Bayer contra Barth, part 3

See part 1 here and part 2 here.

On Natural Theology/Unity of Reality:

       “In the service of the church, natural theology serves to articulate the universality of the gospel, which is to be proclaimed not only to all people, but also to all creatures (Mark 16:15).  Jesus is the one and only Lord.  'There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved' (Acts 4:12).This might seem to suggest that we should think of the person of Christ as the unity of reality or, conversely, of the unity of reality as the person of Christ, based on such key texts as the New Testament Christ-hymns, for example, Colossians 1:15-20, Hebrews 1:1-4, and the prologue of the Gospel of John.  It is in this sense that especially Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Karl Barth have asserted that Jesus Christ is the one Word of God.  But in order to demonstrate its claim to truth or its claim to general theological validity, we do not have to begin with an indeterminate, general concept, which would have to be assumed or anticipated, but rather with the particularity of the Christ event….  

If we look to history for examples of a 'pure' [a priori] Christological argument, we could take Hegel’s philosophy of religion, with some modifications, but we also need to look at Karl Barth.  We recall that Barth’s initial treatment of the problem of natural theology resulted in his outright rejection of it with his famous 'No!' to Emil Brunner in 1943.  But then in 1961 Barth says, 'Later I retrieved natural theology via Christology.'  Therefore, we must examine his natural theology, which he rehabilitated on the basis of Christology, because of its connections with Hegel’s philosophy of religion…  

With Hegel, the way pioneered by Lessing and Kant reaches its completion.  The cross becomes 'rational' in that the historical Good Friday is understood as an idea and so is transformed into the speculative Good Friday, while Christ’s resurrection becomes the negation of negation.  The concrete attributes (concreta) of the being of Jesus Christ are tacitly transformed into abstract attributes (abstracta), into general definitions that delineate reality as a whole and as a unity. 

In the new form of natural theology perfected by Hegel after Lessing and Kant, the old distinction between theology [a general experience of God] and economy [a Christian experience of salvation] is set aside and transformed into the one reality of Christ.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer, speaking wholly in the sense of the Hegelian philosophy of religion, says: 'There is…only one reality, and that is the reality of God, manifest in Christ, in the reality of the world.'  Karl Barth says the same thing, theologically, especially in his 'doctrine of lights' in Church Dogmatics IV/3.  Responding there to the problem endemic to the tradition of natural theology, he says that he retrieves 'natural theology via Christology' on the basis of Jesus Christ as the one Word of God…. 

While the distinction between Schleiermacher and Barth may be ever so great, they agree with each other in their thinking about unity.  While Schleiermacher, of course, thinks of unity anthropologically, as the one fundamental state [the feeling of absolute dependence], Barth approaches it Christologically, by holding that Jesus Christ is the one Word of God….  

If we criticize Barth’s thinking about unity, we will have to ask ourselves whether the unity of God is something that we can only confess, as when we confess Jesus to be the one and only Lord, or whether it is something that we can also conceive with our minds.  But this can happen only in the sense of 1 Corinthians 8:4-6 and of the prayer of the Isaiah Apocalypse: ‘O Lord our God, other lords besides you have ruled over us, but we acknowledge your name alone’ (Isa. 26:13; cf Micah 4:5)  Yahweh's lawsuit with the other gods must not be glossed over even by systematic theology through an abstract monism. At stake is the truth of the first commandment: 'I am the Lord your God, you shall have no other gods besides me!' Nevertheless, the other gods have their reality in their promises and enticements, as either something fascinating or frightening, in the sense of a power that is given to them by the human fabricating heart. 

The unity of God that we confess can only be believed.  It cannot be conceived, if that means to possess the idea of the unity of God as a datum that we could summon at will as we do our hopes and memories…. God’s unity is not like an idea that can be remembered or construed.  It will always be a matter of dispute.  Even thinking cannot escape this conflict between the one God with the many gods.  Therefore, this situation must be made clear also in thinking and in theology, especially in systematic theology.  We cannot skip over the distinction between law and gospel, which is at stake here, for the sake of the idea of the unity of gospel and law.” (p 192-198) 

“…God encounters us in ways that are irreducibly different.  [These are Law (accusation and instruction), Gospel (promise), and terrifying hiddenness (which contradicts Law and Gospel).]  We cannot therefore accept a monistic doctrine of the word of God, as advocated by Karl Barth.  In the midst of the contradictory and complementary ways in which God encounters us, which are laden with tension and conflict, the gospel stands out in its uniqueness as God’s decisive, final word.” (p.125) 

“The danger of an ethical approach to theology exists wherever the unity of law and gospel is stressed for the sake of truth.  We find this, for instance, in Karl Barth.” (p. 142) 

“In this sense ‘the Holy Spirit,’ who makes the old world and its old language new, ‘has his own grammar.’…  The formulas of the new language are a gift of the Holy Spirit.  They focus on the way we talk about the communication of attributes.  We must, however, protect them against rash generalizations, the work of enthusiastic eschatology, aided and abetted by human reason.  Again, Luther achieves this by thoroughly philosophical means: through the distinction between the concrete attributes (concreta) of Christ’s being and the abstract attributes (abstracta) of human nature in general, creation and the world as such.  Luther stresses the importance of this distinction, which seems to anticipate the criticism that is necessary today in the face of a post-Christian natural theology, with its distinctively Hegelian stamp, which dominates, for instance, the theology of Barth and Bonhoeffer.  The hallmark of these forms of post-Christian theology is the endless and lavish use they make of the proposition 'God is human' or 'the creature and the creator are one and the same.'  However, in what is surely a countermove to this, Luther pleads for a 'spare use' of this kind of talk.  The thesis that 'all words receive a new meaning in Christ' is not true if we expand it in a speculative way, but only 'if they have the same referent.'  People who do not see this clearly and who fail to distinguish between the concrete attributes of Christ’s being and the abstract attributes of humanity and the world, 'do not know how to distinguish between equivocal words.'  In their enthusiasm, they relish the fog of equivocation and refuse to let the cloud (Exod. 13:21f.) of the Holy Spirit and his grammar be their guide.” (p. 81-82, quotes from Luther)

I must admit, I don't fully understand everything that Bayer is advocating here, and I'm not sure I even agree with everything, but here's some of what I take away from it.  God speaks to us in Law and Gospel and encounters us in his hiddenness.  To try and subsume these very different types of relation under one broad category of God's self-revelation in Christ (as Barth does, I believe) is to eliminate the conflict that makes theology so dynamic and powerful over us.  Once these disparate relations are "united," theology becomes something dead which we have control over, rather than how the living God encounters us.  The Law tells us that we are damned, the Gospel tells us that we are redeemed.  Most conflicting of all, the suffering around us tell us nothing of God.  This is God's hiddenness.  When we try and peel back the mask with which God has hidden his face (Psalm 13), we are led into terrifying depersonalized abstractions which threaten to undo us.  Once we relegate God's unity to the status of a datum, we "save" ourselves from God's work.  It is the old self resisting the cross, trying to "get God off our back," to quote Forde.

This concludes Bayer's disagreement with Barth.  I know I need help unpacking all of this, still, so what do you think?  Let me know in the comments and maybe we can work through this together.

Bayer contra Barth, part 2

See part 1 here.

On the Scheme of Theory and Practice:

“The twofold scheme serves as a basic model right up to our own day.  An impressive example of this is the motto of Taizé: contemplation et lutte, ‘prayer and engagement.’…The Roman Catholic tradition has at its best maintained the twofold scheme up to the present in the sense of Meister Eckhart’s dialectic [that practice must be adopted in such a way that it does not exclude theory].  Karl Barth has also followed this twofold scheme in his strongly cognitive and contemplative understanding of faith, which of course is connected to the modern emphasis on construction.  However, this scheme, together with the Platonic-Aristotelian concept of science that always goes with it, was dealt a fatal blow by Luther’s concept of theology.  For him, faith is no longer subordinated to theory, but it is a unique and distinctive kind of life, a receptive life (vita passiva).  Theory and practice are no longer related to each other in a two-fold way.  Rather, both are related to faith, and it is this third element that determines whether they are true or false.” (p. 109) 

         “Festivals and holidays (holy days) make harsh demands on the old nature, for it means that we must cease from our work: ‘For our sinful nature is very unwilling to die and to be passive, and it is a bitter day of rest for it to cease from its own works and be dead.’  This has been a bitter pill for modern theological anthropology, right up to the theology of Barth and Bultmann, in which humans are always seen as active subjects, as doers (for Barth analogously to God)…. However, this overlooks the power of the Sabbath, of Sunday, to establish life, because on the Lord’s day human work ceases and God is active.  If we receive this power as a categorical gift, the urge to realize ourselves, not only in our work but also in our actions, even in the act of faith, must die…        

This kind of dying, however, makes room for life: ‘Keep hand and heart from labor free, that God may do his work in thee. (Lutheran Hymn)’…  Faith, of course, is nothing but ‘a divine work in us which changes us and makes us to be born anew of God, John 1 [12-13].  It kills the old Adam and makes us altogether new persons, in heart and spirit and mind and powers.’If it is true that we must rest from our work, die to the old self, to let God do his work, faith is primarily neither theory nor practice, neither a speculative life (vita contemplativa) nor an active life (vita activa), but, to use Luther’s term for it, a receptive life (vita passiva).” (p. 92-93, quotes from Luther)

Since Aristotle, discussion of science as an academic discipline has involved the distinction between theory and practice.  Theology has largely remained in this scheme throughout its history.  Bayer proposes that to remain within the scheme of theory and practice, of speculation and activity, is to succomb to the temptation to justify one's self and neglect the importance of faith, which is neither theory nor practice but something separate which God does to us.  Theory and practice are merely the outgrowth of that faith as it is challenged and seeks to establish itself.  Theology should not concern itself with striking the proper balance between theory and practice, but rather it should rest and be captured by God's work which kills and makes alive.

Bayer contra Barth, part 1

Since my inclusion of Karl Barth in my last post is generating some disagreement, and I am not knowledgeable enough to defend Bayer's critiques sufficiently, I am going to try and let Bayer speak for himself.  In reviewing where Bayer discusses Barth in his book, I have seen three primary criticisms.  The first is the program of "faith seeking understanding," the second is the classic scheme of theory and practice, and the third (by far the most in-depth) is Barth's "rehabilitation" of natural theology and its "unity of meaning."  Since the passages (particularly in the third critique) are long, I am dividing these up into three posts.

(Unless otherwise noted, quotes are from Oswald Bayer's Theology the Lutheran Way.)

On Fides Quaerens Intellectum:

       “What do we pray for as we journey along the pathway of theology?  What are we seeking when we pray it?  Assuming that we already have faith, are we asking for insight, along the lines of Anselm’s program of “faith seeking understanding” (fides quaerens intellectum)?  Luther emphasizes that the author of the psalm (the pray-er) asks to be instructed and taught, even though he would have been well acquainted with the text of Moses and the other books, and would have heard and read them daily.  Here we come to a difference which is crucial for Luther’s understanding of theology.  The theologian should try to understand through prayer what he or she already knows.
       What the theologian does not yet know and is still seeking is not knowledge and insights into texts.  Therefore, it is not a matter of discovering what a text is saying with the aid of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics (logic and philosophy in the wider sense) in order to be able to teach it in the school or academy.  For that, of course, "knowledge of the liberal arts" is necessary, and Luther stresses its importance for the study of theology as much as the "grace of the Spirit."  Although the work of the Holy Spirit, and therefore of the triune God to whom we pray, does not depend on human achievement and education, it does not exclude “knowledge of the liberal arts.”  The “grace of the Spirit” does not replace “knowledge of the liberal arts”; it sets it free.  In this way, prayer and work, God’s work and human work, find their proper relationship.  Theology as a human project is relieved of the need to reach above, to go in search of timeless pure principles, the absolute first and last, and to be enraptured by it in a pure vision.  Humans do not have to justify themselves by their knowledge any more than by their actions… What this learning receives and attains beyond what it knows is the certainty of what it knows, a certainty that cannot be given by knowledge and science.  This certainty is not within our power to create or possess.  We can only seek it and wait for it from him alone through prayer.” (p. 48-49) 

“Theology, then, is a way of life that is stamped by prayer, the study of scripture, and spiritual attack (oratio, meditatio, tentatio).  And to this we can also add death.  By the same token, the theologian – and every Christian is a theologian – is a person under attack seeking certainty (tentatus quaerens certitudinem).  This formula, which picks up Anselm’s programmatic formula and turns it inside out, illustrates the difference between Luther and Anselm in their understanding of theology.”  (p. 212)  

“Despite some points of contact, this formula represents a clear alternative to the program of ‘faith seeking understanding’ (fides quaerens intellectum) that has dominated theology from Augustine through Anselm to Hegel…and Karl Barth.  In contrast to the program of ‘faith seeking understanding,’ Luther’s formula takes into account the historical nature of theological existence, and gives due recognition to the fundamental importance of temptation (tentatio)….  Luther’s approach does not arbitrarily impose a general, a priori condition that makes possible the understanding of the gospel.  Rather it teaches us how meditation, and the use of the inexhaustible treasures of the Bible, can be a source of new experiences.”  (p. 34)

These three quotes illustrate a fundamental difference between Bayer (and Luther) and perhaps the majority of theological thinking throughout the history of the church, including Barth.  Fides quaerens intellectum (faith seeking understanding) sees the Christian life in more-or-less this way:  first, the Holy Spirit gives faith to the sinner, who then uses this grace to find out more about this faith.  In this picture, which is purely intellectual and lacking in emotion, the christian is seen as the do-er of theology.  Theology is a somewhat neutral enterprise, insofar as its effects on the christian are concerned.  Bayer's formula of tentatus quaerens certitudinem (a person under attack seeking certainty) paints a very different picture.  While both view faith as the gift of the Holy Spirit, Bayer's formula does not show understanding as the goal of theology, but rather a strong faith.  The christian finds her faith under attack by life events, the challenges of skeptics and the seeming absence of God, and laments, reaching to God for salvation: "How long will you hide your face from me?" (Psalm 13).  Bayer takes into account that God uses suffering to kill the old self and raise the new and that this is by no means an emotionally-neutral enterprise.  In this formula, God is the do-er of theology, not the christian.

The Death of Idols

Edit:  When discussing a "theology of the cross," "the cross" is shorthand for the entire story of Jesus, from OT anticipation to birth to crucifixion, resurrection, and glorification.
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I read this post over at Theology Out of Bounds, in which the author makes the case that monotheism (asserting the existence of only one god) is unbiblical.  He argues that the faith of Israel and of the early church was not so much monotheistic as it was monolatrous (monolatry: serving only one god regardless of the existence of others).  It reminded me of a passage from Oswlad Bayer's Theology the Lutheran Way and I thought I'd walk through it a bit.

Bayer is talking about the relation of philosophy (especially natural theology) to biblical theology and the attempt to unify them by what he calls "justifying thinking."  The attempts to do this can go two ways.  First, as in the case of the medieval scholastic theologians, it can start from abstract, general, rational truths derived purely from logic and try to end up with Christianity.  This approach starts with something like the god of Plato (omnibenevolent, omniscient, immutable, omnipotent, etc.) and moves to show how the god of the Bible is this god.  It tries to build a foundation of logic and then add revelation on top of it.  The second approach is more recent and finds proponents in Bonhoeffer and Barth.  This method begins with God's self-revelation and works from there to arrive at abstract, general, rational truths.  To Bayer, both of these approaches suffer from the same flaw: they both sacrifice the concrete revelation of God for the sake of general, abstract truths.

The temptation to engage in justifying thinking is especially strong for a systematic theologian, for this kind of thinking develops the idea of a "unity" of reality.  Justifying thinking is preoccupied with the desire to mediate and reconcile all things. It is driven by the compulsion to demonstrate that every individual and particular thing is based on something general...

As humans, we are driven to justify ourselves, both with our thinking and our actions.  By trying to find something that unifies human endeavors with God's revelation, we look to justify ourselves before God in our thinking.  It's not really any different than the person who acts morally in order to earn their way to heaven.  It's all part of the same motivation: Sin.  Sin causes us to try and show ourselves to be worthy, rather than accepting the entirely free gift of God.  This has to be eliminated, and the only way for that to happen is through the cross.  We have to die to ourselves.  God has to kill the "theologian of glory" (the person whose theology is captivated by the need to reserve some glory for humanity) to leave the "theologian of the cross" (the person whose theologies of glory have been broken and who realizes that all remains is the cross).

Insofar as metaphysics is justifying thinking, which is in league with morality in the sense of justifying action, it is put to death by the passive, donated righteousness of faith. The person who is reborn a Christian and a theologian through the word of the cross and is a "theologian of the cross" says what a thing is: "A theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls a thing what it actually is. (Heidelberg Disputation)" Why is that so? People by nature have their own natural idea of God, in which they flatten everything out to make it fit the concept of the One, the True, the Beautiful, and the Good. But the theologian of the cross has had that false idea of God shattered through painful disillusionment.

The death of the old self therefore also means that our illusion of a totality of meaning is destroyed, even if it was only hypothetically anticipated. Humans have a deep-seated need to engage in justifying thinking. But the theologian of the cross recognizes in this the "thinking and striving of the human heart," which is radically evil (Gen. 6:5 and 8:21). In its justifying thinking the human heart is a "fabricating" heart that constantly produces and projects images in the mind, idols, on which we hang our hearts, archetypes, prototypes, hopes of happiness and success. Each of us has such images on which we hang our heart, which the heart itself has produced. Therefore, Calvin, luke Luther, says that the human heart is an "idol factory."

And there it is: the conception of God as "the One, the True, the Beautiful, and the Good"-- this is an idol created by the human heart!  The search for a "totality of meaning" which can incorporate both our human reasoning and divine revelation (even if it is based in Christology, as in Barth) is just a symptom of our "fabricating heart!"  When we talk about the "one God" in the sense of monotheism, we gloss over the way he is presented in scripture.  The "God" of philosophy ends up usurping the God of revelation.  Bayer gives an example of this in the translation of God's name:

...this question was raised by the Greek form of the Hebrew name of God in the [Greek translation of the Hebrew Scripture].  God's name in Hebrew has a verbal form that can be taken as a reliable promise that God is freely present with us: I am/will be who I am/will be (Exod. 3:14).  [There is no real tense in Biblical Hebrew, so 'ehyeh can mean both "I am" and "I will be."]  However, in Greek this dynamic is lost and the divine name is petrified into the self-predication of an absolute being: ego eimi ho on [lit. "I am the one who is" or "I am the being"] (where "on" is the word in Greek metaphysics for "being").

In Greek thinking, immortality, the absence of emotion and its accompanying impassibility (apathy), all belong to being, pure and simple, to being itself.  However, where the biblical texts are taken seriously, there will be a grave conflict with Greek metaphysics and ontology.  The event described in Hosea 11:7-11 is ontologically unthinkable.  Ancient metaphysics rejects it as mythology because it cannot abide the thought that there is a "coup," a change in God himself.  Here God is not identical with himself; he is not consistent with himself: "...My heart is changed within me, I am full of remorse. (9) I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal...."

Clearly, there is a strong tension between theology and philosophy that we cannot minimize or even try to harmonize.

When we think in terms of metaphysics, of some abstract, rational reality behind the presented reality, we are in danger of forgetting that God is a "living God" and not an abstract ideal.  God is not some generic "being" or  abstract emotion; he is a personal, living and active God, and he does things we hate.  To shield ourselves from this terrifying God, we create theories to set up idols so that we can have control.  Essentially, we set up gods that are lesser than God so that we can leave some room for our own freedom, our own morality, our own justification.  We can't help it.  We are in bondage to Sin and so we can't let God be God.  The only answer to this is the word of the Cross: the promise of death and new life, freely given by a God who we can't control and who won't submit to our quest for a "totality of meaning."  The theologian of glory must die so that the theologian of the cross can be raised.

On Vocation

I'm working on another already-too-long blog post and I realized that it needs some context on how the Lutheran understanding of vocation differs from what seems to be the prevailing view.  So rather than try and fit it into the other post, I've decided to do it separately.

Let's start by looking at the way I think most people think about vocation.  The word for vocation comes from the Latin word vocare, which means 'to call,' so it's fair to associate vocation with calling.  The way I had always been taught to think of vocation was as something akin to my life's grand purpose, the one thing that all else in my life should help me accomplish.  This could be something like owning a business, making a better life for my children, becoming involved in missions work, etc.  In a Christian context, it is the one big thing to which God is calling you, and only you.  A very large part of the talk about vocation while I was at Whitworth was focused on discerning our vocation; trying to figure out "where our greatest joy meets the world's greatest need."

While I don't think there is anything strictly wrong about this way of thinking about vocation, I do think it is incomplete.  Here's how Lutherans talk about vocation:

Lutherans tend to talk more about our many vocations than about one big overriding calling, and this can be confusing to someone who is used to thinking about vocation in the way described above.  In Lutheranism, our vocations are understood to be our roles in life.  So, to use myself as an example, some of my vocations are: husband, son, brother, friend, neighbor, blog writer, student, therapist, etc.  Because of my belief in the sovereignty of God, the very fact that I find myself in these roles tells me that God has called me to them.  This doesn't mean that vocation can't be understood to mean the "big" roles that we aspire to, but it isn't limited to that.  I, for example, have been following a call to pastoral ministry for nearly ten years now, and I certainly consider that to be my vocation, but it is only one of many, even if it is a very important one.

There's a couple advantages that I see to the Lutheran understanding of vocation over the prevailing view, and they both have to do with inclusivity.  First, this understanding of vocation includes all of our roles in life, which allows us to recognize God's call over the whole of our life, rather than in just one aspect.  Instead of being so consumed with preparing myself for some future grand purpose, I am called back into the present to do the work set out for me right now.

Second, this understanding of vocation includes everyone in a way that the prevailing view doesn't.  While speaking about the big thing you're going to do in the world may be entirely appropriate when speaking to a group of college students, many don't think of their lives this way.  Many people aren't going to have one overriding calling in their life that will be publicly acknowledged as such.  If we talk about vocation only as the one big thing we need to do, as the grand impact we're going to have on the world, then many will succumb to the myth that a life without a publicly recognizable achievement was a life not worth living.  If we only talk about some big capital "V" Vocation, then we imply that the mailman or the janitor are failing human beings or are somehow worth less than the CEO or the pastor or the politician.  Not only does talking this way devalue people in their professions, but within the church it puts pressure on people to "be better Christians" or some such nonsense by working for the church or going overseas instead of letting them focus on the place they are at, the place where God has put them.

Now I'm sure that my professors at Whitworth had the best intentions in talking about vocation in the way they did and, as I said earlier, it may have even been appropriate given the audience, but I think that a move to the understanding of vocation I have put forward would be beneficial for a lot of people.

What do you think?  Does this seem to cheapen the idea of vocation as you've understood it?  Enrich it?  Let me know in the comments.

Questions from an atheist

I saw this on Kyle's blog and I thought it was interesting and important to think about. I'm going to list all the questions in their entirety first, and then I'll list them again individually with my answers so you don't have to scroll continuously to make sense of it.
From Greaterthanlapsed:

What verifiable evidence supports your belief in a god? Unsubstantiated “miracles” don’t count. “I just feel it in my heart” or similar nonsense is not evidence. However, I will accept “I don’t need evidence,” as a valid answer—although it will make me think you are foolish and worry about your grasp on reality.>

How do you decide which parts of your holy book(s) to accept as true and meaningful? I may bring up specific examples and ask your opinion on them regardless of your answer to this question. What I look for here is consistency. If you eat shrimp or wear cotton-polyester, I don’t expect that you will think homosexuality is a sin. If you live in this universe, I don’t expect that you will think the earth was created in less than a week or that Jonah really lived in a fish for 3 days.

Of the numerous world religions that exist, what made you pick yours in the first place? On what basis have you decided that your particular religion is the correct religion?

How do you make moral and ethical decisions on a day-to-day basis? To what extent do you consider yourself guided by your religion in that decision-making process?

How do you make sense of moral and ethical contradictions in your holy book(s) or religious dogma?

What qualities would you say make a god worthy of worship? To what extent does your god embody those qualities, and how? I will ask for examples here, and I am likely to point out contradictions if I am familiar enough with your religion to do so.

What are your views on the afterlife? Especially, what happens to people who don’t agree that your religion is the correct one?

How does your religion and/or how do you personally address the problem of evil?

When members of your religion do bad things, how comfortable are you to be associated with those people? Do you still consider them to be members of the same religion as you? Indeed, how do you determine who is “in” and who is “out”? If you don’t determine that, is there an authority that does so? By what method does that authority do so, and where do they get their authority?

What if you are wrong? How important is it to you to be part of the “right” religion? What consequences do you foresee if you have chosen incorrectly? How much doubt would you say that you have about your religious beliefs?

Alright, so here we go:

1. What verifiable evidence supports your belief in a god?

By verifiable, I assume she means able to be demonstrated to another person. I don't think I have any "verifiable evidence" for God aside from tradition and authority, which I am sure she would reject. I'm not impressed with any of the philosophical "proofs" of the existence of God, although I find the very existence of the universe to indicate the existence of some sort of creator, although this by no means proves the Christian God, nor any personal entity at all. For me, the "evidence" I have is personal evidence; aside from telling stories about my experience, I can't share it with anyone.

That said, I don't think that belief relies on empirical evidence, at least not when it comes to an emotionally-charged issue like the existence of God. People are going to believe what they are inclined to believe, and no amount of "verifiable evidence" (of which there isn't any, for or against) is going to change that. I believe that the Holy Spirit is ultimately in charge of our belief; God doesn't leave something as important as that to us.

2. How do you decide which parts of your holy book(s) to accept as true and meaningful?

I don't. Or rather, I guess I do and I have decided to accept all of the Bible as true and meaningful. I believe that the formation of the Bible has been guided throughout history by God, beginning from the oral traditions and continuing on through the present day.

As a Christian, I believe the central event in human history was the incarnation, crucifixion and ressurection of Christ, so the Bible is "true and meaningful" inasmuch as it points to that. I am not a biblical literalist, although I used to be. My understanding of 2 Timothy 3:16 is different than that of many other Christians. The word θεόπνευστος (theopneustos), translated "inspired by God" is more literally translated as "God-breathed" (theos meaning God, and pneustos coming from pneuma meaning spirit or breath). This idea of all scripture being God-breathed brings to my mind the account of the creation of man in Genesis 2:7, in which YHWH assembles man out of the dust, out of what's already there. The Bible, as I understand it, is a collection of documents written by humans and assembled by the Holy Spirit throughout history. Because of this, "true and meaningful" doesn't necessarily mean "literally, scientifically true."

3. Of the numerous world religions that exist, what made you pick yours in the first place? On what basis have you decided that your particular religion is the correct religion?

See my answer to #1. I was practically born a Christian, so I can't really say that I "picked" Christianity. I believe that God "picked" me, and I'm trying to respond to that election.

4. How do you make moral and ethical decisions on a day-to-day basis? To what extent do you consider yourself guided by your religion in that decision-making process?

Every day I try to do what is right, and every day I fail at it.

My conception of “right” comes largely from how I was raised, and that was based on the morals present in the Bible, although those morals aren’t exclusive to the Bible. To me, the Bible (and Christianity in general) is not primarily concerned with morals, for most of the morality within the Bible is culturally obvious (don’t murder, steal, lie in court, etc.). So, the way in which my understanding of Christianity influences my moral and ethical decisions is that it reduces them to one principle: What can I do right now that is most honoring to God? Now, that’s not to say that I am thinking this all the time and constantly analyzing my actions—most of my “ethical decision-making” is mindless—but when I am trying to make a difficult decision, this is (ideally) my guiding principle.

This begs the question: How do I know what is honoring to God? Often, I don’t exactly, but here are some basic ideas: Give God the glory and respect due him as creator. Love God with all of me. Love my neighbor as myself. Treat everything (and everyone, including myself) as though it belongs to someone else, because it does. Share the truth of God with everyone and in every way possible. Try to live in a way that I can be taken seriously when I try to share the truth of God.

5. How do you make sense of moral and ethical contradictions in your holy book(s) or religious dogma?

Three things:

First, every command in the Bible was addressed to a specific person/group of people at a specific time, and what makes ethical sense in one situation doesn’t necessarily make ethical sense in another.

Second, God is by definition good, and therefore anything done by God is good, even though it may appear evil to us. I know that saying this will make me appear blind or ignorant or something like that to many, but I don’t know how you can believe in an infinite creator/source of everything and believe otherwise. There is no standard larger than God to which to hold God, so we can’t judge him. This doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t question something that we’re told God said/did, but there is no judging God himself.

Third, because I believe the Bible is a divinely-assembled human-written document (see #2), it’s entirely possible that things attributed to God in parts of the text are not actually God but people thinking/saying they are acts of God. One good example of this would be the construction of Solomon’s temple.

6. What qualities would you say make a god worthy of worship? To what extent does your god embody those qualities, and how?

Before I answer, let me say that I hate the way this question is often used. “God is only worth worshipping if he does x and not y.” Maybe that carries some validity outside of the Abrahamic religions, but not inside of them. Here’s why I say that:

I believe that God is the creator and sustainer of all there is. God is the one being who is not grounded in anything else, and in whom everything is grounded. This alone makes him worthy of worship. To put any conditions on that worship is arrogance in the extreme. How can we temporary, finite creatures hope to judge the infinite creator of all there is? To say something like “a God who commands x or allows y isn’t worthy of worship” is ridiculous, assuming you believe in God as the infinite creator.

Side note: There is, however, some validity in saying something like: “I can’t worship a God who commands x or allows y.” It’s frightening to think that God may not have our best interests at heart and it is impossible for us of our own power to worship God and view him as good when he may wish our end (see my last post). Because of sin, we are bound (as in “bound with chains”) to not let God be God, and we always have to put conditions on his Godhood (ridiculous as that is). However, the simple truth is that God is God, and therefore he is free to do whatever he wants, and there’s nothing we can do about it. This is terrifying to us who have been turned inward by sin, who can’t stop thinking about our self-preservation. The only way past this is by the work of the Holy Spirit which allows us to hear the good news given to us in Christ that God is for us and not against us. It is only by this work that “I am the Lord your God, you shall have no other” becomes not a threat, but a promise.

7. What are your views on the afterlife? Especially, what happens to people who don’t agree that your religion is the correct one?

I don’t know, exactly. I believe there is a heaven and a hell, although I’m not at all sure what these places (if I can call them that) are or what they are like exactly. Also, according to Revelation 20:11-15, our destiny in heaven or hell is not determined by what we do or don’t do, but by God’s free choice. Because of that, I have no real way of determining who goes where; all I know is that I have God’s promise that I will be saved, and that’s what I cling to.

8. How does your religion and/or how do you personally address the problem of evil?

It doesn’t, at least not in any sense of solving the problem. I don’t know why things are the way they are, but I believe that God is good and able to change them. I realize that there is tension here (to put it mildly) and I struggle with that regularly. But the fact is, we are not in any position to evaluate God’s actions, or really even to evaluate whether something is objectively good or evil (see #6). In general, what we mean when we use the terms “good,” “bad” or “evil” is that something does or doesn’t lend itself to our self-preservation.

This doesn’t make the inconsistency between our self preservation and God’s actions any less terrifying, however. The only solution to that terror is the revelation of God’s will given in Jesus Christ. So, on a personal level, when I am afflicted by the apparent contradiction present in the problem of evil, my only refuge is the promise of salvation through Jesus Christ given to me in my baptism (again, see my last post or this post and comments).

9. When members of your religion do bad things, how comfortable are you to be associated with those people? Do you still consider them to be members of the same religion as you? Indeed, how do you determine who is “in” and who is “out”? If you don’t determine that, is there an authority that does so? By what method does that authority do so, and where do they get their authority?

Wow, this is a bunch of questions. Quick answers: I’m not. Yes. I don’t. Yes, God. By God’s inscrutable will (so basically I don’t know), and God’s authority comes from God’s existence as creator and sustainer.

Some explanation: Being a Christian doesn’t mean being perfect. In fact, the first thing Christianity should teach you that you are a sinner, and quite likely the worst of sinners. I don’t believe that once you “become a Christian” (however that is defined) a switch is flipped and you are suddenly morally perfect, although some Christians do believe that. What we call “justification” (the forgiveness of sins) is an external reality, not an internal one. It is the criminal being pardoned by the judge; he is the same person he was before the pardon, but now his crime is not being held against him. When we are justified, Christ’s righteousness is given to us; when God sees us, he sees his son. The internal reality is what we call “sanctification” (being made holy), and that is a long process, with many ups and downs, progression and regression. Sanctification will go on for our entire lives, and perhaps even longer.

10. What if you are wrong? How important is it to you to be part of the “right” religion? What consequences do you foresee if you have chosen incorrectly? How much doubt would you say that you have about your religious beliefs?

If I am wrong, then the consequences depend on who is right, and I can’t go into all the possible consequences here. I’m sure that I am wrong about some things; fortunately my salvation doesn’t rely on me. But even if I came to find out my religious beliefs were wrong, at the very least they would have given me peace and a purpose. As for how much doubt I have, I’m not sure how to quantify it exactly, so maybe I will borrow a bit from Lincoln (or whoever): I’m completely sure some of the time, and I’m somewhat sure all of the time, but I’m not completely sure all of the time.

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So there’s what I think. I’d love to hear what you think. Are there parts you would agree with? Disagree with? Does this match up with how you think/have thought about Christianity?

A Conversation with the Devil

I want to try and share an experience I had last night while reading Luther's "The Bondage of the Will." I don't really have some lesson I'm trying to get across, I'm just trying to share my experience. I'm not sure exactly what sharing this will accomplish, but it was a profound experience for me, and I hope it is helpful to someone.

Some context: In the section I was reading, Luther talks about God hardening Pharaoh's heart in Exodus 7-12. His point is that, though we often try to reduce God to abstract concepts such as mercy or love, God truly is God and is therefore sovereign over all of us. He has mercy on whomever he wishes, and he hardens the heart of whomever he wishes. (Romans 9:18) The truth of the matter is that we have no rights in relation to God; he is free to do with us what he will, and no amount of effort on our part can change that.

(A couple notes: First, I really didn't experience this as a conversation until near the end of it. Most of this experience was more feelings and half-formed thoughts than words, but I don't know how else to convey the experience than as a conversation. Second, I'm not sure what I believe about the Devil and Demons in a metaphysical sense. I don't know whether Satan is some independent spiritual entity or just a metaphor representing the worst part of ourselves. All I know is that my experience was that of being attacked by Satan, whatever that means in a metaphysical sense.)

Satan: God’s will may lead to your destruction. Look at how he used Pharaoh or Saul to demonstrate his power! What makes you think that you’re any different?

Me: I don't know. I'm certainly not any better or more deserving than either of them. I have no right to salvation, and God has every right to use me for his purposes, even if that means my destruction. The fact that I'm concerned with that shows me to be sinful. It’s sin for me to think of self-preservation, to be concerned with the self at all is sin. It shows my separation from my creator because it is me drawing a line in the sand beyond which I will not cross. “If God’s will leads to my destruction, then I will have nothing to do with it;” this is sin. I must submit to God’s will, no matter what. In order for my will to conform to God's will, it is “I” that must die. “I” must be killed. Resurrection is my only hope.

Satan: True, resurrection is only a hope; you have no way of knowing if that’s God’s will for you. Just as likely, Hell is what God has in store for you. You deserve nothing else. God desires your end.

Me: Hell is all that I deserve. “We are all beggars,” after all. How can I expect to merit anything from God other than eternal damnation? (God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, watch over me!) Can I really submit to destruction? I know that I must submit to that if that is God’s will for me, but how can I? I guess it is only the Holy Spirit who can make such a change in me, to make it possible for me to accept my own death from God’s hand. I know I should ask for the Holy Spirit to give me the strength to face my own damnation, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Thank you, God, for giving me the Holy Spirit as my intercessor. (Lord, bless me and keep me!) I understand why some can’t face this and would rather that God didn’t exist than face his terrible presence, the awful reality that we are nothing before him. Maybe I, if only I deny him aloud, could at least live in ignorance and go blissfully to my damnation, even it the bliss did come by self-deception. It seems better than the alternative, which is to go to my damnation knowingly. (Oh, Lord God, keep me! Hold me, I am slipping!) My chest aches with the anxiety. Could I really deny him now that I have come so far? For 10 years, I have been preparing myself for ministry, can I really back out now? What would my family say? My friends? (God, is this your will for me? Are you even now leading me to perdition?) Must I accept my eternal damnation? (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner! Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner! Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner!...)

Satan: You are the worst of sinners and all you can do is accept your damnation. Be a good creature; submit to Hell!

Me: Wait… I know what’s going on here! I know who you are! Begone from me, Satan! In the name of Jesus, get the hell out of here! (God, protect me.) [Epiphany] But, I… was baptized. I was baptized! I am God’s! I belong to him, and he will not let me go! How dare you say otherwise! He is my father, and Jesus is my brother… and my Lord, and there’s nothing you or I can do about that! How dare you try and convince me that I am nothing to God, that he doesn’t love me, that I am nothing more than a tool to him! What makes me think that I’m different from Pharaoh or Saul? I was baptized, and in my baptism God promised to save me! How dare you make God to be a liar! Let God be true, though every man, including myself, be a liar! (Romans 3:4) Who brings a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. (Romans 8:33) God himself said that “Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved.” Well I was baptized, and I believe in that promise. I am God’s, and there is nothing to be done about it. He is the Lord my God, and I shall have no other. (Exodus 20:2) Now leave me, Satan! Christ set me free for freedom's sake, and I will not again submit to your slavery of fear! (Galatians 5:1 Romans 8:15) I am free to be the person God created me to be. Free from my sin, from death, and from you. Now get the hell out of here!

Throughout this crisis, my anxiety built and built until I felt as though something were squeezing my chest. By the time I began praying the Jesus prayer I could hardly breathe, my chest was so tight. This pressure remained until I had my epiphany and said aloud "but I was Baptized!" at which point it abated immediately. I wrote down everything I thought/said as best as I could remember it.

Like I said, I don't really have a lesson to draw from this for anyone else, but it helped me to understand the significance of baptism in more than just a theoretical way (see my post on Baptism). It also helped me understand Luther more and what it means that the Law kills so that the Gospel can make alive. (Galatians 3:19-29). In this crisis, my fixation on my own failure was the voice of the Law, and the realization of my baptism was the sweet voice of the Gospel. According to Luther, it is in crises like these that we feel death's sting and are driven to despair of ourselves, so that the Law can do its work and deliver us over to Christ and his Gospel. I'll let Luther have the last word. Here is an excerpt from "The Bondage of the Will" which talks about his experience of this crisis:

"Admittedly, it gives the greatest possible offense to common sense or natural reason that God by his own sheer will should abandon, harden, and damn men as if he enjoyed the sins and the vast, eternal torments of his wretched creatures, when he is preached as a God of such great mercy and goodness, etc. It has been regarded as unjust, as cruel, as intolerable, to entertain such an idea about God, and this is what has offended so many great men during so many centuries. And who would not be offended? I myself was offended more than once, and brought to the very depth and abyss of despair, so that I wished I had never been created a man, before I realized how salutary that despair was, and how near to grace."