of Revolution.

I've looked at the Amazon site and found Bellah's exact quote:

"This is Charles Taylor's breakthrough book, a book of really major importance, because he succeeds in recasting the whole debate about secularism. This is one of the most important books written in my lifetime. I am tempted to say the most important book, but that may just express the spell the book has cast over me at the moment."

At about 80 years of age, Bellah is speaking of a rather long lifetime, so the book is therefore edging out a lot of fine competitors, including his own Habits of the Heart.

Taylor and his new book were therefore on my mind when I received my periodic email from Commonweal Magazine and discovered that he has published an article relevant to the Death, Dying, and Spirituality Conference that I recently attended. The article is titled "The Sting of Death: Why We Yearn for Eternity."

The title is borrowed from I Corinthians 15:55 and occurs within a longer passage by Paul on Christ's victory over death:

50 Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption. 51 Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, 52 In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. 53 For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. 54 So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. 55 O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? 56 The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. 57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (I Corinthians 15:50-57, KJV)

The passage is not exactly a simple one, though it's perhaps clear enough. Here's my take:

Christ has overcome death, presumably through his own resurrection from the dead (though this particular passage does not specify), and through his victory, believers will be transformed at the end times' final resurrection from their corrupted bodies to incorruptible bodies that live immortally, thereby drawing out death's sting, the very sin that had corrupted humankind and rendered humanity subject to the judgement of death according to the law, a judgement that Christ himself had undergone for humanity's sake in order to bring corrupted humankind uncorrupted back to God.

As I said, perhaps that's clear enough. Most commentators agree that verse 54's words "Death is swallowed up in victory" are borrowed by Paul from Isaiah 25:8: "He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from off all faces." As for verse 55's sting of death, Paul seems to be thinking of Hosea 13:14, although that verse does not easily lend itself to Paul's use:

I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction: repentance shall be hid from mine eyes. (Hosea 13:14, KJV)

I'm tempted to ask, "O death, where is thy sting?" It's not exactly there in the King James Version. The New American Standard Bible slips it into the verse:

Shall I ransom them from the power of Sheol?
Shall I redeem them from death?
O Death, where are your thorns?
O Sheol, where is your sting?
Compassion will be hidden from My sight. (Hosea 13:14, NASB)

But this version is perhaps being harmonized to I Corinthians 15:55 -- though I'd need to do a lot more leafing through commentaries to be sure.

John Milton, I'll note in passing, perhaps locates this sting, somewhat mythologically, in the personified image of Death as a fearsome if amorphous entity bearing a "dreadful dart":

...black it stood as Night,
Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell,
And shook a dreadful Dart; (Paradise Lost 2.670-2)

Also in the same passage, the personified figure of Sin appears and refers to this as a "mortal Dart" (2.729). I take it that Milton is thinking -- among other things -- of I Corinthians 15:55.

Be that as it may, Paul himself says that the sting of death is sin, by which, he means that the sting of death is the very corruption that sin brings to bring on death. More briefly put, the sting of death is death itself.

And that is how we usually understand the phrase, but what does Charles Taylor mean? This:

What is hardest of all ... is the death of loved ones. For death is one of the things that makes it very difficult to sustain a sense of the higher meaning of ordinary life, in particular our love relationships. It's not just that these relationships matter to us a lot, and hence there is a grievous hole in our lives when our partner dies. It's also that, because these relationships are so significant, they seem to demand eternity. A deep love already exists against the vicissitudes of life, tying together past and present in spite of the disruptions and dispersals of quarrels, distractions, misunderstandings, resentments. By its very nature it participates in gathered time. And so death can seem a defeat, the ultimate dispersal that remains ungathered.

In Professor Christopher M. Moreman's presentation on Friday, he located the all-too-human belief in God within the fearfulness with which we encounter the certainty of our own death, a mysterium tremendum in the sense meant by Rudolf Otto in his seminal work, The Idea of the Holy. According to Moreman, this terrible sense of our own death leads us to project onto the nonbeing of death a great Being in our own image who will rescue us from death.

Taylor would say no, that's not the dialectic. The experience that really leads us to long for eternity is not some trembling before the ineluctable certainty of our own death but the loss of those whom we love so dearly.

Though I don't entirely dismiss Moreman's argument, I think that Taylor comes closer to what most people feel about death. We can often come to some acceptance of our own death. But the death of one's mother, father ... of grandparents? Of a beloved spouse? Of a loved child?

These are the sting of death.

Christopher M. Moreman on 'Self-less-ness'

A Non-Self Walked Here

Buddha's Footprint

With Dharmachakra and Triratna

1st century CE, Gandhāra

(Image from Wikipedia)

Sogang University's Death, Dying, and Spirituality Conference is not yet over, but I'll be staying home today to recover from an intense and intensive three days. I also have get back to my regular duties, such as grading papers...

Yesterday, I responded to a paper titled "Experiencing the Numinous in the Face of Death," which I've commented on before in this blog without identifying the speaker because he hadn't yet spoken at that time. I suppose that I can identify him now. He's a young scholar at Saint Francis Xavier University, in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Canada, his name is Christopher M. Moreman, and he jokes that he's one of only three 'Moremans' in Canada -- which sounds like a claim that there are only three Mormans in Canada (an obvious untruth, of course, for there are at least 10 of them).

Anyway, Moreman gave a new twist to Rudolf Otto's Idea of the Holy, as readers of this blog may have noticed this new use of the mysterium tremendum a few days ago when I reported on this point in the entry "Death as the mysterium tremendum et fascinans?".

Today, though, I'm just going to cite a minor criticism that I made of a different point in Moreman's paper, one where he reaches for parallels about 'selflessness' across religions and religious experiences:

Moreman goes on to suggest a similarity between Buddhist and Taoist views of self-less-ness and the sort of selflessness that one finds in the thought of St. Paul and in the lives of people who have had Near Death Experiences, or NDEs. Moreman argues that when Paul speaks of dying to sin, one dies to self and is reborn sinless and therefore selfless. Similarly, those who have undergone NDEs live far more selfless lives, says Moreman, pointing to the results of a study by Cherie Sutherland (Sutherland, Reborn in the Light), as well as in other studies of NDE (e.g., Grot-Marnat and Summers, "Altered Beliefs"; and Greyson and Stevenson, "The Phenomenology of Near-Death Experiences"). This is an interesting perspective, but I wonder about it. While I can concede parallels in the de-emphasis upon self in Buddhism, Taoism, St. Paul, and NDE people, I nevertheless think that some equivocation in the meaning of the term "self" is slipping in. For the Buddhist and Taoist, the self is unstable, in flux, but for St. Paul and NDE people, the self is stable, even assured of existence after death. For the former, denial of self is an ontological issue, but for the latter, it is an ethical issue. The related term "selflessness" is thus also different, as is the implication of the term "selfish." Denial of self simply does not mean the same thing across the smorgasboard of religions.

That's enough for today, I hope, for I've got that grading to get to. Thanks to all who visit and read my musings...

Bibliography:

Greyson, Bruce and Ian Stevenson. "The Phenomenology of Near-Death Experiences." American Journal of Psychiatry 137. 1980. pages 1193-1196.

Grot-Marnat, G. and R. Summers. "Altered Beliefs, Attitudes, and Behaviors Following Near-Death Experiences." Journal of Humanistic Psychology 38. 1998. page 110-125.

Sutherland, Cherie. Reborn in the Light: Life After Near-Death Experiences. New York: Bantam, 1995.