David Bentley Hart on the sadness of paganism

Another highlight from Hart’s book, Atheist Delusions, is his discussion of how Christianity brought a message of joy and life to a world shaped by a profound sense of melancholy, what Hart calls paganism’s “glorious sadness”.

“[T]he Christianity of the early centuries did not invade a world of noonday joy, vitality, mirth, and cheerful earthiness, and darken it with malicious slanders of the senses, or chill it with a severe and bloodless otherworldliness. Rather, it entered into a twilight world of pervasive spiritual despondency and religious yearning, not as a cult of cosmic renunciation (pagan religious and philosophical culture required no tutelage in that) but as a religion of glad tidings, of new life, and that in all abundance. It was pagan society that had become ever more otherworldly and joyless, ever wearier of the burden of itself, and ever more resentful of the soul’s incarceration in the closed system of a universe governed by fate. It was pagan society that seemed unable to conceive of any spiritual aspiration higher than escape—higher, that is, than the emancipation of a few select spirits from the toils of an otherwise irredeemable world—and that could imagine no philosophical virtue more impressive than resignation to the impossibility of escape. The church, by contrast, was obliged to preach a gospel of salvation that somehow embraced the entire created order.” (143–44)

“Pervasive spiritual despondency and religious yearning”—sounds like Nick Cave. Bring on the glad tidings!

David Bentley Hart on modernity and freedom

One of the central theses of Hart’s book Atheist Delusions is that our age is marked by a belief that there is nothing which legitimately informs or shapes individual autonomy. The freely self-determining individual is literally the highest good in existence. As Hart is at pains to point out, however, this has very little to do with “reason”.

The modern period has never been especially devoted to reason as such; the notion that it ever was is merely one of its “originary” myths. The true essence of modernity is a particular conception of what it is to be free… and the Enlightenment language of an “age of reason” was always really just a way of placing a frame around that idea of freedom, so as to portray it as the rational autonomy and moral independence that lay beyond the intellectual infancy of “irrational” belief. But we are anything but rationalists now, so we no longer need cling to the pretense that reason was ever our paramount concern; we are today more likely to be committed to “my truth” than to any notion of truth in general, no matter where that might lead. The myth of “enlightenment” served well to liberate us from any antique notions of divine or natural law that might place unwelcome constraints upon our wills; but it has discharged its part and lingers on now only as a kind of habit of rhetoric. And now that the rationalist moment has largely passed, the modern faith in human liberation has become, if anything, more robust and more militant. Freedom for us today is something transcendent even of reason, and we no longer really feel that we must justify our liberties by recourse to some prior standard of responsible rationality. Freedom—conceived as the perfect, unconstrained spontaneity of individual will—is its own justification, its own highest standard, its own unquestionable truth. (105)

David Bentley Hart on witches and science

I have been reading David Bentley Hart’s new tirade against the “New Atheists”, titled Atheist Delusions: The Christian Revolution and its Fashionable Enemies (New Haven: Yale, 2009). It’s very interesting (and frequently highly amusing). Here’s a fascinating bit about witchcraft:

In truth, the rise of modern science and the early modern obsession with sorcery were not merely contemporaneous currents within Western society but were two closely allied manifestations of the development of a new post-Christian sense of human mastery over the world. There is nothing especially outrageous in such a claim. After all, magic is essentially a species of materialism; if it envokes any agencies beyond the visible sphere, they are not supernatural—in the theological sense of “transcendent”—but at most preternatural: they are merely, that is to say, subtler, more potent aspects of the physical cosmos. Hermetic magic and modern science (in its most Baconian form at least) are both concerned with hidden forces within the material order, forces that are largely impersonal and morally neutral, which one can learn to manipulate, and which may be turned to ends fair or foul; both, that is to say, are concerned with domination of the physical cosmos, the instrumental subjection of nature to humanity, and the constant increase of human power. Hence, there was not really any late modern triumph of science over magic, so much as there was a natural dissolution of the latter into the former, as the power of science to accomplish what magic could only adumbrate became progressively more obvious. Or, rather, “magic” and “science” in the modern period are distinguishable only retrospectively, according to relative degress of efficacy. There never was, however, an antagonism between the two: metaphysically, morally, and conceptually, they belonged to a single continuum. (82)

T. F. Torrance on the inexplicability of evil

To my mind, the idea that evil is fundamentally inexplicable—that it has no actual rationale, ever—is one of the great and unique things about Christianity. For those new to this idea, can I suggest you have a look at Byron’s posts about “why it is wicked to solve the problem of evil”. But here’s T. F. Torrance putting the same thing nicely:

“If there were no abysmal, that is bottomless, chasm of evil, then the cross of Christ is a hollow sham, and in that event God incarnate need not have given himself in atoning sacrifice for sin. God does not offer us any explanation for evil, but deals decisively and finally with it by entering himself into its abysmal chasm separating us from him and bridging it through the atoning life and death of his incarnate Son.” (The Mediation of Christ, xiv)

Christianity doesn’t provide an “answer” to the problem of evil in the sense of an explanation; it provides the news of God’s counter-attack in Christ! I reckon this is much better.

The best of Ben Myers on Barth

Faith and Theology is coming up to almost 200 posts on Karl Barth over the years. Here is some of the best stuff from the back catalogue: a darn good introduction, I reckon.

George Hunsinger on Torrance and Barth

Kim Fabricius’ ten propositions on Barth

Ben on “Why I am not a universalist”

Barth’s doctrine of election

Church Dogmatics in a week

The best books on Karl Barth

…and the worst

Thanks Ben!

George Hunsinger on Christological method

“The minimalism of Chalcedon, in other words, is not only constitutive but also regulative. It is constitutive with respect to salvation, and regulative with respect to interpretation. More precisely, it is constitutive regarding Christ’s person in the work of salvation, and regulative for the church in its interpretation of Scripture. As a hermeneutical construct in particular, Chalcedon offers no more and no less than a set of spectacles for bringing the central witness of the New Testament into focus. It suggests that just because Jesus was fully God, that does not mean he was not also fullly human; and that just because he was fully human, that does not mean he was not also fully God. When the New Testament depicts Jesus in his divine power, status, and authority, it presupposes his humanity; and when it depicts him in his human finitude, weakness and mortality, it presupposes his deity. No interpretation will be adequate which asserts the one at the expense of the other.” (George Hunsinger, “Karl Barth’s Christology: Its basic Chalcedonian character”, in The Cambridge Companion to Karl Barth (ed. John Webster; Cambridge: CUP, 2000), 128)

St Basil on the Holy Spirit

Here is one final passage from St Basil the Great’s On the Holy Spirit, this time actually on the Holy Spirit. Though there are some bits that are a bit funny, overall it’s wonderful, I think.

“We are compelled to direct our thoughts on high, and to think of an intelligent being, boundless in power, of unlimited greatness, generous in goodness, whom time cannot measure. All things thirsting for holiness turn to Him; everything living in virtue never turns away from Him. He waters them with His life-giving breath and helps them reach their proper fulfillment. He perfects all other things, and Himself lacks nothing; He gives life to all things, and is never depleted. He does not increase by additions, but is always complete, self-established, and present everywhere. He is the sources of sanctification, spiritual light, who gives illumination to everyone using His powers to search for the truth — and the illumination He gives is Himself. His nature is unapproachable; only through His goodness are we able to draw near it. He fills all things with His power, but only those who are worthy may share it. He distributes His energy in proportion to the faith of the recipient, not confining it to a single share (!). He is simple in being; His powers are manifold: they are wholly present everywhere and in everything. He is distributed but does not change. He is shared, yet remains whole. Consider the analogy of the sunbeam: each person upon whom its kindly light falls rejoices as if the sun existed for him alone, yet it illumines land and sea, and is master of the atmosphere. In the same way, the Spirit is given to each one who receives Him as if He were the possession of that person alone, yet He sends forth sufficient grace to fill all the universe. Everything that partakes of His grace is filled with joy according to its capacity — the capacity of its nature, not of His power.” (On the Holy Spirit, 22)

On Karl Barth and China

I once heard someone say that everything you hear about China is true somewhere, and nothing is true everywhere. In this respect, Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics is like China.

St Basil on faith and baptism

Part of Basil’s argument against subordinationism in On the Holy Spirit concerns baptism. Basil argues that baptism, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit shows the equal deity of all three members of the Trinity. He’s right, of course. However, I think his statements on baptism and faith are interesting beyond this argument, particularly in the ways Basil carefully associatiates the concepts of faith, baptism, and the work of the Spirit. He speaks of baptism as the means by which we are saved; but also is careful to distinguish “the grace that comes from the Spirit” from “mere baptism in water”. Here are some highlights:

What makes us Christians? “Our faith”, everyone would answer. How are we saved? Obviously through the regenerating grace of baptism. How else could we be? We are confirmed in our understanding that salvation comes through Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. (26)

Faith and baptism are two inseparably united means of salvation. Faith is perfected through baptism; the foundation of baptism is faith, and both are fulfilled through the same names. First we believe in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit; then we are baptised in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The profession of faith leads us to salvation, and then baptism follows, sealing our affirmation. (28)

In this respect we differ from the Jews: they wash themselves after each defilement, but we know that the baptism of salvation is received only once, since He died for the world once, and rose from the dead once, and baptism is a figure of His death and resurrection. The Lord who gives us life also gave us the baptismal covenant, which contains an image of both death and life. The image of death is fulfilled in the water, and the Spirit gives us the pledge of life. Therefore it is clear why water is associated with the Spirit: because of baptism’s dual purpose. On the one hand, the body of sin is destroyed, that it may never bear fruit for death. On the other hand, we are made to live by the Spirit, and bear fruit in holiness. The water receives our body as a tomb, and so becomes the image of death, while the Spirit pours in life-giving power, renewing in souls which were dead in sin the life they first possessed. This is what it means to be born again of water and Spirit: the water accomplishes our death, while the Spirit raises us to life. (35)

We are also able to distinguish between the grace that comes from the Spirit and mere baptism in water. John baptized in water for repentance, but our Lord Jesus Christ baptized in the Holy Spirit… He [John the Baptist] calls our examination at the judgment a baptism by fire, as when the Apostle says “each men’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done.” Before our day there were some who fought for the true faith, and died for Christ’s sake, not only symbolically, but in actual fact. They had no need of the outward sign of water to be saved, since they were baptized in their own blood. I mention this not because I wish to belittle baptism by water, but to overthrow the arguments of those who pit themselves against the Spirit, confusing things which are distinct, and comparing things that admit of no comparison. (36)

St Basil on Grammar

I’ve been reading Basil the Great’s On The Holy Spirit. Over the next couple of weeks I’ll probably post some highlights from this amazing theological work; but I thought I’d start with some comments from Basil on grammar and its theological significance—maybe to encourage those fellow students I know who are heading towards language exams:)

The issue Basil is wrestling with is how to speak of God the Trinity. He has argued that saying “Glory to God the Father with the Son and with the Holy Spirit” is legitimate; his opponents (who are actually subordinationists) insist that only “Glory to God the Father through the Son and in the Holy Spirit” is a legitimate way of speaking.

“Both doxologies are used by the faithful, and so we use both; we believe that either one ascribes perfect glory to the Spirit. The mouths of these corrupters of the truth may be more easily silenced, however, by Scripture’s identical use of the conjunction and and the preposition with… The Lord said “… the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit”; if I would say “the Father and the Son with the Holy Spirit”, have I changed the meaning of anything?… I cannot see any [difference], unless a pedantic grammarian insists that a coordinate conjunction brings about a stronger union than a preposition… I will explain why our fathers began to use the preposition with in the doxology, although it seems to me that the reason is obvious even to someone hearing it for the first time. With and and would be equally useful in fighting the wickedness of Sabellius [Modalism], since either one reveals that the Persons are distinct: “I and my Father will come”, or “I and the Father are one”. But with is an especially useful word because it testifies to eternal communion and unceasing cooperation. If we say that the Son is with the Father, we mean two things: first, that their persons are distinct, and second, that they are inseparably united in fellowship… So not only does the word with destroy the heresy of Sabellius, as no other word can, but it also defeats those who err in the opposite direction.” (On the Holy Spirit, 59)

It’s nice to know that grammar is useful, but that one doesn’t need to be a pedant to make use of it.