Saturday, May 29, 2010

Five questions for a ma/patristics course

I'd like to get a directed reading group together this Fall for reading several late ancient Christian authors I'm dangerously unacquainted with, particularly the Cappadocians and late ancient women writers like Egeria. I'm sure I'd write a paper for the class, but I wrote out these five questions that I would like to answer in writing somehow.

1. How should people across different confessional lines read the Church Fathers/Mothers? Do we need a method before we start reading them? Should we read them for use in a kind of theological “bricolage” to address contemporary issues, or should we read them only in a fastidiously historical way, trying to ascertain what they “said” and “meant” in their context to the best of our ability? Contemporary readings of these figures seem to go either way.

2. Is "patrology" a proper theological locus, along with other topics like the Trinity or liturgy? (Barth has a long reflection on this question in CD 1/2). Is there already an early version of a patrology in the figures I'm reading?

3. Is heresy defined essentially as an over-rationalization of the Christian mysteries, as Henri de Lubac says? Or is heresy ill-read scripture, as the Fathers themselves seem to say? (Or is heresy a category that should be thrown out all together?!)

4. How does personal piety relate to theological reflection on Jesus Christ? What about liturgically formed, communal piety? Is there a clear distinction between these in the texts I'm reading, or are these two blurred?

5. What role does Jesus' life and ministry play in late ancient Christology, along and besides the incarnation itself and Jesus' cross, death, resurrection, and ascension?

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Why we have to be ecumenical

I'm a Baptist at a Catholic University. I'm studying at a Catholic University because my professors, mentors, and pastors all believed that it was important for Baptists to learn and talk with other church groups. This doesn't mean we have to convert or give up our convictions.

Being Baptist at a Catholic University hasn't made me want to be Catholic. It's actually made me want to be more Baptist. By "more Baptist" I mean that I'm learning things that are distinct about Baptists in a way that I might not have without Catholics as conversation partners. It's one thing to sit in a Baptist Seminary and talk about how Baptists are "distinctive" in a seminar full of only Baptist students and teachers. This way of talking about Baptist distinctiveness bothers me (and friends of mine) because it usually ends up defining who Baptists are by caricaturing other groups. It's another thing to learn how distinctive we are by going out to other groups, talk with ministers, Priests, and laypeople, and find out what's distinctive in a more charitable way.

I don't think we have to be ecumenical because all churches should be one in a "visible communion." I know folks who would probably disagree with me on this. I think we have to be ecumenical because this is how we get to know ourselves. I think we have to be ecumenical because this is a way we can come to know the Gospel we preach in a deeper way.

One reason I've taken an interest in Barth on this "ecumenical" blog is because I have a hunch that Free Church theologians have to get to catholicity through Barth. Steve Harmon, one of my former Professors, points to this with an important chapter in his book Towards Baptist Catholicity that reads the early volumes of Barth's Dogmatics as a paradigm for Baptist "ressourcement." I think Barth is important for Free Church and Baptist theologians because he can do theology with a heavy emphasis on scripture, preaching, and the local church, and then combine this with a "dialectical catholicity" that searches for the faithful proclamation of the Word of God in all periods and church communities, even among "liberal Protestants"! Barth gives theoretical backing to the kind of practical engagement that I think is important here. Students, scholars and ministers should engage the ecumenical task in various ways not only for the goal of institutional unity, but also for the goal of learning to be better preachers and teachers of the Word of God.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

From Aquinas to Barth


Some folks who know me know that I'm one of those Protestants who is always talking about Thomas Aquinas. I discovered Aquinas through G.K. Chesterton's biography of Aquinas, which made a big impact on me in a formative time in my life. While Aquinas has always loomed large for me, I've found it increasingly important, important all the more now that I'm studying at a Catholic University, to think about what's distinctive about Protestant theology as Protestant. Because of this I've started studying Karl Barth.

While there are other Protestant figures or theological perspectives I could focus on, I picked Barth because of something Bruce McCormack, a Barth scholar at Princeton Theological Seminary, said about Barth's "comprehensive theology." McCormack says that the Church Dogmatics is "comprehensive" theology because Barth works not only with scripture but also with a real Protestant notion of a "Holy Tradition." In addition, Barth thought Protestants needed a theological system, rather than occasional essays or theological bricolage, to give "rigor, breadth, and beauty" to the Church's preaching. I liked Aquinas back in my Chesterton days because Aquinas's own kind of "comprehensive theology" appealed to me as an expansive meditation on the mystery of human nature and God's graciousness in Jesus Christ. Seeing McCormack recommend Barth as a starting point for contemporary strains of Protestant "comprehensive theology" struck a chord.

McCormack goes on to say that Barth holds up in our “postmodern” philosophical context well, that he does theology in a state of intellectual and personal surrender to God, and - perhaps most interesting for me as a Baptist - that he writes theology with the local congregation more than the large ecclesial body in mind.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

A defense of caricature

In what I've heard about Stanley Hauerwas's recent memoir from friends, blurbs, blogs, and facebook posts, I've seen a recurring phrase. People talking up the book's merits often throw in a line about Hauerwas being often "caricatured." They say that Hauerwas is misunderstood by his critics due to poor readings. I'm not bringing this up to argue with Hauerwas. From what friends tell me I think that his memoir is a powerful testimony to the power of the Gospel to change lives. I'm interested, instead, in dealing with "caricature" as a rhetorical tool in theology's toolbox.

Why is caricature seen as a bad thing? Often the theological caricature is a form of reductio ad absurdum that pushes lines of logic in an argument to their conclusion and finds inconsistencies down the line, so to speak. Caricature has always been used in theological argumentation, I'm sure going way back to the wrangling over trinitarian doctrine in the early centuries of the Church. Caricatures often start conversations or ferret out new dimensions of a particular perspective. To go to my initial example, how different would Stanley Hauerwas's work look today if he never had to answer to the (caricaturing) charge of being a "sectarian, fideistic tribalist?"

People describe caricature as if it were a vice opposed to the virtue of "charitable reading." But I'm not sure if it is possible to read a text, that is printed words on a page, with charity. (Studiousness might be a better virtue here, although it would work in a different and complex way.) This is because we read texts with inescapable presuppositions. Attempting to objectively catalog these presuppositions causes more problems then it solves as well, I think. We can fault people for caricaturing theological texts, but philosophically we have to realize that "caricatures" appear due to specific material reasons relating to the background of the reader, not because of a vicious lack of charity. "Caricatures" that arise when readers come to a text from different backgrounds can in fact be helpful as leading to conversation or making us notice things in our favorite texts that we've not noticed before.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Blogs or books: the future of theology?

Theology wasn't always about books. In an earlier post I gave a very brief summary of an unexplored avenue in historical theology: genres of theological writing. Those who think books are essential to theology should remember that the academic essay - a 200+ page book with footnotes and technical terms - has replaced the sermon or the biblical commentary as the primary vehicle for theological work since the Enlightenment.

The earliest theological texts were something different from today's theology books. Just look at the first chapter of Anselm's Why God Became Human?, which seems to suggest that the text is a transcription of a conversation for the sake of those who have questions about the faith and couldn't meet and talk with Anselm directly (although this certainly may be a literary device). Most scholars today say that Aquinas's Summa Theologiae wasn't meant to be a theological encyclopedia but instead a teaching guide, something like a plan for a curriculum, that reflected a context where theology was done to address thorny questions that consistently arose from scripture.

Blogs have certain theological and pastoral advantages to books. The format of blogging offers quick commentary on current events (often within minutes of something) and also encourages back-and-forth conversation in a way that is completely impossible with books. In addition, due to the restraints of blogging as a genre, theologians are forced to write without technical terms and to boil down prose to simple snippets. Consider that theology written in blogs has a wider potential readership than most theology books right from the start, and can be a great way for Pastors to do a little faith seeking understanding with the computer-savvy people in their congregations.

Finally, consider that the best theologians writing today know that theology isn't just about ideas, but also about communication - the recent NT Wright conference made me think about this when everyone praised Wright's ability to write and communicate well on both academic and popular levels. Karl Barth and Bernard Lonergan especially among 20th century theologians argued that the task of theology involves learning to be a good communicator. (Barth describes this with the term "practical theology," Lonergan with his idea of the functional specialty of "communications").

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Does Theology need the Soul?

Throughout much of the history of Christian theology it was thought that humans were an immaterial soul inhabiting a material body, and that the immaterial soul goes to God when the body dies. Some theologians nuanced this like Thomas Aquinas, who thought there was an immaterial soul but that this immaterial soul was the "substantial form" of the matter that made up the human body.

My question basically is, does theology need the soul? Many theologians and biblical scholars, including Nancey Murphy, Joel Green, and others say no.
Most contemporary authors writing on theological anthropology see the soul as outdated or disproved by modern neuroscience. They're not without their critics though, as ethicists like J.P. Moreland or Thomists like Norris Clarke say an immaterial soul is a fundamental and non-negotiable part of Christian theology and ethics.

This debate has become very interesting to me (and I just presented a paper on it with more detail, especially on Aquinas, for others interested). It is interesting because I feel like those who subscribe to a rigorous "Thomist" philosophy or epistemology, I'm thinking of something like Jacques Maritain's ideas in Degrees of Knowledge here, have to wrestle at some point with what contemporary neuroscience is saying about the brain and epistemology.

I am also interested in arguing over whether or not there is a soul because of how the soul relates to soteriology. I suspect that a lot of the contemporary "practical" or "community"-based accounts of Christian salvation and the Church owe something to the way the Soul has fallen out of favor in theology in recent years. The question of the soul in theology, in a way, is partly the question "what happens to me when I become a Christian?" Does God come to dwell in the soul as a friend with me through created and uncreated grace? (John 14:23). Or is becoming a Christian only an incorporation into new bodily practices as part of a new community and way of living in the world?

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Theology pet peeve: treating theologians like scripture

I once tried to get out of an introduction to theology class at Duke. I had been a religion major in undergrad and read a decent amount of theology books, blogs, and so on, and I therefore decided that this class would be too easy for me. When I went to talk to Paul Griffiths, the chair of the theology dept that year, he gave me a kind of verbal quiz instead of asking for the usual previously written papers or syllabi from previous courses. It wasn't really meant as a test to let me into the class or not, but rather to make me ask questions to myself about how advanced in theological studies I really was. He asked me "how does the two-natures doctrine of Jesus as divine and human relate to soteriology?" I fired back, "that which is not assumed is not healed," a commonplace from Gregory of Nazianzus.

"Well, what does that mean? Describe how that works exactly." Paul Griffiths asked me. I couldn't answer.

I realized later looking back on this and other events that my theological education up to that point had largely been about learning phrases like this from theologians and treating them like scripture. I had the bad habit of prooftexting from the tradition with no regard to what the phrases really meant. I suppose there is a point when one is learning theology that this kind of pedagogy is necessary, but at the same time Paul Griffiths was suggesting to me that to learn theology, you have to move beyond the citation of authority and to start learning the internal grammar of the subject matter. (I ended up taking intro to theology, which was a great class).

The problem is that a lot of theology today seems to be stuck in the theologian-as-authority view. Theologians who gain a certain amount of popular esteem are used in arguments like scripture prooftexts. This involves philosophers too - I've seen John Webster complain about the way Ludwig Wittgenstein seems to be quoted in an "oracular" fashion by theologians in North America. We could perhaps also say the same for the current Christian interest in atheist philosophers like Slavoj Zizek.

What, pedagogically, would theology look like if we focused more on learning the practice of theology as in really getting to the ground of its subject matter? What if theology courses involved only asking questions like: how does your understanding of the second person of the Trinity affect everything else in theology? How are the Son and the Spirit "sent" to us when we worship God or participate in the liturgy? How can you begin to describe in words the wonder of God's salvation for us in Jesus Christ?

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Duke/Yale Theology in the Local Church (Part II)

I really liked the conversation my last post caused, both on here and among friends in real life. Now to avoid controversy I will make everyone extremely bored by describing some of the philosophical background to what I'm thinking.

Kathryn Tanner's book Theories of Culture analyzes the social and cultural location of theology in universities through the lens of cultural studies. She points out how academic theology is a specifically located social practice, one that is located in a way that is invisible to most theology students or theologians. The one professor I had who ever talked about Kathryn Tanner's book and wrestled with what it said was Amy Laura Hall, who I remember trying to drill into her students' brains that by going to Duke they were at a specific social and cultural location.

Tanner's book does a great job of making the social position of theology opaque to us. She reminds us that "academic theology is itself a material social process, a kind of Christian social practice in its own right with material means, a specific type of product, and production values" (Theories of Culture, 72). She goes on to say, in a way that seems to describe current fashions coming out of a general "Yale" perspective, that specialized academic theology works for its own "self-continuance" (and we can say the same for the "emergent" theology industry, "process" theology, and so on). She says "the goal is to enable further investigation of the cultural dimension of Christian social practices in the same explicit terms" (81).

Tanner thinks theology should focus more on the lives of everyday believers in a more material rather than more abstract way. She says theology should involve the arrangement of the pews. Tanner is concerned that an academic theology like "Duke theology," "Yale theology," or "liberal theology" operates at a level of abstraction from everyday churches because they are fueled by academic/publishing institutions that make these theological perspectives self-perpetuating. She says, "Academic theology should not squander its advantages, as it does, when tempted by its relative autonomy as a field, it artificially reduces the scope of its materials. Focusing only on other specialized intellectual productions, academic theology sometimes turns away from all it can use. It blinds itself to everyday theologies, past and present, and to the immediate practical problems that pose difficulties for Christian social practices in the particular historical context in which it works" (89).

In a more theological vein, Tanner gives a kind of "Barthian" read of the diversity in the Christian tradition in the last chapter of her book to say that it is wrong for Christians to use theology as a club to pronounce which confessions or Christian practices are properly part of "the tradition" or not. She says there is no "deep underlying or hidden depth to Christian texts or practice [that] guides the course of Christian life over time and space" (162). Then she says that "diversity is a salutary reminder that Christians cannot control the movements of the God they hope to serve" (175).

This last bit is what really hit me in my work as a youth pastor in NC, and this is what I mean in my last post when I say I think Duke/Yale-inspired theology runs over the spiritual experiences of Christians in a local church. I feel like God worked in ways that I was taught weren't supposed to happen. That sounds odd, but I think a lot of theological educators tend to put God in a box in this way (and I should add that what I'm critiquing isn't the thought of Stanley Hauerwas per se, but the matrix of faculty, students, and general attitude in Duke-inspired circles that led to this particular perspective).

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Can theology "fix" local churches? No (Part I)

I've been thinking a lot lately (some here on this blog) about what theology actually does. How necessary is theology, and how does it relate to the local church?

I've noticed that many theologians and theology students influenced by "Yale theology" or "Duke theology" tend to use this language of "brokenness" regarding regular local churches. You get this picture sometimes that local church congregations in the US are being unfaithful (through being too Americanized, etc.), and that we theology-trained pastors are supposed to "fix" them. One person I know called it the theology "trickle down" theory. My divinity school spent a lot of time and energy forming and educating Pastors with the goal of sending them out to pass their formation and knowledge on to churches that needed it in a model similar to this.

I think this attitude is wrong. This kind of theology emphasizes the "Church-as-polis" aspects of the Gospel, and in doing so I think plays down the language of sin and salvation used in most congregations where Duke or Yale-influenced Ministers would work. I've struggled with this perspective in my own work with churches. When I started working at churches I felt like I should almost correct people when they talk about "getting saved" in a particular experience ("no, you've actually entered a particular cultural-linguistic system and an alternate political witness to the heretical soteriology of the state"). But I learned that the "Church-as-polis" view tends to run rough over the spiritual experiences of many Christians, and not to mention the way many local congregations read the bible. I think some of the philosophical thinking behind this brand of theology puts seminarians' understanding of theology, theology as in reflection/talking about the Gospel, at a problematic remove from people in local churches.

I may be wrong here. I'd like to blog more on this with a little more philosophical/theological background soon (mostly using Kathryn Tanner's book). I'd welcome discussion.