Newman’s ecclesiology encompasses such issues as the role of the laity, the relationship between theologians and the magisterium and the role of authority. Certain dimensions of his ecclesiology drew fire from his critics although the suspicions of his orthodoxy (levelled at him by other Catholics) were unjustified and the Vatican II declaration on the Church vindicates his arguments. Nevertheless certain of his views are somewhat dangerous in that they appear to reflect an overly positive view at times such as, for example, the notion that the laity ought to be consulted on matters of faith - quite what this entails is of supreme importance.
The concept of the threefold office of the Church comprises Newman’s ecclesiological views. He articulates this view in his 1877 preface to ‘Lectures on the Prophetical Office of the Church’, written when he was atill an Anglican. This threefold office corresponds to the threefold ministry of Christ, whose body the Church is. The three offices – prophetic, priestly and kingly – correspond to three offices in the Church, respectively: theology (prophetic), the worshipping community (priestly) and governance – the provenance of the Pope and the hierarchy (kingly). Even during his period as an Anglican Newman had developed an ecclesiology which, although conceived of as a ‘Via Media’ between Protestantism and the Roman Catholic Church, was heavily indebted to the Church Fathers. He wanted to return to the Catholicism of the Church. Newman was utterly opposed to the protestant notion of ‘private judgement’ wherein each individual judged revelation of his accord. The simple historical fact that so many diverse opinions resulted through this emphasis on ‘sola scriptura’ was enough to show forth the need for the authority of the Church which correctly interprets scripture (does not ‘invent’ it, although development of doctrine may occur, i.e. a making explicit of what was already implicit in revelation). This notion of development can be seen as the result of Newman’s division of tradition into ‘Episcopal’ (derived from the apostles) and ‘Prophetical’ (derived from the interpretation of revelation. In this preface Newman also sought to explore the relation between the formal teaching of the Church and its popular manifestation. Thus Newman was able to both acknowledge that there was corruption in the Church as well as assert that this cannot be attributed to the official teaching of the Church. The role of the theologian is to attempt to regulate the teaching of the Church, although he was also sensitive to popular devotion and felt theology needed to let this seep through so that it may not become cold and rigid. Newman even went so far as to express his doubts that, were any nation to completely do away with superstition, faith could still be said to exist there.
This brings us to the issue of the role of the Laity – something that brought about suspicions of his orthodoxy. Newman’s experiences as Rector of the Catholic University of Ireland (1851-1858) made him aware of the little regard with which the hierarchy regarded the laity. Newman wrote an article in the liberal Catholic publication ‘The Rambler’ (of which he had been made editor – a ‘compromise’ choice, it was hoped he would reign in the more radical aspects of the paper whilst still contributing to the task of creating an educated laity) entitled “On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine”. In this work he argued that the Church ‘consults’ the laity (in the sense of inquiring into a matter of fact, not of asking its opinion) before defining a doctrine. The ‘consensus fidelium’ was an indicator of the faith of the Church. Newman had first explored this idea in his work ‘The Arians of the Fourth Century’ in which he argued that it had been the laity, not the Bishops, who had upheld orthodoxy. Newman argued that the Church had to take into account the faithful and that this was necessary for its well-being. This did not go down well with members of the Roman curia nor with Catholics closer to home such as Cardinal Manning. It was considered that Newman was endangering the notion of authority and his statement that "there was a temporary suspense of the functions of the Ecclesia docens" in the fourth century appeared to many that Newman was calling into question the infallibility of the Church’s magisterium by claiming that it had failed over the Arian controversy. Monsignor Talbot in Rome interpreted Newman’s invocation of the “consensus fidelium” as meaning a consensus of the faithful in opposition to the clergy. As Ian Ker points out, Newman’s terminology – his use of the word consult – was certainly the cause of much confusion. These arguments, however, do not stand up when one considers Newman’s respect for authority (more will be said on this in due course). What they reflected was an inflated view of the hierarchy which was seen as the ‘real’ Church whilst the laity were simply ‘passengers’. Vatican II’s decree on the dogmatic constitution of the Church, ‘Lumen Gentium’, vindicates Newman’s approach by seeing the Church as ‘The People of God’, that is both clergy and laity whose role was given much greater emphasis than in the past. On this, as with many things, Newman can be seen to have been ahead of his time.
Nevertheless, it must be said that on this issue one can see why many would have had qualms. For example, today many Catholics (mistakenly) appeal to this notion in defense of their dissenting views against the magisterium. If the Church were to consult the faithful on matters of doctrine today, she may be given a rather odd, if not downright heretical, view. This, of course, is to look on one aspect of Newman’s ecclesiology to the neglect of others such as the authority of the Church. As already noted, Newman felt all needed to co-exist in a creative tension for the Church to function correctly. Also Newman’s conception of the ‘faithful’ was one which tried to reflect the earlier Church’s conception – that of all faithful, baptized Christians – before a stark division had been made between clergy and laity.
It is said to reflect that these suspicions on his orthodoxy had such an effect that Newman ceased to publish until spurred into action by Charles Kingsley’s attack on him which gave rise to Newman’s classic ‘Apologia pro vita sua’. With this work Newman endeared himself once again to English Catholics. When one considers Newman’s views on authority, however, it is difficult to understand how one could have doubted his orthodoxy. He was, to be sure, no ‘ultramontane’ such as Cardinal Manning, yet neither could he be seen as a liberal Catholic who despised tradition. This can be seen in his rejection of the principle of private judgment and his emphasis on the need for an authoritative protection of the “deposit of faith”. Thus he was a defender of infallibility and was particularly pleased with the decree when it eventually came out for it was fairly restrained. He championed the rights of conscience but this had a role in the practical sphere in which infallible judgements could not be pronounced. Conscience could not simply go against authority without due consideration and the need for an informed conscience.
As against theologians who would make martyrs of their being silenced (a la Hans Kung), he asserted that even when in a particular case the hierarchical Church may be wrong there is a need for the theologian to abide by the decision out of the “obedience of faith” even though he may hope that in time his opinion may be vindicated: one can see this sort of attitude in such theologians as Yves Congar and Henri de Lubac - their insights ultimately being taken up into the purview of the Church. That said, he did desire greater discussion amongst theologians that an opinion may either be vindicated or eventually condemned and looked to the Middle Ages as an ideal when the Church ‘let things go’ for a period of time until it finally made a decision. But submission to authority was not something which Newman wished to downplay, even when it may be unjust, for challenging it only does greater damage to the Church as a whole.
Newman’s ecclesiological views did not warrant the suspicions with which certain members of the Church looked upon them. He was ahead of his time and his influence can be seen in Vatican II documents. His being chosen as a Cardinal is also a vindication of his orthodoxy even in his own time.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Newman's Ecclesiology
Newman’s ecclesiology encompasses such issues as the role of the laity, the relationship between theologians and the magisterium and the role of authority. Certain dimensions of his ecclesiology drew fire from his critics although the suspicions of his orthodoxy (levelled at him by other Catholics) were unjustified and the Vatican II declaration on the Church vindicates his arguments. Nevertheless certain of his views are somewhat dangerous in that they appear to reflect an overly positive view at times such as, for example, the notion that the laity ought to be consulted on matters of faith - quite what this entails is of supreme importance.
The concept of the threefold office of the Church comprises Newman’s ecclesiological views. He articulates this view in his 1877 preface to ‘Lectures on the Prophetical Office of the Church’, written when he was atill an Anglican. This threefold office corresponds to the threefold ministry of Christ, whose body the Church is. The three offices – prophetic, priestly and kingly – correspond to three offices in the Church, respectively: theology (prophetic), the worshipping community (priestly) and governance – the provenance of the Pope and the hierarchy (kingly). Even during his period as an Anglican Newman had developed an ecclesiology which, although conceived of as a ‘Via Media’ between Protestantism and the Roman Catholic Church, was heavily indebted to the Church Fathers. He wanted to return to the Catholicism of the Church. Newman was utterly opposed to the protestant notion of ‘private judgement’ wherein each individual judged revelation of his accord. The simple historical fact that so many diverse opinions resulted through this emphasis on ‘sola scriptura’ was enough to show forth the need for the authority of the Church which correctly interprets scripture (does not ‘invent’ it, although development of doctrine may occur, i.e. a making explicit of what was already implicit in revelation). This notion of development can be seen as the result of Newman’s division of tradition into ‘Episcopal’ (derived from the apostles) and ‘Prophetical’ (derived from the interpretation of revelation. In this preface Newman also sought to explore the relation between the formal teaching of the Church and its popular manifestation. Thus Newman was able to both acknowledge that there was corruption in the Church as well as assert that this cannot be attributed to the official teaching of the Church. The role of the theologian is to attempt to regulate the teaching of the Church, although he was also sensitive to popular devotion and felt theology needed to let this seep through so that it may not become cold and rigid. Newman even went so far as to express his doubts that, were any nation to completely do away with superstition, faith could still be said to exist there.
This brings us to the issue of the role of the Laity – something that brought about suspicions of his orthodoxy. Newman’s experiences as Rector of the Catholic University of Ireland (1851-1858) made him aware of the little regard with which the hierarchy regarded the laity. Newman wrote an article in the liberal Catholic publication ‘The Rambler’ (of which he had been made editor – a ‘compromise’ choice, it was hoped he would reign in the more radical aspects of the paper whilst still contributing to the task of creating an educated laity) entitled “On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine”. In this work he argued that the Church ‘consults’ the laity (in the sense of inquiring into a matter of fact, not of asking its opinion) before defining a doctrine. The ‘consensus fidelium’ was an indicator of the faith of the Church. Newman had first explored this idea in his work ‘The Arians of the Fourth Century’ in which he argued that it had been the laity, not the Bishops, who had upheld orthodoxy. Newman argued that the Church had to take into account the faithful and that this was necessary for its well-being. This did not go down well with members of the Roman curia nor with Catholics closer to home such as Cardinal Manning. It was considered that Newman was endangering the notion of authority and his statement that "there was a temporary suspense of the functions of the Ecclesia docens" in the fourth century appeared to many that Newman was calling into question the infallibility of the Church’s magisterium by claiming that it had failed over the Arian controversy. Monsignor Talbot in Rome interpreted Newman’s invocation of the “consensus fidelium” as meaning a consensus of the faithful in opposition to the clergy. As Ian Ker points out, Newman’s terminology – his use of the word consult – was certainly the cause of much confusion. These arguments, however, do not stand up when one considers Newman’s respect for authority (more will be said on this in due course). What they reflected was an inflated view of the hierarchy which was seen as the ‘real’ Church whilst the laity were simply ‘passengers’. Vatican II’s decree on the dogmatic constitution of the Church, ‘Lumen Gentium’, vindicates Newman’s approach by seeing the Church as ‘The People of God’, that is both clergy and laity whose role was given much greater emphasis than in the past. On this, as with many things, Newman can be seen to have been ahead of his time.
Nevertheless, it must be said that on this issue one can see why many would have had qualms. For example, today many Catholics (mistakenly) appeal to this notion in defense of their dissenting views against the magisterium. If the Church were to consult the faithful on matters of doctrine today, she may be given a rather odd, if not downright heretical, view. This, of course, is to look on one aspect of Newman’s ecclesiology to the neglect of others such as the authority of the Church. As already noted, Newman felt all needed to co-exist in a creative tension for the Church to function correctly. Also Newman’s conception of the ‘faithful’ was one which tried to reflect the earlier Church’s conception – that of all faithful, baptized Christians – before a stark division had been made between clergy and laity.
It is said to reflect that these suspicions on his orthodoxy had such an effect that Newman ceased to publish until spurred into action by Charles Kingsley’s attack on him which gave rise to Newman’s classic ‘Apologia pro vita sua’. With this work Newman endeared himself once again to English Catholics. When one considers Newman’s views on authority, however, it is difficult to understand how one could have doubted his orthodoxy. He was, to be sure, no ‘ultramontane’ such as Cardinal Manning, yet neither could he be seen as a liberal Catholic who despised tradition. This can be seen in his rejection of the principle of private judgment and his emphasis on the need for an authoritative protection of the “deposit of faith”. Thus he was a defender of infallibility and was particularly pleased with the decree when it eventually came out for it was fairly restrained. He championed the rights of conscience but this had a role in the practical sphere in which infallible judgements could not be pronounced. Conscience could not simply go against authority without due consideration and the need for an informed conscience.
As against theologians who would make martyrs of their being silenced (a la Hans Kung), he asserted that even when in a particular case the hierarchical Church may be wrong there is a need for the theologian to abide by the decision out of the “obedience of faith” even though he may hope that in time his opinion may be vindicated: one can see this sort of attitude in such theologians as Yves Congar and Henri de Lubac - their insights ultimately being taken up into the purview of the Church. That said, he did desire greater discussion amongst theologians that an opinion may either be vindicated or eventually condemned and looked to the Middle Ages as an ideal when the Church ‘let things go’ for a period of time until it finally made a decision. But submission to authority was not something which Newman wished to downplay, even when it may be unjust, for challenging it only does greater damage to the Church as a whole.
Newman’s ecclesiological views did not warrant the suspicions with which certain members of the Church looked upon them. He was ahead of his time and his influence can be seen in Vatican II documents. His being chosen as a Cardinal is also a vindication of his orthodoxy even in his own time.
The concept of the threefold office of the Church comprises Newman’s ecclesiological views. He articulates this view in his 1877 preface to ‘Lectures on the Prophetical Office of the Church’, written when he was atill an Anglican. This threefold office corresponds to the threefold ministry of Christ, whose body the Church is. The three offices – prophetic, priestly and kingly – correspond to three offices in the Church, respectively: theology (prophetic), the worshipping community (priestly) and governance – the provenance of the Pope and the hierarchy (kingly). Even during his period as an Anglican Newman had developed an ecclesiology which, although conceived of as a ‘Via Media’ between Protestantism and the Roman Catholic Church, was heavily indebted to the Church Fathers. He wanted to return to the Catholicism of the Church. Newman was utterly opposed to the protestant notion of ‘private judgement’ wherein each individual judged revelation of his accord. The simple historical fact that so many diverse opinions resulted through this emphasis on ‘sola scriptura’ was enough to show forth the need for the authority of the Church which correctly interprets scripture (does not ‘invent’ it, although development of doctrine may occur, i.e. a making explicit of what was already implicit in revelation). This notion of development can be seen as the result of Newman’s division of tradition into ‘Episcopal’ (derived from the apostles) and ‘Prophetical’ (derived from the interpretation of revelation. In this preface Newman also sought to explore the relation between the formal teaching of the Church and its popular manifestation. Thus Newman was able to both acknowledge that there was corruption in the Church as well as assert that this cannot be attributed to the official teaching of the Church. The role of the theologian is to attempt to regulate the teaching of the Church, although he was also sensitive to popular devotion and felt theology needed to let this seep through so that it may not become cold and rigid. Newman even went so far as to express his doubts that, were any nation to completely do away with superstition, faith could still be said to exist there.
This brings us to the issue of the role of the Laity – something that brought about suspicions of his orthodoxy. Newman’s experiences as Rector of the Catholic University of Ireland (1851-1858) made him aware of the little regard with which the hierarchy regarded the laity. Newman wrote an article in the liberal Catholic publication ‘The Rambler’ (of which he had been made editor – a ‘compromise’ choice, it was hoped he would reign in the more radical aspects of the paper whilst still contributing to the task of creating an educated laity) entitled “On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine”. In this work he argued that the Church ‘consults’ the laity (in the sense of inquiring into a matter of fact, not of asking its opinion) before defining a doctrine. The ‘consensus fidelium’ was an indicator of the faith of the Church. Newman had first explored this idea in his work ‘The Arians of the Fourth Century’ in which he argued that it had been the laity, not the Bishops, who had upheld orthodoxy. Newman argued that the Church had to take into account the faithful and that this was necessary for its well-being. This did not go down well with members of the Roman curia nor with Catholics closer to home such as Cardinal Manning. It was considered that Newman was endangering the notion of authority and his statement that "there was a temporary suspense of the functions of the Ecclesia docens" in the fourth century appeared to many that Newman was calling into question the infallibility of the Church’s magisterium by claiming that it had failed over the Arian controversy. Monsignor Talbot in Rome interpreted Newman’s invocation of the “consensus fidelium” as meaning a consensus of the faithful in opposition to the clergy. As Ian Ker points out, Newman’s terminology – his use of the word consult – was certainly the cause of much confusion. These arguments, however, do not stand up when one considers Newman’s respect for authority (more will be said on this in due course). What they reflected was an inflated view of the hierarchy which was seen as the ‘real’ Church whilst the laity were simply ‘passengers’. Vatican II’s decree on the dogmatic constitution of the Church, ‘Lumen Gentium’, vindicates Newman’s approach by seeing the Church as ‘The People of God’, that is both clergy and laity whose role was given much greater emphasis than in the past. On this, as with many things, Newman can be seen to have been ahead of his time.
Nevertheless, it must be said that on this issue one can see why many would have had qualms. For example, today many Catholics (mistakenly) appeal to this notion in defense of their dissenting views against the magisterium. If the Church were to consult the faithful on matters of doctrine today, she may be given a rather odd, if not downright heretical, view. This, of course, is to look on one aspect of Newman’s ecclesiology to the neglect of others such as the authority of the Church. As already noted, Newman felt all needed to co-exist in a creative tension for the Church to function correctly. Also Newman’s conception of the ‘faithful’ was one which tried to reflect the earlier Church’s conception – that of all faithful, baptized Christians – before a stark division had been made between clergy and laity.
It is said to reflect that these suspicions on his orthodoxy had such an effect that Newman ceased to publish until spurred into action by Charles Kingsley’s attack on him which gave rise to Newman’s classic ‘Apologia pro vita sua’. With this work Newman endeared himself once again to English Catholics. When one considers Newman’s views on authority, however, it is difficult to understand how one could have doubted his orthodoxy. He was, to be sure, no ‘ultramontane’ such as Cardinal Manning, yet neither could he be seen as a liberal Catholic who despised tradition. This can be seen in his rejection of the principle of private judgment and his emphasis on the need for an authoritative protection of the “deposit of faith”. Thus he was a defender of infallibility and was particularly pleased with the decree when it eventually came out for it was fairly restrained. He championed the rights of conscience but this had a role in the practical sphere in which infallible judgements could not be pronounced. Conscience could not simply go against authority without due consideration and the need for an informed conscience.
As against theologians who would make martyrs of their being silenced (a la Hans Kung), he asserted that even when in a particular case the hierarchical Church may be wrong there is a need for the theologian to abide by the decision out of the “obedience of faith” even though he may hope that in time his opinion may be vindicated: one can see this sort of attitude in such theologians as Yves Congar and Henri de Lubac - their insights ultimately being taken up into the purview of the Church. That said, he did desire greater discussion amongst theologians that an opinion may either be vindicated or eventually condemned and looked to the Middle Ages as an ideal when the Church ‘let things go’ for a period of time until it finally made a decision. But submission to authority was not something which Newman wished to downplay, even when it may be unjust, for challenging it only does greater damage to the Church as a whole.
Newman’s ecclesiological views did not warrant the suspicions with which certain members of the Church looked upon them. He was ahead of his time and his influence can be seen in Vatican II documents. His being chosen as a Cardinal is also a vindication of his orthodoxy even in his own time.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
New Wintersleep album
My first non-theology related post (although is there any aspect of existence in which theology has no role to play?). Anyway, one of my favourite bands Wintersleep have a new album due on the 2nd October.
Checking out the lyrics, the song "Dead Letter & The Infinite Yes" contains a line which would have made a great name for a theology blog..."Whispers of an Infinite Yes".
If anyone chances upon this post I would definitely recommend checking them out, especially if you're an afficionado of alternative rock (though I wouldn't like to pidgeon-hole them like that, they display other influences such as folk as well).
Checking out the lyrics, the song "Dead Letter & The Infinite Yes" contains a line which would have made a great name for a theology blog..."Whispers of an Infinite Yes".
If anyone chances upon this post I would definitely recommend checking them out, especially if you're an afficionado of alternative rock (though I wouldn't like to pidgeon-hole them like that, they display other influences such as folk as well).
Theology Lessons with Herbert McCabe
Herbert McCabe was a truly remarkable theologian. I could not think of anyone better to recommend to someone looking to learn some theology. McCabe can be recommended because his writing is so different to the jargon filled, tortorous prose that many modern theologians produce, yet without losing anything in terms of profundity. An example of this can be seen in an article he wrote for New Blackfriars (which may also appear in one of the volumes that comprise various of his articles, I'm not sure). He has the superb ability to really capture an important theological idea with a simple turn of phrase, a perfectly understandable analogy and retains great wit and informality throughout. Below is a discussion of his essay.
God:
He opens with the ever-important reminder that our conceptions of God are only ever approximations to the divine. That the terms in which we speak of God can only ever be used analogously. Or as he puts it:
"He is always dressed verbally in second-hand clothes that don't fit him very well". When we speak of God we only ever speak in terms which are familiar to ourselves and which do not reveal who or what God is but nevertheless are essential if we are to talk of God at all. McCabe thus tells us that clearly metaphorical terms such as 'the Father' are preferable to more abstract terms such as 'God' since they are clearly metaphorical and not likely to be confused for the real thing. That this is of paramount importance becomes clear when one considers the dangers inherent in talk of God as 'Being': the perils of making God a mere 'god' (or as it has been fashionable to say since Heidegger, the dangers of 'onto-theology') are always close at hand and must be carefully guarded against.
The Divinity of Christ:
McCabe then links our understanding of the divine to the radical change that Jesus Christ has brought about to it. Our understanding must begin "from what we have come to call the Trinity". McCabe puts paid to the Barthian-inspired fears that Thomist theology tacks on Christian doctrine to a pre-existing, 'pagan' understanding of God. The importance of Jesus is the radical change he made in our understanding of what 'love' means. Thus the Christian emphasis on charity or agape: that understanding of love which is differentiated from eros in its universality, its insistence on equality. The claim by Jesus that the Father loved him is the most radical of all.
McCabe then proceeds to explain Christ's divinity from this claim. "Love begins and ends in equality", says McCabe, and from this goes on to explain how God could not 'love' his creatures. There is abolutely no equality between us and the Creator. At most then, God could be kind to us, He could take pity on us, He could be caring towards us, but He cannot love us. Even a master/slave relationship can involve affection and kindness, but there can be no mistaking this for a relationship of love in which two equals must be presupposed. Hierarchical structures, although they have always existed and in human society are a necessity can never be love (although that is not to say that they are necessarily unloving).
And yet the problem remains: does God not then love us? Must God remain in an infantile relationship of authority with his creatures? Both Marx and Nietzche saw this and felt the need to reject the existence of God, for the sake of mankind. Man could never be free, if this God were accepted: he would always remain a kind of 'slave'. Thus Jesus' claim, that the Father loved him, is a claim on behalf of his divinity: "To say that Jesus is divine and to say that God is capable of love is to proclaim one and the same doctrine." An Arian view of Christ, marking him as only a supreme creature, destroys the possibility of love. If Jesus is truly loved, then he must be more than a creature. To say that "God is love" requires the doctrine of the Trinity.
Grace:
It remains the case, however, that we ourselves are but creatures and thus God cannot love us equals. Here the doctrine of grace comes in, so clearly explained by McCabe: "'In Christ' we are taken up into the exchange of love between the Father and the incarnate and human son, we are filled with the Holy Spirit, we become part of the divine life. We call this 'grace'. By grace we ourselves share in the divine and that is how God can love us."
Deification:
The issue of sin has not yet even been alluded to. It is first and foremost our creaturehood that prevents us from being genuinely loved by God. And so "we need not only to be forgiven from sin but to be divinised from simple creaturehood." Sin, therefore, is nothing but our settling for our creaturely status, refusing the risk of being drawn up into the life of the Triune God. The gift of the Holy Spirit allows us to share in God's own love.
Freedom from Sin and the Law:
Although laws are a necessary institution in human society, to live under the law is ultimately to be a sort of 'slave'. The essence of man is freedom and "it is a mysterious fact about human beings that even to conform to the law of our own being is to be restricted. We naturally tend beyond ourselves". (Here McCabe echoes the key insight of the ressourcement movement in Catholic theology last century). Man is a 'graced creature', there never has been any 'pure nature' and thus, as a matter of fact, the only way to be without grace is to reject it: not only are we slaves, we are guilty ones. To be forgiven is thus to be brought back around to the fact that God loves us unconditionally, we need no longer labour under the mistaken conception of a "punitive" judge, who changes his mind about us only once we have repented. This insight from McCabe brings our attention to the 'immutability of God's love - His love for us is unwavering: we need only, like the prodigal son, return to the arms of our loving Father, who is already waiting to greet us. McCabe argues that it is this realisation that frees us from the bondage of sin.
God as Lover, God as Creator:
For McCabe then, the radical Christian insight into the nature of God is that He is primarily a lover, wishing to draw us into His love - the Christian doctrine of the Trinity is necessary if we are to make sense of scripture's statement that "God is Love". But it is equally important not to lose sight of the notion of God as creator, for although we are to be 'divinised', we are to do so as human beings. For McCabe, grace does not elide nature and he points out how this is a specifically Catholic (and Jewish) concern. This is clear, for example, when one considers the Canon Five of the Council of Trent's decree on Justification:
"If any one saith, that, since Adam's sin, the free will of man is lost and extinguished; or, that it is a thing with only a name, yea a name without a reality, a figment, in fine, introduced into the Church by Satan; let him be anathema." Humanity's natural faculties, though impaired, have not been completely destroyed and the grace sent to us perfects our nature, raising it to the supernatural level which it naturally (!) tends to.
Love thy Neighbour:
To love someone is to give them the gift of freedom; the freedom and 'space' to be themselves. Of course, as McCabe points out, indifference seems to be very much the same thing. One can see this in modern day attitudes that wish to equate Christian love with the liberal principle of "live and let live". But this attitude is a counterfeit, what it manifests is a complete lack of care about other human beings. God loves us unconditionally but this does not mean he is indifferent to sin.
The difference of creation:
In one sense, the doctrine of creation makes no difference whatsoever to things. Science, for example, can study natural phenomena without any need to consider whether the world was created out of nothing. But in another sense, creation makes, quite literally, all the difference in the world. It makes all the difference between there being something or nothing at all. And for McCabe, although he does not particularly address it in this essay, the question "why is there something rather than nothing?" is the first step to recognising that the entire world's existence is a mystery to which God is ultimately the answer. I hope to write about this some other time.
God:
He opens with the ever-important reminder that our conceptions of God are only ever approximations to the divine. That the terms in which we speak of God can only ever be used analogously. Or as he puts it:
"He is always dressed verbally in second-hand clothes that don't fit him very well". When we speak of God we only ever speak in terms which are familiar to ourselves and which do not reveal who or what God is but nevertheless are essential if we are to talk of God at all. McCabe thus tells us that clearly metaphorical terms such as 'the Father' are preferable to more abstract terms such as 'God' since they are clearly metaphorical and not likely to be confused for the real thing. That this is of paramount importance becomes clear when one considers the dangers inherent in talk of God as 'Being': the perils of making God a mere 'god' (or as it has been fashionable to say since Heidegger, the dangers of 'onto-theology') are always close at hand and must be carefully guarded against.
The Divinity of Christ:
McCabe then links our understanding of the divine to the radical change that Jesus Christ has brought about to it. Our understanding must begin "from what we have come to call the Trinity". McCabe puts paid to the Barthian-inspired fears that Thomist theology tacks on Christian doctrine to a pre-existing, 'pagan' understanding of God. The importance of Jesus is the radical change he made in our understanding of what 'love' means. Thus the Christian emphasis on charity or agape: that understanding of love which is differentiated from eros in its universality, its insistence on equality. The claim by Jesus that the Father loved him is the most radical of all.
McCabe then proceeds to explain Christ's divinity from this claim. "Love begins and ends in equality", says McCabe, and from this goes on to explain how God could not 'love' his creatures. There is abolutely no equality between us and the Creator. At most then, God could be kind to us, He could take pity on us, He could be caring towards us, but He cannot love us. Even a master/slave relationship can involve affection and kindness, but there can be no mistaking this for a relationship of love in which two equals must be presupposed. Hierarchical structures, although they have always existed and in human society are a necessity can never be love (although that is not to say that they are necessarily unloving).
And yet the problem remains: does God not then love us? Must God remain in an infantile relationship of authority with his creatures? Both Marx and Nietzche saw this and felt the need to reject the existence of God, for the sake of mankind. Man could never be free, if this God were accepted: he would always remain a kind of 'slave'. Thus Jesus' claim, that the Father loved him, is a claim on behalf of his divinity: "To say that Jesus is divine and to say that God is capable of love is to proclaim one and the same doctrine." An Arian view of Christ, marking him as only a supreme creature, destroys the possibility of love. If Jesus is truly loved, then he must be more than a creature. To say that "God is love" requires the doctrine of the Trinity.
Grace:
It remains the case, however, that we ourselves are but creatures and thus God cannot love us equals. Here the doctrine of grace comes in, so clearly explained by McCabe: "'In Christ' we are taken up into the exchange of love between the Father and the incarnate and human son, we are filled with the Holy Spirit, we become part of the divine life. We call this 'grace'. By grace we ourselves share in the divine and that is how God can love us."
Deification:
The issue of sin has not yet even been alluded to. It is first and foremost our creaturehood that prevents us from being genuinely loved by God. And so "we need not only to be forgiven from sin but to be divinised from simple creaturehood." Sin, therefore, is nothing but our settling for our creaturely status, refusing the risk of being drawn up into the life of the Triune God. The gift of the Holy Spirit allows us to share in God's own love.
Freedom from Sin and the Law:
Although laws are a necessary institution in human society, to live under the law is ultimately to be a sort of 'slave'. The essence of man is freedom and "it is a mysterious fact about human beings that even to conform to the law of our own being is to be restricted. We naturally tend beyond ourselves". (Here McCabe echoes the key insight of the ressourcement movement in Catholic theology last century). Man is a 'graced creature', there never has been any 'pure nature' and thus, as a matter of fact, the only way to be without grace is to reject it: not only are we slaves, we are guilty ones. To be forgiven is thus to be brought back around to the fact that God loves us unconditionally, we need no longer labour under the mistaken conception of a "punitive" judge, who changes his mind about us only once we have repented. This insight from McCabe brings our attention to the 'immutability of God's love - His love for us is unwavering: we need only, like the prodigal son, return to the arms of our loving Father, who is already waiting to greet us. McCabe argues that it is this realisation that frees us from the bondage of sin.
God as Lover, God as Creator:
For McCabe then, the radical Christian insight into the nature of God is that He is primarily a lover, wishing to draw us into His love - the Christian doctrine of the Trinity is necessary if we are to make sense of scripture's statement that "God is Love". But it is equally important not to lose sight of the notion of God as creator, for although we are to be 'divinised', we are to do so as human beings. For McCabe, grace does not elide nature and he points out how this is a specifically Catholic (and Jewish) concern. This is clear, for example, when one considers the Canon Five of the Council of Trent's decree on Justification:
"If any one saith, that, since Adam's sin, the free will of man is lost and extinguished; or, that it is a thing with only a name, yea a name without a reality, a figment, in fine, introduced into the Church by Satan; let him be anathema." Humanity's natural faculties, though impaired, have not been completely destroyed and the grace sent to us perfects our nature, raising it to the supernatural level which it naturally (!) tends to.
Love thy Neighbour:
To love someone is to give them the gift of freedom; the freedom and 'space' to be themselves. Of course, as McCabe points out, indifference seems to be very much the same thing. One can see this in modern day attitudes that wish to equate Christian love with the liberal principle of "live and let live". But this attitude is a counterfeit, what it manifests is a complete lack of care about other human beings. God loves us unconditionally but this does not mean he is indifferent to sin.
The difference of creation:
In one sense, the doctrine of creation makes no difference whatsoever to things. Science, for example, can study natural phenomena without any need to consider whether the world was created out of nothing. But in another sense, creation makes, quite literally, all the difference in the world. It makes all the difference between there being something or nothing at all. And for McCabe, although he does not particularly address it in this essay, the question "why is there something rather than nothing?" is the first step to recognising that the entire world's existence is a mystery to which God is ultimately the answer. I hope to write about this some other time.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Quote for the day
"When God forgives our sin, he is not changing his mind about us; he is changing our mind about him."
- Herbert McCabe, 'Forgive us Our Trespasses' (a sermon)
- Herbert McCabe, 'Forgive us Our Trespasses' (a sermon)
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Hans urs Von Balthasar on the Petrine Office
The loud-mouthed, Christian, mostly clerical rogues who take such pleasure in attacking Rome can study their own physiognomies in the satirical pictures of Bosch and Breughel…They have all the laughs on their side. But Peter must have seemed fairly laughable too when he was crucified upside down; it was simply a good joke…therefore, blessed the office—whether it’s the Pope or the bishops or simple priests who stand firm, or anyone else who feels responsible when people start saying ‘the Church should do this and that’—which offers itself to fulfill this function, to be the seat of the illness. There is no honor to be won in this role, but if the crowd is to have its fun, a face is needed which one can slap in order to try one’s own strength: the oscillation of the needle tells one infallibly how strong one is. And that too is a form of infallibility.
- “The Pope Today”, Elucidations, trans. John Riches, (London: SPCK, 1975), quoted in the following article http://www.ignatius.com/magazines/hprweb/cleaveland.htm
- “The Pope Today”, Elucidations, trans. John Riches, (London: SPCK, 1975), quoted in the following article http://www.ignatius.com/magazines/hprweb/cleaveland.htm
Monday, September 17, 2007
On the notion of a Cosmic Fall
Having thought a bit about the question of evolution and suffering and having reflected on the discussion that ensued, I thought I'd delve a little further into the idea of a "cosmic fall". The notion is not alien to Christian tradition but I suppose it does create some tension as regards the other, equally important doctrine to be affirmed: that the world was created good.
Traditionally, Christianity has worked with a two-fold typology for thinking about evil. Thus evil can be considered in its two forms - natural or ontological evil and moral/ethical evil. With this division in place, moral evil has typically been explained with recourse to the Christian doctrine of the fall. Man's nature, though not completely corrupted, has been wounded and his will, though free, yet tends to evil. A horror as monstrous as the holocaust, for example, is attributable to humanity's free will. The question of 'natural evil' presents a different problem for it appears to be no agent through which it comes about.
However, in this post I wish to investigate one avenue for explaining the evil that appears so rife in the 'natural' world: that natural evil itself can be attributed to the nefarious influence of malign spiritual beings. That this will appear an 'outdated' idea, one not fit for 'modern' men and women, I contend that such an understanding is necessary if Christians are to remain free from the sort of rationalizations of evil that seem so repulsive to 'protest' atheists and should seem equally so to Christians.
Of course, I do not wish to revive the ancient heresy of Manichaeism. Orthodox belief has always affirmed that creation is a gift from God who viewed it as "very good". Thus what I am maintaining here is not that creation is the result of the workings of a demiurge, or that it is the product of a pre-cosmic fall from the Pleroma. The doctrine that the world was created ex nihilo is a safeguard against such postulations. But the notion of a cosmic fall does not endanger this. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth": the angels too, were created ex nihilo. And even if such an emphasis on a catalcysmic fall strikes some as far too gnostic, it may well be that we need to discern the kernel of truth that gnosticism contains. As it is, I do not think that this element of truth is something which cannot be found with orthodox Christian belief in any case.
Aquinas deals with the problem of natural evil by arguing that from the perspective of God's perfect ordering of the universe these deficiencies in being are necessary. Now, I would not wish to say that a finite and limited being is in any sense 'evil'. Aquinas does not argue that in any case, rather he argues that evil signifies a privation in being. For a man not to be able to fly is not 'evil', but for a man to be born blind is, as the gift of sight constitues part of his nature. Thus in the passage cited in the discussion on the problem of evil, Aquinas states his view:
"God and nature and any other agent make what is best in the whole, but not what is best in every single part, except in order to the whole, as was said above (47, 2). And the whole itself, which is the universe of creatures, is all the better and more perfect if some things in it can fail in goodness, and do sometimes fail, God not preventing this. This happens, firstly, because "it belongs to Providence not to destroy, but to save nature," as Dionysius says (Div. Nom. iv); but it belongs to nature that what may fail should sometimes fail; secondly, because, as Augustine says (Enchir. 11), "God is so powerful that He can even make good out of evil." Hence many good things would be taken away if God permitted no evil to exist; for fire would not be generated if air was not corrupted, nor would the life of a lion be preserved unless the ass were killed. Neither would avenging justice nor the patience of a sufferer be praised if there were no injustice." (ST 1, 48, 2, rep to obj. 3)
For Aquinas then, such evils as cancer, whilst causing untold pain and suffering for the victim and those close to him, from the point of view of the ultimate perfection of the universal order, are not 'evil' in any meaningful sense, on the contrary, they themselves can contribute to this ultimate perfection by, for example, being the catalyst for someone to display great patience in their suffering, for another to visit the sick person in hospital and so forth.
Now, Aquinas is a theologian I very much admire, but in this instance I simply cannot agree with him. Does not Aquinas' rationalization of evil as a constituent part of a perfect cosmic ordering fall prey to Ivan Karamazov's argument against God? As D.B. Hart points out in The Doors of the Sea: Dostoyevsky's Christian genius lies not in the perception that the suffering and death in the universe is not morally intelligible but that it would be far worse if it were!
Aquinas' theology was forged to a large extent in the battle against Manichaeism which had reared its ugly head in the heresy of the Cathars. However, whilst it was entirely necessary for Aquinas to do battle on behalf of the doctrine that God's creation is good, it may be the case that in defending it, he underplayed the truth from which the Cathar heresy was a deviation: heresy being an overemphasis on one aspect of a truth.
It is not difficult to affirm Creation's goodness. One experiences countless instances of it in nature: a glorious sunset, a peaceful sea, the majestic flight of an eagle (as you can probably tell, I'm no poet). But it is far less easy to affirm it when one sees, for example, a young mother's body ravaged by cancer: I simply cannot accept that it is entirely natural and part of God's good creation that this should be the case. I believe that a stress on the goodness of creation whilst recognising said creation's fallen nature is absolutely necessary to avoid the Scylla of a cosmic order which entails suffering and death for its ultimate perfection and the Charybdis of Manichaeism.
As regards the question of how all this relates to evolution, it might be said that the fall need not have been an actual, temporal event but a 'mythological' expression for what we recognise to be creation's bondage. Thus whilst there may never have been a literal, 'golden age', the story of the Fall symbolises a cosmic catastrophe that has brought creation to its knees. Thus in Scripture, the enmity which exists in the animal kingdom is not what God intended and the Prophet Isaiah's eschatological vision of nature's redemption involves the cow and the bear grazing together and the lion eating straw with the ox. (Is 11:7-8) Man's redemption has ontological consequences for the whole of creation - as he will once again rule over nature without enmity either between himself and the animal kingdom or within the animal kingdom itself. A "cosmic fall" calls for a "Cosmic Christ" to redeem us. But even here the notion of a literal fall does not need to be discarded quite so easily as the fall of man could have occurred in the context of an already disordered creation (due to the rupture of sin into creation with the rebellion of the angels).
And before it is objected that this is simply a return to a mythological mindset we have long since left behind, the notion that animal predation is not 'natural' was held by none other than C.S. Lewis who associated it with the ancient Satanic rebellion in his book, The Problem of Pain. Lewis is especially interesting in this context because he saw there really was a problem with animal suffering. Again, Aquinas on this score, was unfortunately in tune with his age and saw no real issue with the suffering of animals, for they were merely dumb brutes, devoid of reason and placed on earth for the use of humans. Lewis also ties this in with the notion that humanity may have had a redemptive role to play in "subduing" nature and restoring its original order. Of course, the fall of man can only have exacerbated this problem.
I think it is also important to point out that the view of a Satanic distortion of nature and its processes is not necessarily inconsistent with a Thomist position. As E.L. Mascall (an Anglo-Catholic thomist) points out:
"Insofar as the evolutionary process may have been distorted before the advent of man, it is reasonable to explain this distortion by the common Christian doctrine that one of the functions which God has committed to the angels is the supervision of the lower creation, so that the defection of certain of the angels has had as one of its consequences a disorganization of the material world and the dislocation of its functions." (quoted in Andrew Linzey's Animal Theology). Aquinas held that creation was chiefly governed by angels.
Modern philosophers such as Alvin Platinga also subscribe to this view so one can see that it is not the sole preserve of "fundamentalists".
As I remarked in my post on evolution, the acceptance that God's will for creation includes predation, suffering and death leaves us with a very strange God indeed and one that will inevitably tie us up in theodicies that ought to leave us cold.
In an age where there are abundant calls for theology to shed its "false humility", to no longer let itself be cowered into proclaiming only what is deemed acceptable to secular reason, it may be time to bring the notion of a "cosmic fall" back.
Traditionally, Christianity has worked with a two-fold typology for thinking about evil. Thus evil can be considered in its two forms - natural or ontological evil and moral/ethical evil. With this division in place, moral evil has typically been explained with recourse to the Christian doctrine of the fall. Man's nature, though not completely corrupted, has been wounded and his will, though free, yet tends to evil. A horror as monstrous as the holocaust, for example, is attributable to humanity's free will. The question of 'natural evil' presents a different problem for it appears to be no agent through which it comes about.
However, in this post I wish to investigate one avenue for explaining the evil that appears so rife in the 'natural' world: that natural evil itself can be attributed to the nefarious influence of malign spiritual beings. That this will appear an 'outdated' idea, one not fit for 'modern' men and women, I contend that such an understanding is necessary if Christians are to remain free from the sort of rationalizations of evil that seem so repulsive to 'protest' atheists and should seem equally so to Christians.
Of course, I do not wish to revive the ancient heresy of Manichaeism. Orthodox belief has always affirmed that creation is a gift from God who viewed it as "very good". Thus what I am maintaining here is not that creation is the result of the workings of a demiurge, or that it is the product of a pre-cosmic fall from the Pleroma. The doctrine that the world was created ex nihilo is a safeguard against such postulations. But the notion of a cosmic fall does not endanger this. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth": the angels too, were created ex nihilo. And even if such an emphasis on a catalcysmic fall strikes some as far too gnostic, it may well be that we need to discern the kernel of truth that gnosticism contains. As it is, I do not think that this element of truth is something which cannot be found with orthodox Christian belief in any case.
Aquinas deals with the problem of natural evil by arguing that from the perspective of God's perfect ordering of the universe these deficiencies in being are necessary. Now, I would not wish to say that a finite and limited being is in any sense 'evil'. Aquinas does not argue that in any case, rather he argues that evil signifies a privation in being. For a man not to be able to fly is not 'evil', but for a man to be born blind is, as the gift of sight constitues part of his nature. Thus in the passage cited in the discussion on the problem of evil, Aquinas states his view:
"God and nature and any other agent make what is best in the whole, but not what is best in every single part, except in order to the whole, as was said above (47, 2). And the whole itself, which is the universe of creatures, is all the better and more perfect if some things in it can fail in goodness, and do sometimes fail, God not preventing this. This happens, firstly, because "it belongs to Providence not to destroy, but to save nature," as Dionysius says (Div. Nom. iv); but it belongs to nature that what may fail should sometimes fail; secondly, because, as Augustine says (Enchir. 11), "God is so powerful that He can even make good out of evil." Hence many good things would be taken away if God permitted no evil to exist; for fire would not be generated if air was not corrupted, nor would the life of a lion be preserved unless the ass were killed. Neither would avenging justice nor the patience of a sufferer be praised if there were no injustice." (ST 1, 48, 2, rep to obj. 3)
For Aquinas then, such evils as cancer, whilst causing untold pain and suffering for the victim and those close to him, from the point of view of the ultimate perfection of the universal order, are not 'evil' in any meaningful sense, on the contrary, they themselves can contribute to this ultimate perfection by, for example, being the catalyst for someone to display great patience in their suffering, for another to visit the sick person in hospital and so forth.
Now, Aquinas is a theologian I very much admire, but in this instance I simply cannot agree with him. Does not Aquinas' rationalization of evil as a constituent part of a perfect cosmic ordering fall prey to Ivan Karamazov's argument against God? As D.B. Hart points out in The Doors of the Sea: Dostoyevsky's Christian genius lies not in the perception that the suffering and death in the universe is not morally intelligible but that it would be far worse if it were!
Aquinas' theology was forged to a large extent in the battle against Manichaeism which had reared its ugly head in the heresy of the Cathars. However, whilst it was entirely necessary for Aquinas to do battle on behalf of the doctrine that God's creation is good, it may be the case that in defending it, he underplayed the truth from which the Cathar heresy was a deviation: heresy being an overemphasis on one aspect of a truth.
It is not difficult to affirm Creation's goodness. One experiences countless instances of it in nature: a glorious sunset, a peaceful sea, the majestic flight of an eagle (as you can probably tell, I'm no poet). But it is far less easy to affirm it when one sees, for example, a young mother's body ravaged by cancer: I simply cannot accept that it is entirely natural and part of God's good creation that this should be the case. I believe that a stress on the goodness of creation whilst recognising said creation's fallen nature is absolutely necessary to avoid the Scylla of a cosmic order which entails suffering and death for its ultimate perfection and the Charybdis of Manichaeism.
As regards the question of how all this relates to evolution, it might be said that the fall need not have been an actual, temporal event but a 'mythological' expression for what we recognise to be creation's bondage. Thus whilst there may never have been a literal, 'golden age', the story of the Fall symbolises a cosmic catastrophe that has brought creation to its knees. Thus in Scripture, the enmity which exists in the animal kingdom is not what God intended and the Prophet Isaiah's eschatological vision of nature's redemption involves the cow and the bear grazing together and the lion eating straw with the ox. (Is 11:7-8) Man's redemption has ontological consequences for the whole of creation - as he will once again rule over nature without enmity either between himself and the animal kingdom or within the animal kingdom itself. A "cosmic fall" calls for a "Cosmic Christ" to redeem us. But even here the notion of a literal fall does not need to be discarded quite so easily as the fall of man could have occurred in the context of an already disordered creation (due to the rupture of sin into creation with the rebellion of the angels).
And before it is objected that this is simply a return to a mythological mindset we have long since left behind, the notion that animal predation is not 'natural' was held by none other than C.S. Lewis who associated it with the ancient Satanic rebellion in his book, The Problem of Pain. Lewis is especially interesting in this context because he saw there really was a problem with animal suffering. Again, Aquinas on this score, was unfortunately in tune with his age and saw no real issue with the suffering of animals, for they were merely dumb brutes, devoid of reason and placed on earth for the use of humans. Lewis also ties this in with the notion that humanity may have had a redemptive role to play in "subduing" nature and restoring its original order. Of course, the fall of man can only have exacerbated this problem.
I think it is also important to point out that the view of a Satanic distortion of nature and its processes is not necessarily inconsistent with a Thomist position. As E.L. Mascall (an Anglo-Catholic thomist) points out:
"Insofar as the evolutionary process may have been distorted before the advent of man, it is reasonable to explain this distortion by the common Christian doctrine that one of the functions which God has committed to the angels is the supervision of the lower creation, so that the defection of certain of the angels has had as one of its consequences a disorganization of the material world and the dislocation of its functions." (quoted in Andrew Linzey's Animal Theology). Aquinas held that creation was chiefly governed by angels.
Modern philosophers such as Alvin Platinga also subscribe to this view so one can see that it is not the sole preserve of "fundamentalists".
As I remarked in my post on evolution, the acceptance that God's will for creation includes predation, suffering and death leaves us with a very strange God indeed and one that will inevitably tie us up in theodicies that ought to leave us cold.
In an age where there are abundant calls for theology to shed its "false humility", to no longer let itself be cowered into proclaiming only what is deemed acceptable to secular reason, it may be time to bring the notion of a "cosmic fall" back.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Is Kierkegaard's view of faith "irrationalist"?
Before looking at Kierkegaard’s view of faith I feel it is necessary to point out that the question of what view exactly should be attributed to Kierkegaard becomes complicated when one considers his use of pseudonyms. I cannot proceed to delve deep into this discussion but throughout I will honour Kierkegaard’s wish that when writing about his works people should refer to the pseudonym they were attributed to. Thus it may be said that the following is a discussion of a view of faith which can be found in Kierkegaard’s writings, with there being a strong enough trajectory in a certain direction for it to be permissible to speak of a unified view of faith. The view most commonly attributed to Kierkegaard is that of the necessity of a “leap of faith”. However, it is in fact the case that these words never appear in the original Danish transcripts. It would be better to characterise his view as that of a leap into faith. A venture was necessary to move from the ethical realm to the religious realm, just as it is necessary in the move from the aesthetic sphere to that of the ethical. Kierkegaard was convinced that Reason could not lead one to faith, and in fact it at times appears that he felt it was an active impediment to becoming a Christian. He spoke as if it were necessary to protect Christianity from any proofs of the existence of God or the divinity of Christ. Such ‘proofs’, he felt, were an absurdity.
In Practice in Christianity Anti-Climacus speaks of an “infinite qualitative difference” between God and man. Due to this, the very idea of Jesus Christ, the God-man can only provoke offence. To man’s finite reason the very idea is nothing but an absurdity and the only way to get around the offence is to believe. Anti-Climacus thus rails against all so-called proofs for Christianity such as those from history, as if the past 1800 years (at the time of writing) had somehow made more plausible the claims of Christianity. Thus in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript Climacus takes seriously Lessing’s assertion that contingent historical truths can never become a demonstration of eternal truths of reason, an assertion Christian apologists are usually engaged in attempting to refute.
For Kierkegaard these arguments against reasoned proposals for the faith were an element in his artillery against the state of affairs in ‘Christendom’ where it was assumed that everyone was a Christian. The notion of becoming contemporaneous with Christ appears in this context. What this means is that it was no easier for the apostles to believe than it is for us now. History as such does not really play a part in the fruition of faith; we must become contemporaneous with Christ as the apostles were in order to respond to Christ’s call with infinite passion whether that is faith or offence. The possibility of offence is one which Kierkegaard time and time brings attention to, being a Christian (that is, to have faith) is not a matter of simply being a good citizen who goes to Church on Sundays. On the contrary, as Anti-Climacus puts it, “to be a Christian is to mean…to human eyes, to be the abased one, that is to mean suffering every possible evil”.
Kierkegaard expresses the notion of faith requiring “objective uncertainty” in the following evocative passage by Johannes Climacus: “If I wish to preserve myself in faith I must constantly be intent upon holding fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy fathoms of water, still preserving my faith.” In this sense Kierkegaard’s writings are certainly of a fideistic nature but this was not an unsophisticated fideism which simply held that one believe whatever one wants to, rather it relied on the priority of a passionate personal commitment over a detached and supposedly objective inquiry into the truth. Hence Johannes Climacus’ dictum that “Truth is subjectivity”. This should not be misinterpreted to mean that truth is simply whatever one wishes it to be and that the objective truth of Christianity is unimportant, but that to assent to the doctrines of Christianity because one feels that they have been adequately demonstrated by rational methods is to lose the passionate element in faith which is a necessity in making it a living faith.
However, how far exactly this view pertains to Kierkegaard’s own is difficult to ascertain for Johannes Climacus states that he is not a Christian and so his views may not equate entirely with those Kierkegaard held. However, the conviction that faith is a passion and that objective certainty is in some ways a hindrance to the possibility of faith is one that appears frequently in Kierkegaard’s work and there is no doubt that he held it himself in some way, even if in not quite so radical a fashion as Johannes Climacus. It remains to be said that Kierkegaard’s emphasis on paradox and how Christianity must appear absurd to a human perspective has a noble ancestry. St. Paul essentially expresses the same idea when he speaks of preaching the crucified Christ for salvation as “folly” and a “stumbling block.”
Since I've written a bit about Newman's views of the relations between faith and reason I thought I'd elaborate a little on their convergences (in that both were thinkers passionately concerned with the subjective appropriation of the Christian faith) and also their differences.
Newman was unhappy with the torpid state of the Church and felt that a mere moralism was stifling a vibrant and living faith. Likewise Kierkegaard too, had to contend with forces which he felt were opposed to genuine Christian faith, in his case the philosophy of Hegel and the deleterious effects it had on a doctrine of the individual Christian believer standing before God, instead subsuming said individual within an all-encompassing system. The attack Kierkegaard directed at “the present age” which “relaxes temporarily in complete indolence” bares similarities with Newman’s struggles against an officially Christian society which had practically speaking ceased to be so. The two thinkers shared similar historical circumstances in that they were members of a society with an established Church where being a Christian was a matter of course. Both Kierkegaard and Newman were ‘subjective’ thinkers, concerned that individuals should be aware of what the demands of Christianity entail and thus they fought against the debilitating effects of a nominal Christianity. This meant in their eyes, something quite different from being merely a good citizen, a gentlemen.
They can also be said to be somewhat similar in their critique of rationalism in theology and any claims of reason to be the sole arbiter of truth. Here, however, it is clear that Newman did not develop a polemic against reason as vehement as that of Kierkegaard. Newman’s desire was to demonstrate that faith and reason do not conflict and that reason ought not to be conceived in a narrow sense as philosophers such as Locke and Hume had done. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, seems as times to be arguing for the complete impotence of reason and an anti-intellectualist stance. This view of Kierkegaard is perhaps too superficial although it is entirely understandable why someone should arrive at it. I believe, however, that Kierkegaard’s primary concern was to maintain the element of passion in faith, it was not an attack on reason per se. It is not irrational if reason assents to its limits and there is no question of an arbitrary imposition of limits on reason. If this is the case then Kierkegaard can simply be seen to be accepting man’s finite nature which includes the use of reason. It nevertheless remains true that Newman appears to have had a higher regard for the capabilities of reason in the religious sphere than did Kierkegaard. Neither thinker, however, would have been out of place in today’s philosophical milieu. It might be questioned, however, whether Kierkegaard's particular polemic against reason is a consequence of remaining captive to a Kantian conception of it. That reason is finite no one would wish to dispute but that it cannot raise itself to knowledge of God's existence is another matter entirely and as I have argued elsewhere on the site, coming to know God's existence is not an instance of 'onto-theology' and reason's idolatrous grasping at the divine.
One area in which they differ is over the notion of the necessity of a “leap” in coming to know religious truths. Kierkegaard’s temperament was often shaped by a stark either/or and so there is a greater stress on the element of decision in the religious as well as ethical life (e.g. “Now the issue is: will you be offended or will you believe.”). Newman, on the other hand, was more disposed to favour an element of gradation in the coming to fruition of faith. It does not happen ‘all at once’, as the result of a decisive leap from the individual, but is the coming together of various different factors which contribute to the appearance of faith, as we have seen in the discussion of the illative sense. Nicholas Lash aptly sums up this view with his remark that “Newman never ‘leapt’ anywhere in his life”.
There are also differences in the two thinkers views on what sort of difference Christian faith has to someone’s life. Whilst both maintained that it would involve a radical transformation of the person, Kierkegaard stressed that becoming a Christian entails a wholly qualitative change, whereas Newman felt that it required a dramatic building upon the natural religious sensibility of the human person. Again the notion of a leap comes into play here; Kierkegaard affirms its necessity whereas Newman considers that “it has been the plan of Divine Providence to ground what is good and true in religion and morals, on the basis of our good natural feelings.” Newman would thus have no qualms over the Thomist axiom that "grace does not destroy nature but perfects it." Kierkegaard, on the other hand, wishes to emphasise the more dramatic aspects of Christianity's breaking into the world, disrupting the categories of human reasoning and overturning all our expectations. And these two different emphases, I suppose, must forever remain in tension within theology.
In Practice in Christianity Anti-Climacus speaks of an “infinite qualitative difference” between God and man. Due to this, the very idea of Jesus Christ, the God-man can only provoke offence. To man’s finite reason the very idea is nothing but an absurdity and the only way to get around the offence is to believe. Anti-Climacus thus rails against all so-called proofs for Christianity such as those from history, as if the past 1800 years (at the time of writing) had somehow made more plausible the claims of Christianity. Thus in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript Climacus takes seriously Lessing’s assertion that contingent historical truths can never become a demonstration of eternal truths of reason, an assertion Christian apologists are usually engaged in attempting to refute.
For Kierkegaard these arguments against reasoned proposals for the faith were an element in his artillery against the state of affairs in ‘Christendom’ where it was assumed that everyone was a Christian. The notion of becoming contemporaneous with Christ appears in this context. What this means is that it was no easier for the apostles to believe than it is for us now. History as such does not really play a part in the fruition of faith; we must become contemporaneous with Christ as the apostles were in order to respond to Christ’s call with infinite passion whether that is faith or offence. The possibility of offence is one which Kierkegaard time and time brings attention to, being a Christian (that is, to have faith) is not a matter of simply being a good citizen who goes to Church on Sundays. On the contrary, as Anti-Climacus puts it, “to be a Christian is to mean…to human eyes, to be the abased one, that is to mean suffering every possible evil”.
Kierkegaard expresses the notion of faith requiring “objective uncertainty” in the following evocative passage by Johannes Climacus: “If I wish to preserve myself in faith I must constantly be intent upon holding fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy fathoms of water, still preserving my faith.” In this sense Kierkegaard’s writings are certainly of a fideistic nature but this was not an unsophisticated fideism which simply held that one believe whatever one wants to, rather it relied on the priority of a passionate personal commitment over a detached and supposedly objective inquiry into the truth. Hence Johannes Climacus’ dictum that “Truth is subjectivity”. This should not be misinterpreted to mean that truth is simply whatever one wishes it to be and that the objective truth of Christianity is unimportant, but that to assent to the doctrines of Christianity because one feels that they have been adequately demonstrated by rational methods is to lose the passionate element in faith which is a necessity in making it a living faith.
However, how far exactly this view pertains to Kierkegaard’s own is difficult to ascertain for Johannes Climacus states that he is not a Christian and so his views may not equate entirely with those Kierkegaard held. However, the conviction that faith is a passion and that objective certainty is in some ways a hindrance to the possibility of faith is one that appears frequently in Kierkegaard’s work and there is no doubt that he held it himself in some way, even if in not quite so radical a fashion as Johannes Climacus. It remains to be said that Kierkegaard’s emphasis on paradox and how Christianity must appear absurd to a human perspective has a noble ancestry. St. Paul essentially expresses the same idea when he speaks of preaching the crucified Christ for salvation as “folly” and a “stumbling block.”
Since I've written a bit about Newman's views of the relations between faith and reason I thought I'd elaborate a little on their convergences (in that both were thinkers passionately concerned with the subjective appropriation of the Christian faith) and also their differences.
Newman was unhappy with the torpid state of the Church and felt that a mere moralism was stifling a vibrant and living faith. Likewise Kierkegaard too, had to contend with forces which he felt were opposed to genuine Christian faith, in his case the philosophy of Hegel and the deleterious effects it had on a doctrine of the individual Christian believer standing before God, instead subsuming said individual within an all-encompassing system. The attack Kierkegaard directed at “the present age” which “relaxes temporarily in complete indolence” bares similarities with Newman’s struggles against an officially Christian society which had practically speaking ceased to be so. The two thinkers shared similar historical circumstances in that they were members of a society with an established Church where being a Christian was a matter of course. Both Kierkegaard and Newman were ‘subjective’ thinkers, concerned that individuals should be aware of what the demands of Christianity entail and thus they fought against the debilitating effects of a nominal Christianity. This meant in their eyes, something quite different from being merely a good citizen, a gentlemen.
They can also be said to be somewhat similar in their critique of rationalism in theology and any claims of reason to be the sole arbiter of truth. Here, however, it is clear that Newman did not develop a polemic against reason as vehement as that of Kierkegaard. Newman’s desire was to demonstrate that faith and reason do not conflict and that reason ought not to be conceived in a narrow sense as philosophers such as Locke and Hume had done. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, seems as times to be arguing for the complete impotence of reason and an anti-intellectualist stance. This view of Kierkegaard is perhaps too superficial although it is entirely understandable why someone should arrive at it. I believe, however, that Kierkegaard’s primary concern was to maintain the element of passion in faith, it was not an attack on reason per se. It is not irrational if reason assents to its limits and there is no question of an arbitrary imposition of limits on reason. If this is the case then Kierkegaard can simply be seen to be accepting man’s finite nature which includes the use of reason. It nevertheless remains true that Newman appears to have had a higher regard for the capabilities of reason in the religious sphere than did Kierkegaard. Neither thinker, however, would have been out of place in today’s philosophical milieu. It might be questioned, however, whether Kierkegaard's particular polemic against reason is a consequence of remaining captive to a Kantian conception of it. That reason is finite no one would wish to dispute but that it cannot raise itself to knowledge of God's existence is another matter entirely and as I have argued elsewhere on the site, coming to know God's existence is not an instance of 'onto-theology' and reason's idolatrous grasping at the divine.
One area in which they differ is over the notion of the necessity of a “leap” in coming to know religious truths. Kierkegaard’s temperament was often shaped by a stark either/or and so there is a greater stress on the element of decision in the religious as well as ethical life (e.g. “Now the issue is: will you be offended or will you believe.”). Newman, on the other hand, was more disposed to favour an element of gradation in the coming to fruition of faith. It does not happen ‘all at once’, as the result of a decisive leap from the individual, but is the coming together of various different factors which contribute to the appearance of faith, as we have seen in the discussion of the illative sense. Nicholas Lash aptly sums up this view with his remark that “Newman never ‘leapt’ anywhere in his life”.
There are also differences in the two thinkers views on what sort of difference Christian faith has to someone’s life. Whilst both maintained that it would involve a radical transformation of the person, Kierkegaard stressed that becoming a Christian entails a wholly qualitative change, whereas Newman felt that it required a dramatic building upon the natural religious sensibility of the human person. Again the notion of a leap comes into play here; Kierkegaard affirms its necessity whereas Newman considers that “it has been the plan of Divine Providence to ground what is good and true in religion and morals, on the basis of our good natural feelings.” Newman would thus have no qualms over the Thomist axiom that "grace does not destroy nature but perfects it." Kierkegaard, on the other hand, wishes to emphasise the more dramatic aspects of Christianity's breaking into the world, disrupting the categories of human reasoning and overturning all our expectations. And these two different emphases, I suppose, must forever remain in tension within theology.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Newman on Faith and Reason
Cynthia Nielson has written on Michael Polanyi's notion of "tacit knowledge". Polanyi held that all knowledge is an affair of the whole person and that even in the sphere of natural science all rational knowledge includes certain faith based elements. I was struck by the parallels between Polanyi's "tacit knowledge" and Newman's "illative sense" which he employs in the specifically theological context of how people come to know God.
Newman devoted a great deal of effort to resolving the question of faith’s relation to reason. This was a particularly acute issue in his time with the growing rise of sceptical attitudes towards religion. In particular he wished to challenge the view of reason maintained by the British empiricist tradition that placed it squarely within a rationalist and empirical context. Newman felt Locke in particular had simply misrepresented the facts of experience in order to make them fit into his arbitrary theory. Newman wanted to show his contemporaries that faith and reason do not conflict but also that reason (conceived in a narrow rationalistic sense) cannot be seen as being above faith and the arbiter of all truth. Instead he offers the following statement: “Reason need not be the origin of Faith, as Faith exists in the very persons believing, though it does test and verify it." This follows in the tradition of Anselm’s “faith seeking understanding.” Reason has a role to play but faith is in no way subordinate to it, in fact it has primacy.
Newman’s view of faith’s assent to the truths of Christianity was influenced by the work of Bishop Butler and his insistence on taking the mind in “the particular constitution of our actual human nature”. Newman was interested in how people actually come to hold certain beliefs, not some theory which has little to do with reality. He did not see much value in syllogistic proofs for the existence of God, for he was well aware that the average person in the pew simply does not come to believe in such a manner. He expressed his incredulity at the thought of anyone coming to faith through logical argumentation in the following manner: “first shoot round corners, and you may not despair of converting by a syllogism.” For the vast majority of people faith is a far less clear-cut affair. Nevertheless, Newman could not therefore conclude that most Christians do not actually have faith but are rather merely prey to superstition: “If children, if the poor, if the busy can have true faith, yet cannot weigh evidence, evidence is not the simple foundation on which faith is built”.
Newman’s theory was that people came to believe for various different reasons, any one of which taken separately would not suffice to establish faith, but taken as a whole were enough to propel someone towards faith. If one reflects on one’s own faith, it becomes clear that this idea will often accord with one’s own experience – it is difficult to say just why one believes exactly, for there exist a whole host of ‘lesser’ reasons. Yet the assent cannot be therefore dismissed as irrational. As Newman states: "Assent in reasonings not demonstrative is too widely recognized an act to be irrational". Newman thus sees faith as rationally grounded (that is to say, it is not simply a purely volitional act), but not a wholly rationalist enterprise if that is taken to mean the intellect’s assent to doctrinal propositions. Faith must thus be seen as a ‘venture’, for reason alone cannot propel the person towards Christianity. The certainty of faith cannot annul the element of risk inherent in the act of faith. Newman called the coming together of various strands of argument to create certitude the “illative sense”. This faculty of the reason works in a spontaneous manner and so it may seem like there is no truly reasoned process going on, it is ‘unconscious’. Newman himself puts it this way: “Faith is the simple lifting of the mind to the Unseen God, without conscious reasoning or formal argument.” One could almost say that Newman’s work on faith and reason is like an extended discussion of Pascal’s saying that “the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.” This does not mean that faith is irrational, merely that ‘reason’ must be interpreted in a wider sense than ‘rationality’. Newman also stressed the role of conscience in faith and believed that conscience provided the greatest ‘proof’ for God’s existence. This is so because conscience automatically looks to something above itself for its sanction. This ‘something higher’ is a moral law-giver ultimately identified as God.
Newman’s insistence that the act of faith was an affair of the whole person, heart as well as mind, was an impetus towards making faith a truly life-changing affair and constitutive of one’s actions. Newman makes this clear in his discussion of the ‘Spiritual mind’. The person who has truly made the Christian faith his own will be entirely transformed; he will be made in the form of Christ so to speak. This acting Christianly is something quite different from those with a ‘religious’ attitude that may well be full of civic virtue. Newman does not deny that such people do much that is good and yet this obedience “yet hardly deserve[s] the title of Christian.” Christian faith is demanding, it requires “an utter and absolute captivity of [one’s] will to His will.”
Newman devoted a great deal of effort to resolving the question of faith’s relation to reason. This was a particularly acute issue in his time with the growing rise of sceptical attitudes towards religion. In particular he wished to challenge the view of reason maintained by the British empiricist tradition that placed it squarely within a rationalist and empirical context. Newman felt Locke in particular had simply misrepresented the facts of experience in order to make them fit into his arbitrary theory. Newman wanted to show his contemporaries that faith and reason do not conflict but also that reason (conceived in a narrow rationalistic sense) cannot be seen as being above faith and the arbiter of all truth. Instead he offers the following statement: “Reason need not be the origin of Faith, as Faith exists in the very persons believing, though it does test and verify it." This follows in the tradition of Anselm’s “faith seeking understanding.” Reason has a role to play but faith is in no way subordinate to it, in fact it has primacy.
Newman’s view of faith’s assent to the truths of Christianity was influenced by the work of Bishop Butler and his insistence on taking the mind in “the particular constitution of our actual human nature”. Newman was interested in how people actually come to hold certain beliefs, not some theory which has little to do with reality. He did not see much value in syllogistic proofs for the existence of God, for he was well aware that the average person in the pew simply does not come to believe in such a manner. He expressed his incredulity at the thought of anyone coming to faith through logical argumentation in the following manner: “first shoot round corners, and you may not despair of converting by a syllogism.” For the vast majority of people faith is a far less clear-cut affair. Nevertheless, Newman could not therefore conclude that most Christians do not actually have faith but are rather merely prey to superstition: “If children, if the poor, if the busy can have true faith, yet cannot weigh evidence, evidence is not the simple foundation on which faith is built”.
Newman’s theory was that people came to believe for various different reasons, any one of which taken separately would not suffice to establish faith, but taken as a whole were enough to propel someone towards faith. If one reflects on one’s own faith, it becomes clear that this idea will often accord with one’s own experience – it is difficult to say just why one believes exactly, for there exist a whole host of ‘lesser’ reasons. Yet the assent cannot be therefore dismissed as irrational. As Newman states: "Assent in reasonings not demonstrative is too widely recognized an act to be irrational". Newman thus sees faith as rationally grounded (that is to say, it is not simply a purely volitional act), but not a wholly rationalist enterprise if that is taken to mean the intellect’s assent to doctrinal propositions. Faith must thus be seen as a ‘venture’, for reason alone cannot propel the person towards Christianity. The certainty of faith cannot annul the element of risk inherent in the act of faith. Newman called the coming together of various strands of argument to create certitude the “illative sense”. This faculty of the reason works in a spontaneous manner and so it may seem like there is no truly reasoned process going on, it is ‘unconscious’. Newman himself puts it this way: “Faith is the simple lifting of the mind to the Unseen God, without conscious reasoning or formal argument.” One could almost say that Newman’s work on faith and reason is like an extended discussion of Pascal’s saying that “the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.” This does not mean that faith is irrational, merely that ‘reason’ must be interpreted in a wider sense than ‘rationality’. Newman also stressed the role of conscience in faith and believed that conscience provided the greatest ‘proof’ for God’s existence. This is so because conscience automatically looks to something above itself for its sanction. This ‘something higher’ is a moral law-giver ultimately identified as God.
Newman’s insistence that the act of faith was an affair of the whole person, heart as well as mind, was an impetus towards making faith a truly life-changing affair and constitutive of one’s actions. Newman makes this clear in his discussion of the ‘Spiritual mind’. The person who has truly made the Christian faith his own will be entirely transformed; he will be made in the form of Christ so to speak. This acting Christianly is something quite different from those with a ‘religious’ attitude that may well be full of civic virtue. Newman does not deny that such people do much that is good and yet this obedience “yet hardly deserve[s] the title of Christian.” Christian faith is demanding, it requires “an utter and absolute captivity of [one’s] will to His will.”
Sunday, September 2, 2007
The Problem with Evolution
Over at Life's Paradox, Eric Lee has written about the problem with "creationism". I wholly concur with him and the fundamentalist obsession with the literal interpretation of Genesis is both a modern phenomenon and completely lacking an awareness of what precisely is essential to Christianity. The frequent wrangling over this issue does not serve the best interests of the Christian faith and can only lead to further rancour and also ridiculing of Christianity, given that many (even intelligent) people's knowledge of the Christian faith consists almost exclusively in the "creationist creed", which Eric helpfully sums up in the following pithy manner:
Jesus Christ — the Word made flesh — came into this world, was crucified under Pontius Pilate, rose again after three days so that we could all know that the world was created in six ‘literal’ days.
That said, I believe there is a conflict between evolutionary theory and Christianity and I'm not really sure that this conflict ought only to be attributed to the ultra-darwinistic versions. Of course, the interpretation of Genesis in literal terms misses the point and one can refer to St. Augustine ad nauseum to show that such literal interpretations were not even the standard back in his day.
Nevertheless, Christian critics of evolution have had more concerns with it than simply the damage it does to the idea of "special creation". The principle problem it presents is the challenge to the Christian idea of a God who is Love. Whilst "the problem of evil" is typically dealt with through recourse to the "free will" defence, the 'evil' which evolution seems to entail cannot be dealt with in a similar fashion. In presenting man as the product of a long line of evolution from lower to higher Darwin's work undermines the entire Christian drama of Creation, Fall and the need for Redemption. How does the Pauline notion of the entry of death into the world through sin fit into all this?
Given the evil that appears inherent when one considers "nature red in tooth and claw", how are we to explain that the Triune God chose such a route to arrive at mankind? It is of course good theology to hold that God providentially causes good to arise from evil, but it is absolutely prohibited to say that God brings about good explicitly through evil. I suppose it may be answered that attributing 'evil' to a 'natural' process such as evolution is simply to anthropomorphise the issue but I cannot view such a world with equanimity and declare that it is "very good". David B. Hart also points out in The Doors of the Sea that the New Testament does not really make any fine distinctions between 'moral' evil and 'natural' evil. The Fall cannot, however, be brought in as a way to explain this evil if the scientific consensus regarding evolution is accepted. I am thus becoming less and less inclined to accept any glib reconciliations between science and faith regarding evolution. But where does one go from here? Is the only possible route to become a fundamentalist creationist? They make be wrong over the question of Genesis, but they are surely right regarding the question of the intrustion of death into creation, it cannot have been providentially assigned by God and if it was, what kind of God are we dealing with here?
Interestingly, John Milbank remarks in a interview that:
I think one thing that I don’t say in Theology and Social Theory very clearly is that I definitely line up with the die-hards who think that death comes into the world after the fall. And I agree with the nut cases who say, “If you abandon that, you abandon Christianity.” In fact, if you abandon that, then Christianity becomes really a rather nasty sort of doctrine in some ways that is going to get into all sorts of peculiar theodicies and so forth.
But just how do sophisticated theologians like Hart and Milbank reconcile the notion that death is inextricably linked to sin with the idea of evolution? I suppose one way would be to adopt Karl Rahner's position that 'death' as understood in the New Testament and 'natural death' should be differentiated. That is to say, whilst before the fall death would have existed in any case but presumably as a peaceful transition into eternity, what we know associate with death - fear, anxiety, despair, meaninglessness - are consequences of sin. In fact, Milbank intimates this in his forewood to James K. A. Smith's Introduction to Radical Orthodoxy. But that still leaves us with the problem of evolution as a whole before the advent of man. I read somewhere that Conor Cunningham was writing a book on Evolution but I've not seen any sign of it and I'm not sure it would address these issues in any case.
To sum up, I think all-to-easy concilations between evolution and Christianity need to be scrutinized. Is it possible to reconcile the idea of an originally good creation with the waste and downright cruelty that forms an intrinsic part of the evolutionary process?
Jesus Christ — the Word made flesh — came into this world, was crucified under Pontius Pilate, rose again after three days so that we could all know that the world was created in six ‘literal’ days.
That said, I believe there is a conflict between evolutionary theory and Christianity and I'm not really sure that this conflict ought only to be attributed to the ultra-darwinistic versions. Of course, the interpretation of Genesis in literal terms misses the point and one can refer to St. Augustine ad nauseum to show that such literal interpretations were not even the standard back in his day.
Nevertheless, Christian critics of evolution have had more concerns with it than simply the damage it does to the idea of "special creation". The principle problem it presents is the challenge to the Christian idea of a God who is Love. Whilst "the problem of evil" is typically dealt with through recourse to the "free will" defence, the 'evil' which evolution seems to entail cannot be dealt with in a similar fashion. In presenting man as the product of a long line of evolution from lower to higher Darwin's work undermines the entire Christian drama of Creation, Fall and the need for Redemption. How does the Pauline notion of the entry of death into the world through sin fit into all this?
Given the evil that appears inherent when one considers "nature red in tooth and claw", how are we to explain that the Triune God chose such a route to arrive at mankind? It is of course good theology to hold that God providentially causes good to arise from evil, but it is absolutely prohibited to say that God brings about good explicitly through evil. I suppose it may be answered that attributing 'evil' to a 'natural' process such as evolution is simply to anthropomorphise the issue but I cannot view such a world with equanimity and declare that it is "very good". David B. Hart also points out in The Doors of the Sea that the New Testament does not really make any fine distinctions between 'moral' evil and 'natural' evil. The Fall cannot, however, be brought in as a way to explain this evil if the scientific consensus regarding evolution is accepted. I am thus becoming less and less inclined to accept any glib reconciliations between science and faith regarding evolution. But where does one go from here? Is the only possible route to become a fundamentalist creationist? They make be wrong over the question of Genesis, but they are surely right regarding the question of the intrustion of death into creation, it cannot have been providentially assigned by God and if it was, what kind of God are we dealing with here?
Interestingly, John Milbank remarks in a interview that:
I think one thing that I don’t say in Theology and Social Theory very clearly is that I definitely line up with the die-hards who think that death comes into the world after the fall. And I agree with the nut cases who say, “If you abandon that, you abandon Christianity.” In fact, if you abandon that, then Christianity becomes really a rather nasty sort of doctrine in some ways that is going to get into all sorts of peculiar theodicies and so forth.
But just how do sophisticated theologians like Hart and Milbank reconcile the notion that death is inextricably linked to sin with the idea of evolution? I suppose one way would be to adopt Karl Rahner's position that 'death' as understood in the New Testament and 'natural death' should be differentiated. That is to say, whilst before the fall death would have existed in any case but presumably as a peaceful transition into eternity, what we know associate with death - fear, anxiety, despair, meaninglessness - are consequences of sin. In fact, Milbank intimates this in his forewood to James K. A. Smith's Introduction to Radical Orthodoxy. But that still leaves us with the problem of evolution as a whole before the advent of man. I read somewhere that Conor Cunningham was writing a book on Evolution but I've not seen any sign of it and I'm not sure it would address these issues in any case.
To sum up, I think all-to-easy concilations between evolution and Christianity need to be scrutinized. Is it possible to reconcile the idea of an originally good creation with the waste and downright cruelty that forms an intrinsic part of the evolutionary process?
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