Telegraph, Athens to Jerusalem: Philosophy for Understanding Theology by Diogenes Allen pt. I

Often misapplied, Tertullian's famous question, "what has Athens to do with Jerusalem," was actually an invitation as much as a refutation.  The question was intended to point out not that Athens and Jerusalem had nothing to say to each other, but rather that faith in the Jewish Messiah was introducing something completely novel into the Gentile world.  The categories through which Hellenic philosophy had typically viewed the world were about to be strained to their outer limits (broken, in some cases), pushed at least as far intellectually as the Roman state would be pushed civilly in reckoning with the people of the Jesus way.

This is only just as well, because the conversion of thousands of gentiles, among them some very brilliant people, was sure to inject something new into Jerusalem as well.  Indeed, Allen shares a perspective I have heard N. T. Wright discuss (if only verbally):  that the thing called Theology is a thing that the Hebrews never did as such.  I did not expect that correlation, silly as that is.  Wright is such a formidable presence in Christian thought these days, and he opines on so many things outside of his forte, that I just assume specialists in fields he wanders to will be lining up to kick him in the ass.  So points of correspondence are wonderful.  Allen sees the Hellenic mind as necessary to the discipline of theology, because the Hebrew investigation of God's acts in history left them with a picture of a God who was manifest primarily in his revelation of Himself to them.  The answer then was not so much "who is God" but "what Has He done?"  The Hebrew mind, Allen argues, is the mind that states "Amen," bows before the Mystery, and moves on, whereas the Greek mind prizes coherence in a unique way.  The fathers thus would definitely want to preserve a sense of the mystery of God, but they would also want to derive principles for understanding God, concepts for exploring revelation to find out "how and why is that so?" (xviii).  Thus, a certain familiarity should be expected to exist between theology and western philosophy:  a certain common mode of investigation.  It might even be possible that terms would be shared.  And this is exactly the point and purpose of Allen's book, reflections on which I will be posting here from time to time over the next week or so as I finish it. 

It may even be, so Allen says, that it is nearly impossible to understand certain theological doctrines, formulations, or reactions without recourse to some of the philosophy that is being wrapped up into them.  A helpful example from Chapter 4 is the way an understanding of Aristotle's categories may help to prevent a misreading of Gregory of Nyssa's understanding of the trinity.  In his view, the terms ousion (being) and hypostasis (person) are not to be confused when discussing the unity and diversity of God.  Ousion, he says, is a qualifier, such that it can be shared by multiple persons.  The word "man," for example, does not change in definition or content when it describes Paul, Peter, Apollos, or any other man.  Insofar as these are all men, there is something common to them.  It is not necessary to redefine "man" in the case of each one.  Hypostasis, on the other hand, is a particularity, like "Paul," or "Peter."  In defining Paul, one has excluded everything that is not Paul.  Paul can be a man, but insofar as there are other men, Paul cannot be only a man.  The definition doesn't help.  Furthermore, to call "Peter" a Paul is incorrect.  Thus, Gregory says, The trinity share a unity of ousion, such that there is a commonality that can be said to exist in all of them, but their hypostases, their particularities, are maintained as separate realities.  If one has no recourse to Aristotle, it would be possible merely to assume that Gregory is saying the unity that binds the trinity is the same as the "unity" that binds all men under the name "man."  There would thus be three gods, in addition to a strange unity of all other creatures who can assume the same qualifiers. 

No such thing, however, is intended by Gregory.  Once we have access to Aristotle's categories of beings, we have a quick recognition that Gregory is making a different point entirely.  He is concerned that the readers of his letter avoid category mistakes.  Thus, it is not description of the unity that is his purpose, but a proper division of the unity from the separation that is at issue.  Once that particular understanding is in view, it is quite easy to see that Gregory, like Augustine and so many other early theologians, is merely analogizing for the Trinity rather than describing it.  It is indescribable, as he knows as well as anyone.  But the letter we have just analyzed would seem to say something other than what Gregory and the other Cappadocian fathers fought for at the Council of Nicea.  The philosophical context thus gives help that is quite timely, considering the scandal that could exist if Gregory were taken to be fully descriptive of the unity and particularity within God.

It may be objected (indeed I have already objected and repented the objection) that this is an unnecessary injection of erudition into theology.  After all, one should not have to understand an entire other discipline comprehensively in order to master one's own.  And both disciplines' merits could be argued regarding their actual effectiveness in bringing people to the knowledge of God.  But it is worth mentioning in light of these possible objections that a) people do not know God in some atheoretical vacuum, for indeed even the statement that theology is not really helpful for knowing God is predicated upon a particular theological understanding; and b) the Aristotelean context was probably not as much of a reach for Gregory as it was for us.  It is doubtful to me that Gregory went looking for some obscure reference point so that later readers would have to work harder than they wanted.  Rather, it is likely that Aristotle was merely in the conceptual air.  In theory, if my own experience with latent modernism in the conversations of some philosophically untrained atheist friends is any indication, Gregory could possibly have co-opted those categories without conscious reference to Aristotle.  An interesting point in this regard is that he does not define the kinds of terms he uses with Aristotelean tags.  They are his own, or possibly those of his culture.  That is to say that every word and concept whose meaning seems self-evident in this culture will likely have to be mined for context and correlated to other concepts by those who come after us, in order to avoid misunderstanding.  And it will not be that we were searching to make our views inaccessible; rather, that we were fish who swam in the waters we knew and did not question their particular wetness relative to other waters.  Words mean what they mean here and now.  And this issue itself is part of another philosophical conundrum, the understanding of which will illuminate certain modern theological reflections.  But first, we must pass through the paradise of classical and medieval thought. 

Which we will do, God willing, in upcoming posts.  At this point, it is only necessary to reiterate that theology is not a veiled discipline.  It happens in the open air of each age's intellectual inquiry.  It is therefore hopefully not too much to ask that we immerse ourselves a little in the questions of those who came before, in order to understand exactly what their theologies were (and were not) intended to say of the God that was sought and found by them. 

Next post, we'll look at Allen's understanding of how Plato's creation myth in the dialogue Timaeus was woven into Christian theology's attempt to understand the God whose perfections were revealed but not shared by his creations.

Until then, I'd recommend a double cortadito, a little on the sweet side.  Shalom ya'll.

7/31/11

I live in a predominantly black neighborhood.  I find, even as I type this, that I’m saying it as if I have been diagnosed with a disease.  I moved here because I felt like the Lord told me to—pure and simple.  Different circumstances added up to it, and I felt and feel called here, although this is not easy.  However much it bothers me, I see the Lord’s hand all over it.

He often works this way with me.  Months ago, I realized that although I had prayed a thousand prayers of forgiveness for my father, I had not actually forgiven him for the years of abuse, neglect, lies, and abandonment.  I was living in a community of Christian people who, among other things, spent a good deal of time and effort in care for the homeless people of Gainesville.  Because it has a VA hospital, homeless people flock to Gainesville.  There is a larger-than-normal proportion of homeless people relative to the rest of the population.  I noticed in myself an enormous reluctance to go out to serve them.  At some point, I noticed a strange correlation:  most of the homeless people in Gainesville were my father’s age and station.  Many of them had sons whom they had abandoned in a way similar to the way my father had done.  I had also recently learned that my own father was homeless himself.  After years of surfing on couches, he ran out of other people’s good graces. 

What God showed me was that serving these people was exposing the grudge I was still holding.  So there is no surprise that He commanded me to serve them.  In their faces I saw everything I still hated and resented about my father.  In their faces I saw how my father stood in need of mercy and compassion.  Over time, by God’s grace, I served my father in those men.  It was him to whom I extended warm food and a good conversation, him I came to know in their stories of success, failure, and the ongoing struggle to outlive their regrets.  It was him I extended compassion to when I told them “I’m sure they’d just be glad to know you’re warm tonight.”  And, before I knew it, I was healed. 

The ancient church practice of penance has been deeply misunderstood by protestants.  The church fathers recognized that sin involves a certain amount of denial, a pulling the cloak over one’s own face, so as not to see things as they are or be seen for what one is.  Penance revisits the place of denial, where the deception began, and tells the truth at that place.  It is the closest thing humans can experience to time travel.  By going back to the deception and telling the truth, we can create an alternate reality predicated on that truth.  So, as Lewis says, we unsay the spell, word by word.  It is for this reason that the tax collector, after dinner with Jesus offers to give back four times what he had defrauded others.  It is not a matter of buying redemption; that price only One had the means to pay.  It is rather a matter of telling the truth where one had believed a lie.  

Let no one tell you different, because this is the truth:  racism is still pervasive in this country, and particularly in the south.  Towns and cities that were segregated by unjust laws are now segregated almost as sharply by unjust economic conditions and the kind of systemic racism that shows itself in neighborhood zoning decisions and gentrification.  I knew none of these things as a child, when I explicitly resisted whatever I recognized as racism on all fronts.  In downtown Gainesville, I tried to extend a hand of fellowship to people of all races and backgrounds.  I did what I could.  A few days in my new neighborhood reveals to me that those interactions cost me nothing.  There was virtually no risk in showing benevolence from the implicit position of power I was in.  Here, outnumbered, I realize that if I was never consciously racist, I was practically so.  I internalized beliefs I was unaware of.  I am seeing them now for what they are; and I am repenting.  I am begging that God will give me grace to follow him into this discomfort extract the lies that have rooted themselves invisibly into my soul. 

And so, here, in the middle of a Durham night, I hear the Lord’s voice in the empty sanctuary that is my living room, saying he will not be content that his children should be oppressed by lies.  The devil is a liar, for he has lied from the beginning.  But God has called me into his fellowship, and into neighborhood with those he loves, without asking whether it would comfort me.  I find him here in Durham as he was once found in Bethel, And I struggle wth him.  I will do so until He releases me; I will stay here, desperate for the blessing for which he brought me out of my country.  I will find a way to sing the songs of God in exile and look forward to the days when all nations and tribes sing his praise.