In Plato’s dialogue Cratylus, Socrates gives us one of Heraclitus’s most important ideas:

You cannot step twice into the same stream.

For Heraclitus, this idea epitomized his doctrine of flux — everything is constantly changing.¹ Though it may seem as if you are stepping into the same stream a second time, so much has changed since you last stepped into it — you are feeling different water molecules, there are microscopic shifts in sediment, the temperature has changed by a thousandth of a degree, etc.

The opening poem of Ecclesiastes (1.2–12), however, offers a different view. Like Heraclitus, the author understands the world to be constantly changing, but that change is cyclical — eventually the stream will be the same again and it might be possible to step into that same stream a second time. To illustrate this, Ecclesiastes also uses imagery that depicts the natural world: sun, wind, flowing water. Each of these elements reaches its destination and then returns back again to its source. For example, look at v. 6:

The wind blows to the south,
and goes around to the north;
round and round goes the wind,
and on its circuits the wind returns.²

Likewise, the sun returns to its start (v. 5); the streams continue to flow, and, because the ocean never seems to have its fill, the streams must be returning to their source (v. 7). So, we can see that things are changing, but they eventually return back to their original state.

How can we explain this return back to their original state? If we look at the second law of thermodynamics, we understand that an unmaintained system will eventually devolve into chaos or disorder — it’s entropy increases.³ Therefore, if the natural world is left to its own devices, if it is not maintained, entropy increases, and the world devolves into disorder and chaos.

But Ecclesiastes tells us that this change is cyclical; eventually, things will again be just as they are now — “the Earth remains forever” (v. 4). How is this possible? The answer is obvious: there must be something maintaining the system — i.e., God.

In a way, this is a wonderful picture of the Gospel. While the world is in a constant state of flux and our lives may feel like they are devolving into a state of chaos and disorder, in fact the world and everything in it is being constantly maintained by the divine hand of God.

Footnotes

1. Note that Plato (via Socrates) will eventually dismantle this idea.
2. I wonder if the author may have considered the Earth to be spherical. How does this “round and round” action happen exactly? Likewise, does the author understand the water cycle (see v. 7)?
3. Entropy is the measure of disorder within a system.

During our teacher in-service last week, Dr. Stephen Livingston, our Head of School, asked the faculty this question: “Why are Christian schools afraid of academic greatness?”

The question assumes, of course, that Christian schools do indeed possess such a fear. I think that Mark Noll’s Scandal of the Evangelical Mind as well as numerous observations and studies on the nature of Christian education (specifically, the desire of the community to shelter its students from alternative points-of-view while inculcating them into their own community) point to the dearth of top-notch intellectualism in Christian schools, especially those of an evangelical bent.¹

So, let’s accept Dr. Livingston’s premise and move on.²

To understand why Christian schools might be afraid of academic greatness, I think it’s necessary to reach into the collective psyche of the American evangelical movement and understand the divide between Protestants and Catholics.

I didn’t grow up in church, but I have learned over the last few years that many Protestant groups have a very negative opinion of Catholicism — some even deny that Roman Catholicism is “Christianity.” I wonder if this was really the intent of the reformers. Surely if we had Martin Luther here today, we’d be able to find some common ground between him and the Catholic church. Right?

This anti-Catholic sentiment has caused them to ignore a principle made famous by Augustine and then later by Thomas Aquinas:

All truth is God’s truth.

Whatever is true in the world, points to God. The source of that truth doesn’t matter — even if the devil speaks truth, it is still the truth.

After Dr. Livingston asked his question, I stood up and said something along these lines (I’m paraphrasing here):

I believe that many Christian schools fear academic greatness because they lack faith in the Truth. Many of these groups have built up walls of doctrine and dogma and worry that they are not really correct; they worry that if they allow anyone to shed light on it, it will be destroyed. In short, they fear the truth.

In reality, all truth is God’s truth — St. Augustine told us that some 1500 years ago. The source doesn’t matter. It could be the Bible or the rap lyrics of Eminem. If truth is present, then it points to God and can enhance our understanding.

We must lay open literature, science, mathematics, the arts, and even the Bible, and allow our students’ eyes to examine them critically and find the truth in them. We must separate the wheat from the chaff and allow untruthful ideas, no matter how closely we wish to cling to them, to be eradicated.

Honestly, if all truth is God’s truth, then we should fear free inquiry neither as students nor as a faculty.³ Such a fear holds a school back from being academically great.

For the record, I don’t intend to use any Marshall Mathers tunes in my class this year.

Ummm…I may have polished that up a bit, but you get the idea, right?

Footnotes

1. Allow me to offer this caveat: I am not indicting all Christian schools. However, the results of Christian fundamentalism have been intellectually disastrous and have left evangelical Christianity on the fringes of the academy — an academy that, at least until the late nineteenth century, evangelical Christianity held in the palm of its hand.
2. If you disagree with the premise, feel free to voice your opinion in the comments below.
3. As Houston Christian High School moves closer to accreditation by the Independent Schools Association of the Southwest (ISAS), the issue of free inquiry has come up frequently. Me? I’m all for it!

The 2010-2011 academic year begins tomorrow for Houston Christian High School (HCHS), which means that I’ll be fairly busy teaching classes. During the course of the school year, I hope to blog quite a bit about my experience for two reasons: new courses and new methods.

New Courses

The first is a course required of all seniors at HCHS called “Forming a Christian Worldview.” This course is an exploration of three major topics: (a) What is religion? What is philosophy? How do they affect us? (b) What is Christianity? (c) What are the similarities and differences between Christianity and other faiths/philosophies? Here is the official course description:

Taking Tertullian’s challenging question (“What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?”) as a cue, students will explore the value of logical, philosophical, and theological thinking and how an understanding of these can significantly affect the production of a personal worldview. Students will begin by asking questions about the nature of religion: What is religion? Where did it come from? Why do humans yearn for a higher power. Then, drawing on nearly two millennia of great Christian thinkers, students will critically examine core Christian categories and doctrines. Students will use these categories to engage key theological, philosophical, and inspirational writings of various schools of thought.

This course will be a change of pace for our students, but I think they’ll enjoy it.

The second class I’m teaching is called “From Achilles to Christ” (a title I stole from Dr. Louis Markos of Houston Baptist University…I hope he doesn’t mind). This course asks students to read classical Greek and  Roman literature and consider (a) what universal truths these westerners had stumbled upon, (b) the nature and importance of myth to the human experience, and (c) why these works and authors were so widely read amongst early Christians.

So, I’ll be blogging about class because I am now teaching something that is really in my field and within the purview of Withering Fig. (You may remember that I taught English last year. I have now switched departments.)

New Methods

Last year, as things drew to a close, I switched one of my classes over to student-centered discussion very similar to Harkness. I did this as sort of a pilot program with one section of junior English in hopes that I’d be able to use it all year with my senior course this year. I feel like things went fairly well, and I learned quite a bit.

The core of Harkness is student-centered discussion of a text — an idea which lends itself very well to seniors discussing world religions and philosophy. Rather than have the teacher lead the discussion or lecture, students are tasked with mining the text for meaning, making connections, etc. No more chalk and talk! The teacher fades into the background as just one participant in the discussion or even as a pure observer.

The hope is that students will develop the study and class skills necessary for success in college. Furthermore, I expect that students will learn how to discuss rather than debate everything — I force them to support their claims with evidence rather than just blurting out assertions.

We’ll see how it goes.

If you’re interested in more of the theory behind what I’m doing with student-centered discussion, check out my previous series: “Colonizing the Student.”

In case you don’t care…

If you really don’t care about what’s going on in my classroom, then feel free to skip these articles. They will all fall under the “Education” category and will be tagged appropriately, so just pay attention to that stuff and you’ll be fine!

However, due to the content of these courses, I really think you might find some of it interesting.

So whatever you wish that others would do to you,
do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.
— Matthew 7.12 (ummm…words of Christ in red)

This verse is so familiar. Long before I was a Christian, I remember learning the Golden Rule in elementary school. Not surprising since the Wikipedia article on “The Golden Rule” shows various formulations of the rule across continents and time — it is not really unique to Christ or Christianity.

Most of us hear this, and consider what Christ is commanding us to do. However, in considering Thomas Merton’s meditations on the nature of hatred in chapter 10 of New Seeds of Contemplation (“A Body of Broken Bones”), a new way of interpreting the Golden Rule strikes me.

Merton argues that hatred for others is really just a manifestation of our own hatred for ourselves. Some realize their shortcomings, and project those shortcomings on to others and then, in an attempt to compete in the human rat race (aka “the bogus world system”), they denigrate those shortcomings in order to raise their own status, in order to make themselves feel better or justified about who/what they are. Others are so disconnected from themselves that they don’t realize that they have shortcomings — but their subconscious knows that something is amiss.

I’m sure Merton may be charged with invoking pop psychology here, but I think he’s on to something.

What if the Golden Rule isn’t so much a rule but, rather, a law of human nature? We could formulate it in this way:

You do unto others,
as you would have them do unto you.

The way that we treat others is a manifestation, a projection of the way that we really feel about ourselves, of the way that we feel we deserve to be treated. If we feel unworthy of love, then we will treat others as though they are unworthy of love; if we feel hatred toward some other person or group, it’s because we feel hatred for ourselves; etc.

You hate and scorn others,
because (you believe) you deserve to be hated and scorned.

You hurt others,
because (you believe) you deserve to be hurt.

You love others,
because (you believe) you deserve to be loved.

Notice that it’s a two-way street — we can do beneficence to others because of our healthy self-image.

If this is the case, if the Golden Rule is really a universal law of human nature, then we have to ask ourselves this: How do we attain a healthy self-image that will allow us to live out the Golden Rule/Law in a positive way (i.e., “love others”)?

Great question. Merton’s response would be to connect with God through contemplation, to deny the false self that you’ve spent your whole life creating in order to discover your true identity in Christ.

Easier said than done…?

]]> http://www.witheringfig.com/ministry/rethinking-the-golden-rule/feed/ 2 http://www.witheringfig.com/ministry/i-am-%e2%88%b4-i-am-selfish-ambition-deadly-reason/ http://www.witheringfig.com/ministry/i-am-%e2%88%b4-i-am-selfish-ambition-deadly-reason/#comments Thu, 05 Aug 2010 15:00:11 +0000 Stephen Hebert http://www.witheringfig.com/?p=1866

I’m re-reading Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation, and, to be quite frank, I am blown away by my own lack of spiritual life and understanding. Allow me to make three brief points inspired by Merton:

I AM ∴ i am

The Source, God, offers Himself to each one of us — a free gift of the divine to our broken humanity, adopting us, giving us sonship (and daughtership!) as heirs to His royal and divine kingdom. Reading Galatians 4:1–7 confirms this for me:

I mean that the heir, as long as he is a child, is no different from a slave,though he is the owner of everything, but he is under guardians and managers until the date set by his father. In the same way we also, when we were children, were enslaved to the elementary principles of the world. But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God. (ESV)

The point is this: I exist and live because He exists and lives. Without his pure personality, I have no personality; without his redemption and adoption of me, I am less than dust.

He is; therefore, I am.

Selfish Ambition

In describing the contemplative life, Merton derides selfish ambition as the contemplative killer. Confession time: so much of what I do, even when it doesn’t seem to be, is done out of selfish ambition. Right now, I’m spending a great deal of time preparing for the classes that I am going to teach this next semester. In and of itself, this is not a bad thing. However, there is a part of me (Calvinists, here’s your Total Depravity!) that desires to do this only in the vain pursuit of approval in my students’ eyes — I want them to believe that I am smart!

If I truly understood and recognized my place in His kingdom, perhaps I wouldn’t be so ambitious and wouldn’t worry so much about the approval of my fellow humans.

Deadly Reason

Merton believes that the West has robbed Christianity of the mystical by treating God as an object, a thing to be grasped, rationalized, and understood. He’s right on this point too, and I’m guilty of that hyper-western mode of theological reflection.

In my favor, I have said on this blog before that the pursuit of a systematic theology is potentially useless. I summed that up with this statement: Infinitude defies finite system. I think I’m right here, and I happen to think some weighty 20th century thinkers like Merton and Lewis would agree with me here.

However, in spite of my contempt for systematic theology, I find myself systematize things spiritual and turning God, spirituality, etc. into a thing to be grasped — an object to be attained, understood, etc.

I have been slapped on the wrist.

Houston Christian High School, under the auspices of a program called Project 20/20, is working towards developing a relationship with a school on each continent. At the moment, our first school is Joma Methodist Primary School in the village of Joma not far from Accra, the capital of Ghana. On July 21st, 2010, nine members of the HCHS community (three teachers, the chaplain, and five students) traveled to Joma to work with students and teachers there.

(L) Students working at the Joma School. (R) A portrait of a student at Joma.

Because I will have each of the five students in class next year, the school invited me along as one of the teachers. This was really my first time to:

(a) travel internationally for a mission trip;
(b) experience an unindustrialized culture at close range;
(c) work with students as young as three years old.

First, let me link you to my flickr set. That will supply you with some more photos to checkout.

Second, let me tell you that a trip such as this tends to have a greater impact on the server than the one being served. While I can only hope and pray that the students at Joma felt blessed by our work at their school (we painted and also taught), I know that I was touched by the villagers happiness in the face of enormous odds. These children contract malaria multiple times a year; they swim, eat from, drink, bathe, and play in a lake that is polluted and disease-infested; they have nothing to their names but a school uniforms, a few fishing nets, and huts with thatched roofs. Yet, upon seeing nine white folks hop out of a van, the smiles on their faces were incredible. We brought them one soccer ball, and you’d think it was Christmas morning?

How is it that we’ve lost touch with ourselves? How is it that we’ve allowed wealth and possessions to dictate our feelings? How is it that we are no longer connected with the earth, its rhythms and its cycles?

Lord — just give me the opportunity to live simply.

Natalie and I always joke that if I hadn’t found her, I’d be off living the monk’s life somewhere. How I crave some of that now! (Though, I really like having the wife around…so we’ll have to find a way to make both work!)

Outside of a few tweets and delicious bookmarks, I’ve been pretty absent for a couple of months. Let me give you the lowdown on that; here’s what I’ve been up to:

(1) Travel. I have over a month’s worth of time on the road in New York, Colorado, and Africa. I’m back now.

(2) Theological Reflection. I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking deeply and reading widely about some issues that have bothered me. I imagine that in the coming months you’ll see some posts that explore some of these issues. Here’s a teaser: sola scriptura, hermeneutics from a Christian perspective (e.g., denying the religionsgeschichtlicheschule), Karl Barth, Augustine, mysticism, biblical literalism and idolatry, etc.

(3) Prayer. A lot is going on for my wife and I right now and we are thinking about what God has in store for us next. Part of that pertains to this blog — what direction do I want the Fig to go?

(4) Planning. I’m teaching two new classes this Fall, and I don’t feel like I’m ready for them at all.

OK. Consider yourself updated!

Part eight of the series “Hebrews 2:9 – Separated by Grace.”

Thus, we have demonstrated the importance of patristic evidence for the textual criticism of Heb 2:9. Because Origen’s citations pass the appropriate tests (the grammar of the citation is not significantly affected; the author may be quoting directly from a text; our critical edtion is reliable; and the readings are preserved in the original Greek), it should be reckoned as a powerful witness to the text of Hebrews during that time period. Moreover, since in context it makes little difference which variant he chooses, Origen’s witness seems rather strong, at least for Alexandria.

Further, we have illustrated the importance of internal evidence for assessing this particular variant. χωρὶς is not only the lectio difficilior, but also a more common word in Hebrews than χάρις, and, while its alteration can be explained by scribal lapse, it is more likely the work of a theologically motivated scribe.

When this internal evidence and the evidence of Origen and other patristic authors is combined with the manuscript evidence that heavily favors χάριτι, we are confronted with the realities of an early christological debate that has manifested itself as a text-critical quandary.

The earliest version of the text probably read χωρὶς θεοῦ, but proto-orthodox scribes, sensitive to the “heretical” practice of splitting Christ into multiple persons, have elected to alter the text in an effort to reclaim Paul as a witness to their view.

Part seven of the series “Hebrews 2:9 – Separated by Grace.”

Irenaeus seems to be fighting the same battle in Book 3 of Adversus haereses. In III.16.9, he lays out the testimony of Paul in an attempt to refute the notion that there is a divine Christ distinct from a human Jesus; he wants to show that they are one and the same:

Christ suffered, and he himself was the Son of God, who died on our behalf, and with his blood he redeemed us at the pre-appointed time . . . he [Paul] proclaimed most plainly that this same one who was apprehended and suffered and shed his blood for us, this is the Christ, this is the Son of God, who also rose again and was taken into heaven.¹

And later, in III.17.4, he describes the “heresy”:

They understand Christ to be one, and Jesus another, and they teach that there was not one Christ, but many. And if they say that they are united, again they show that this one underwent suffering, but this one remained impassible; that one ascended to the Pleroma, but the other remained in the intermediate area, and that this one in invisible and unnameable areas feasted and reveled, but this one sat by the Demiurge emptying his power.²

Irenaeus is very concerned with this notion that “heretical” groups are splitting Christ into multiple persons. His tactic is to show how scripture, especially Paul, refutes such a notion. Within this sort of climate, it is not difficult to see how a pious, proto-orthodox scribe, knowing that the christological debate is of great concern, might alter the text to say not that Jesus tasted death χωρὶς θεοῦ (a reading that, according to all intrinsic factors, appears to be genuine), but that he was crucified χάριτι θεοῦ (a reading that is extremely well-attested, but falters when the internal evidence is gathered). Indeed, the former reading could provide ammunition for those who believe that the Divine left Christ, while the latter is a gloss more friendly to Irenaeus and the like.

Footnotes

1. Rousseau and Louis Doutreleau, Contre Les Hérésies (SC 211; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1974) 322–25: Christum passum et ipsum esse Filium Dei, qui pro nobis mortuus est et sanguine suo redemit nos in praefinito tempore . . . hunc eundem qui apprehensus et passus est et effudit sanguinem suum pro nobis, hunc Christum, hunc Filium Dei manifestissime adnuntians, qui etiam surrexit et adsumptus est in caelos. (The translation here is my own.)
2. Ibid., 338-41: Alium autem— Christum et alium Iesum intellegunt, et non unum Christum sed plures fuisse docent; et si unitos eos dixerint, iterum ostendunt hunc quidem participasse passionem, hunc autem impassibilem perseuerasse; et hunc quidem ascendisse in Pleroma, hunc autem in Medietate remansisse; et hunc quidem in inuisibilibus et innominabilibus epulari et oblectari, hunc autem adsidere Demiurgo euacuantem eum virtutem. (The translation again is my own.)

Part six of the series “Hebrews 2:9 – Separated by Grace.”

Origen mentions the χωρίς reading of Heb 2:9 six times, four of which are preserved in Greek, two in the Latin translations by Rufinus.¹  While Origen does not seem to declare a preference for either reading, he does seem to favor the χωρίς reading over χάριτι.

First, let us consider his use of Heb 2:9 in the Commentary on John: χωρὶς γὰρ θεοῦ ὑπὲρ παντὸς ἐγεύσατο θανάτου (“for apart from God on behalf of all he tasted death”). He then adds the phrase ὅπερ ἔν τισι κεῖται τῆς πρὸς Ἑβραίους ἀντιγράφοις χάριτι θεοῦ (“which among some copies of the [epistle] to the Hebrews is set down ‘by the grace of God’”)—clearly indicating that he knows of manuscripts with both readings.²  As Paul Garnet points out, Origen here seems—somewhat tacitly—to support the originality of χωρίς, and his choice of this reading in no way affects the theological point that he is trying to make (namely, that “Jesus offered himself as a sacrifice not only for men, but for every rational being”).³  For Origen, the point is not that Jesus tasted death χωρὶς θεοῦ, but that he tasted death ὑπὲρ παντός. So, whether or not the manuscript says χωρίς or χάρις is inconsequential for his purpose. If the reading were necessary for Origen’s argument, then it would be easy to infer why he might prefer it.

Contrast this, for example, with Ambrose’s repeated citation of Heb 2:9 in De Fide.⁴  Because Ambrose finds Jesus’ separation from God (sine Deo) to be so theologically significant, it is obvious why he might prefer that reading.⁵  It is also possible to conjecture that whichever manuscripts he had in front of him, he would continue to prefer χωρίς every time .So also for Theodore of Mopsuestia, who refers to the χάριτι reading as γελοιότατον (“most ridiculous/most laughable”).

Origen’s use of Heb 2:9, however, does not seem to suffer from the four aforementioned shortcomings of patristic citations. For, the syntax of the sentence does not significantly alter the quotation (though he does add γάρ and change the mood of γεύομαι to the indicative); while he does not explicitly claim to be quoting from a text in front of him, the nature of the quotation (and the appendage of the phrase about other manuscripts) indicates that he is reproducing the text somewhat faithfully; the text we have is found in a good critical edition; and finally, we do not need to worry about issues of translation, since this text is preserved in Greek.

Another citation by Origen that may be significant is found in the Dialogue with Heraclides 27: ζητῶ ἵν’ εὕρω ὅτι Χριστὸς Ἰησοῦς ὕπερ πάντων ἀπέθανεν χωρὶς θεοῦ (“I seek so that I find that Christ Jesus died apart from God on behalf of all”).⁶  Garnet contends that the phrase which introduces this quote (ζητῶ ἵν’ εὕρω) indicates the Origen has actually taken the time to search out the verse.⁷  While Garnet’s argument for Origen’s direct use of the manuscript for his citation is not altogether convincing (mainly because the citation has Jesus dying rather than “tasting death”—a variant not to be found elsewhere), this citation is important because it comes amidst christological debate.⁸  As we have discussed earlier, Ehrman is convinced that the alteration of χωρίς to χάριτι most likely centered around christological debate. In the case of Heraclides, we clearly have Heb 2:9 being used as a scriptural argument for a discussion about the nature of Christ. Hebrews 2, in fact, is most intimately concerned with Christology. Verses 5–18 provide a concise description of Jesus’ status as a human being. He was made lower than the angels and crowned with glory and honor because of his suffering of death (2:8–9), and he is put on the same level as humans (2:11), taking on the same nature and sharing flesh and blood (2:14).⁹  In Hebrews 2, the very nature of Christ is at stake, just as it was for scribes of the second century. The passage puts a great deal of emphasis not only on Jesus’ divinity (all things are subjected to him), but also on his humanity (he shares in flesh and blood). Therefore, the text becomes important for two different christological camps—those who would wish to proclaim Jesus’ full divinity, as well as those who might argue that the Divine is incapable of suffering death and thus that the Divine must have left Jesus before his suffering.

Footnotes

1. Commentary on John, I.35, XXVIII.18 (bis); Dialogue with Heraclides, 27; Commentary on Romans III.8 and V.7. See Garnet,“Hebrews 2:9.” I have adopted where applicable the Sources Chrétiennes system for labeling chapters, rather than the system used by Garnet.
2. Cecile Blanc, Commentaire Sur Saint Jean (SC 120; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1966) 186–87; and Garnet, “Hebrews 2:9,” 321.
3. Ibid., 321.
4. Hughes, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, 95.
5. Ambrose, in De Fide 2.3.65, during a discussion of what it means for Christ to be “made lower,” uses Heb 2:9, making the following statement: “How wisely the Apostle wrote: ‘In order that apart from God He might taste death on behalf of all,’ lest we should think that the Godhead, rather than the flesh, had endured the passion.”
6. Jean Scherer, Entretien avec Héraclide (SC 67; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2002).
7. Garnet, “Hebrews 2:9,” 321–22.
8. Contrast this with the Origen’s use of Heb 2:9 in The Commentary on John where he is discussing the efficacy of the cross and the redemptive nature of Jesus’ death. The Latin translations by Rufinus for The Commentary on Romans also employ Heb 2:9 in discussion of Jesus’ sacrifice. It is also worth noting that in Commentary V.7, a discussion of grace, Rufinus preserves ut sine Deo pro omnibus gustaret mortem (“So that without God, on behalf of all, he tasted death”). Certainly some form of χάριτι would be preferred in a section about grace. In both Latin cases, Rufinus preserves the Hebrews word order, unlike the Greek citations we have. See Garnet, “Hebrews 2:9,” 322.
9. Ehrman, Orthodox Corruption of Scripture, 149.