N.T. Wright, Richard Hays: Why do I have to be in Korea now?

I spent three years at Wheaton College waiting for a conference like this, and, of course, now that I’m gone it’s going to happen.  Oh well, but I hope they put the audio on Itunes U.

The Imperfect and Gal 1:10

Rod Decker recently posted some notes on the function of the imperfect.  His argument was that the imperfect should be understood and translated primarily with a sense of remoteness, which differentiates it from the present tense.  He then applies remoteness in Mark’s narrative where it functions to inform reader of background details.  As such the imperfect can be translated with a simple past verb in English rather than the default past progressive.

In this post I want to take Dr. Decker’s suggestion and apply it outside narrative prose to Gal 1:10, in which the present and imperfect are nicely juxtaposed.  Gal 1:10 reads…

Ἄρτι γὰρ ἀνθρώπους πείθω ἢ τὸν θεόν; ἢ ζητῶ ἀνθρώποις ἀρέσκειν; εἰ ἔτι ἀνθρώποις ἤρεσκον, Χριστοῦ δοῦλος οὐκ ἂν ἤμην.

For do I now appeal to people or to God?  Or do I seek to please people?  If I still pleased people, I would not be a slave of Christ.

Paul’s questions presume the use of the present, but his answer, couched in a contrary-to-fact conditional, uses the imperfect.  If a sense of remoteness is the defining aspect of the imperfect, then I think it makes sense to use it within contrary-to-fact conditionals.  The imperfect distances the reality of the situation.  Here it is not a temporal remoteness or backgrounding, but factual remoteness; i.e., Paul is actually a slave of Christ who isn’t trying to please people, and to state the opposite removes the proposition from factuality and reality.  Thus, the remoteness of the imperfect might reinforce the contrary-to-fact conditional.

I haven’t looked through many instances of the imperfect within conditionals, but in my daily reading, I’ve found it helpful to think of the imperfect as having some sense of remoteness.  I hope to post more on this after I do some searches.

Why Logos? Why?

I’m always curious about bible software programs. In undergrad I never really used any bible software, but I realized I needed something when I went to grad school. At that time I used a PC, and I had heard really good things about Grammcord, which worked beautifully for searching the Greek and Hebrew texts of the bible. But at grad school I noticed many of my peers using Accordance, which I subsequently purchased simultaneously with a new MacBook. Since then I’ve occasionally wondered how the three most robust programs compare; i.e., Accordance, BibleWorks, and Logos. It is well know that Accordance is strictly a Mac program (unless some emulator is used), and BibleWorks is strictly for Windows (again unless some emulator is used). Logos used to be a PC only program until just a few months ago. They have released a Mac version.

Now, I think all three programs are exceptional and offer vast amounts of information with merely a few clicks. Generally Accordance is considered the most intuitive and user-friendly interface (which follows the general Mac stereotype). Logos is a very vast and exceptional program which is trying to appeal to the Mac crowd with its new Mac version.  But Logos’ marketing scheme for its Mac version attempts to appeal to the simplicity of the program as an excuse NOT to learn any Greek or Hebrew or really do any serious work at all!!!  This is virtually the claim of it’s sub-par video advertisement. If there were ever word study fallacies happening, it is with the kind of approach that Logos’ marketers laud in this video.

Martin Hengel passes away at age 82

Martin Hengel passed away on July 2nd in Tübingen at the age of 82 (see here).  I have only read Martin Hengel’s short book on the atonement.  But that short book produced in me an enormous amount of respect for Hengel and his work.  I particularly appreciated the way he argued for the increasingly unpopular view of a vicarious or substitutionary atonement based on what seemed to be effortless readings of primary sources.  Indeed, others have said that he had a knowledge of primary sources second to none within his field, and in my brief exposure, I have no doubt that that was the case.

As Michael Jackson’s death prompted me to listen to his music again, so (in a much more profound way) Martin Hengel’s death has prompted me to look at Hengel’s work afresh.

Distillation of the Piper/Wright debate

Check out the summary positions of Piper and Wright on the issues surrounding justification at CT.

Athanasius: The Son and Salvation in the Trinity, part 3

According to Athanasius, the fall of humanity corrupts the image that God intended us to bear (Inc., §4; §14).   The life that was once ours is being snatched away through our transgression.  Rejecting God’s intention, humanity is subject to corruption and death.  For Athanasius, the incarnation is the solution to this plight.  He writes, “it was our sorry case that caused the Word to come down, our transgression that called out His love for us, so that He made haste to help us and to appear among us” (Inc., §4).   Thus, in God’s goodness and love, he does not abandon humanity to death (Inc., §6),  but, wanting to restore humanity to himself, he sends his Son, the Word, by which he accomplishes two things: “He put an end to the law of death which barred our way; and He made a new beginning of life for us, by giving us the hope of the resurrection” (Inc., §10).   The only Son, the unoriginated Word, alone can accomplish humanity’s recreation, so Athanasius asks:

Who was… needed for such grace and such recall as we required?  Who, save the Word of God Himself, Who also in the beginning had made all things out of nothing?  His part it was, and His alone, both to bring again the corruptible to incorruption and to maintain for the Father His consistency of character with all.  For He alone, being Word of the Father and above all, was in consequence both able to recreate all, and worthy to suffer on behalf of all and to be ambassador for all with the Father.  (Inc., §7)

The redemptive-historical narrative requires a “hero” fit for the task; and, for Athanasius, the Son, the true Word of God, is the only option and the perfect option.  For “men could not have done it, for they are only made after the Image….  The Word of God came in His own Person, because it was He alone, the Image of the Father, Who could recreate man after the Image” (Inc., §13).   If the Son is not eternally begotten from the Father, and if the Son is not of the same peculiar substance as the Father, then the incarnation is really no incarnation, and the Word has no power to recreate or save since he himself would be a creature.

If this account accurately reflects Athanasius’ salvific concern regarding the nature of the Godhead, then it must be asked whether or not his salvific scheme does in fact necessitate his particular articulation of the Trinity.  I agree with Athanasius that an Arian view of the Son stands at odds with scripture and must be rejected, but does one’s salvation depend on an articulate view of the Trinity such as Athanasius’?  Does his account of the redemptive-historical narrative only hold together through a complex trinitarian belief?  Or is there another theology of the Godhead that can make sense of creation, fall, incarnation, and redemption?  While I am suspect of some of Athanasius’ assumptions, in my opinion, there is no other explanation than the full diety of the Son which he advocates.  Trinitarian theology makes the most sense of the scriptural narrative, then and now.  Yet I do not think that a conscience ascent to an articulate trinitarian doctrine is necessary for salvation.  Here I am making a distinction between the objective reality, i.e., that the Trinity is necessary for salvation, and the subjective beliefs of those who haven’t worked out the implications of Jesus’ deity.  Indeed, I think it is sufficient that one believe the words of John 1 as a child believes a parent.

Athanasius: The Son and Salvation in the Trinity, part 2

In his treatise On the Incarnation, Athanasius does not argue for a particular scriptural metanarrative. But I think he intuitively works within the framework of a redemptive-historical biblical metanarrative.  His trinitarian and incarnational theology are essentially informed by this redemptive storyline.  The first five chapters of On the Incarnation illustrate this most clearly.  Athanasius must, as he says, “begin… with the creation of the world and with God its Maker” (Inc., §1) in order to show that it is through the same Word that God created and saves.

In relation to the incarnation, creation functions as the first act in the redemptive-historical drama which culminates in the death and resurrection of the Son.  The incarnation is the necessary divine action between the creation and fall on the one hand and Christ’s death and resurrection on the other which accomplishes the solution of humanity’s plight; i.e., salvation or recreation.

Creation also functions in distinction from the unoriginated Word or Wisdom of God.  The Word or Son, being the same substance as the Father, and being eternally begotten, is the one through whom creation originated, but he himself is not one among the originated creatures (see C. Ar., 1:30-35).   This position concerning the nature of the Son is necessitated, not only by particular scriptural propositions, but also by the nature of the scriptural narrative as Athanasius interprets it.  That is to say, for Athanasius, only the One who created the world can accomplish the recreation of the world; only God can create salvation because no created thing is capable of such a work.

CT interview with columist Cal Thomas

It’s very refreshing to hear evangelicals talk like Cal Thomas about America’s moral woes and the function of government and the church in society. Here’s a quote, read the rest here:

How has your idea of Christian involvement with politics changed?

When I joined the Moral Majority, I thought the real answer to fixing the problems with America was having the right people in the White House and the Supreme Court and in Congress. There are fewer abortions now, but that’s not because of legislative, judicial, or executive orders; that’s because of the proliferation of crisis pregnancy centers or pregnancy help centers. And that’s the work of the church reaching out to women in difficult circumstances, sharing the gospel with them and caring for their physical needs.

I’m not looking for a savior; the one I have is sufficient. I’m certainly not looking for a political deliverer because our major problems in America and the world are not economic and political — they’re moral and spiritual. The real problem is that we’re sinners, not dysfunctional people. We don’t need reformation, we need redemption. So the real danger, including for modern Christians on the Left and the Right, is that they’re always looking for politicians to fix things. But you might as well go to an auto repair shop to be cured of pancreatic cancer — they’re just not able to do it. The gay rights movement advances because of the moral squishiness of the country and the fact that we worship not the living God but the Dow Jones industrial averages. In Dow we trust, not in God.

Why I hope Newsweek is right

The cover story of the April 4th issue of Newsweek focuses on the decline of Christian America.  Jon Meacham, columnist and editor, frames his discussion primarily within the political sphere, attempting to find a harmony between the new “post-Christian” era and the religious convictions of conservative Christians.  The presenting matter for Meacham’s reflection comes from some recent studies: the American Religious Identification Survey (ARIS) and the Pew Forum’s U.S. Religious Landscape Study, which suggest that a growing percentage of Americans do not affiliate themselves with Christianity.

In my opinion, Meacham’s article is very well done, and I (although probably for different reasons) generally agree, not only with his assessment of Christianity’s present situation in America, but also with his judgment on the relation of Christianity to the secular US state.  As far as the secular media goes, this is a very conservative piece.  Except for a few telling phrases, if I had read this article without knowing where it was from, I probably would have thought that it was published in Christianity Today.  Meacham, thankfully, doesn’t lump all Evangelicals in with the “religious right,” and even appeals to them (namely, M. A. Noll, N. O. Hatch and G. M. Marsden) in his concluding remarks for the ideal relation of Christianity to the US state.  In doing so, he paints a much more hopeful picture than some others using the same statistics.  Though many conservative Christians in the Moral Majority tradition will perhaps see Meacham’s article and the phenomena which it discusses as a dark day for America and Christianity, I think just the opposite.  The de-christianization (or perhaps the de-christendomization) of the US is, in my judgment, a step towards a healthier Christianity within America.

It is about time that conservative Christians stop promulgating the delusion that the USA was founded on pure biblical principles, and that our glory as a nation resides in our commitment to Christian morality.  Having grown up in evangelical circles (not even fundamentalist circles), I have seen a pervading subtext which movements such as the Moral Majority have infused into Christian culture.  Once, about a decade ago, in a high school small group, one of my good friends who had a typical evangelical upbringing, said (in order to make a point which I have entirely forgotten now) something I will never forget: “But doesn’t [the Bible] say, ‘All men are created equal’?”  I will never forget this because, for about ten seconds everyone in the room presumed that these famous words were in fact the Word of God.  We all had a good laugh at my friend’s expense, but looking back on this experience, it doesn’t surprise me since my generation was handed the torch of the Christian America movement.  Conservative churches were infused with the identification of Christian virtue and the goals of the state.

So, in light of the decline of Christian America, should we appeal to the “Christian” ideal of our founding fathers?  As you could probably tell, I would answer “No!”  With few exceptions, our founding fathers bought into an enlightenment ideal based on a rationalism which is neither biblical or even philosophically feasible today. Our coveted national documents are products of man’s so-thought “coming of age,” in which reason was designated as the key to human progress. It doesn’t take much study before one realizes that the words, “We hold these truths to be self-evident…” were thoroughly engendered by a philosophy as foreign to Christianity as that of Plato or Aristotle. So let us not pretend that our nation is “Christian,” rather, we should say it is “enlightened” (I don’t know which of the two would be more offensive to the rest of the world).

America is shedding its “Christian memory,” as Al Mohler calls it, and in this process American Christianity is (I hope) shedding the discursive identification of Christian virtue and purpose with the ideals of our founding fathers and documents.  Indeed, the statistics do show a growing secularization in the USA, but I hope the sword of secularization cuts both ways.  That is, I hope the loss of America’s Christian identity engenders within the American Christian church a realization that the USA was not and is not supposed to be the manifestation of biblical Christianity.

This is what Mohler had to say when Meacham interviewed him:

The moral teachings of Christianity have exerted an incalculable influence on Western civilization…. As those moral teachings fade into cultural memory, a secularized morality takes their place. Once Christianity is abandoned by a significant portion of the population, the moral landscape necessarily changes. … Christian moral reflexes and moral principles gave way to the loosening grip of a Christian memory. Now even that Christian memory is absent from the lives of millions.

As is often pointed out, the loss of the Christian memory has advanced in Europe much more rapidly than in the USA.  In fact, the USA is somewhat of an enigma to secularization theorists.  Nevertheless, although the moral underpinnings of Western culture have been specifically Christian, the decline of discursive Christian morality in American culture isn’t necessarily a bad thing for the Christian church–I’ll give my reason later.  But first I want to explore for a moment how Christianity can interact and impact cultural morality and political policy.  Meacham turns to Augustine for guidance at this point:

If we apply an Augustinian test of nationhood to ourselves, we find that liberty, not religion, is what holds us together. In “The City of God,” Augustine… said that a nation should be defined as “a multitude of rational beings in common agreement as to the objects of their love.” What we value most highly—what we collectively love most—is thus the central test of the social contract.

Meacham contends that a commitment to liberty and freedom of conscience is the binding virtue. I agree with Augustine’s statement, but I think I disagree with Meacham’s inference, if he means that liberty (as defined by the founding fathers) is the most valued object within varying religious persuasions.  The common “objects” of our love are not necessarily the most valued by each religious persuasion in our society.  Rather, the commonality of loved objects is more analogous to a lowest common denominator approach.  The most valued object of Christian love is not freedom in the sense that the founding fathers intended, which is the sense that Meacham assumes.  Nor do Muslims or Hindus value such freedom the most. The question is not: What does everyone love the most?  Rather, the question is: Do the varying religious and non-religious communities within the USA share a presupposition and belief which can unite them in one earthly nation without compromising the integrity of their distinctive faiths?  Can Christians and non-Christians value freedom of conscience so as to engender a pluralistic society in which there is true tolerance of one another?  I think the answer to both these questions is affirmative.  Yes, we do have common ground on which to base our society; and, indeed, it is that freedom outlined in our founding documents.  And yes, we can exist together with a tolerance that does not approve or affirm all difference, but that peacefully and lovingly disagrees with our neighbors, even seeking to persuade them.  We don’t all have to love freedom the most in order to get along, but we do have to love it enough to exist peacefully together.

So why do I think that the decline of Christian America is a good thing?  My reasons are basically theological, and on this point, I think I’m in full agreement with Molher, who said, “Our first concern is and must be the Gospel.”  As I see it, Christianity should not mainly be concerned with the moral maintenance of America.  It should concern itself with the glory of God in the salvation of people through Christ Jesus; i.e., the gospel.  The Christian America movement or Rushdoony’s Christian reconstruction or the pilgram’s hope of a “city on a hill” are not, in my judgment, the way the kingdom of God manifests itself in this already-not-yet epoch.  Although perhaps not their intention, movements like the Moral Majority engender a Christianity whose goal terminates in moral living.  But Christianity is not a morality.  Such reductions are more Kantian than Christian.  And the effect, I think, is detrimental to non-Christians who have percieved in America’s Christian memory a religion tantamount to ethical statutes and not the glory of the gospel.  Thus, I think Mohler is spot on when he says, “It is good that non-Christians know that they are not Christians and that Christians be reminded of that fact that what sinners need is the Gospel of Christ, not merely the lingering morality of the Christian memory.”  This relates to my next reason.  Christianity, by which I mean true orthodox believers, will (I hope) benefit from the consolidation of their common faith in Christ.  Instead of highlighting our differences, orthodox Christians within the three great Christian traditions–Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Protestant–will consolidate their efforts against a world which is increasingly hostile to the exclusivity of the gospel.  This is, I grant a very optimistic hope, but one for which I think Christ himself hopes when he says, “The glory you gave to me I have given to them, that they may be one just as we are one–I in them and you in me—that they may be completely one, so that the world will know that you sent me, and you have loved them just as you have loved me.” (John 17:22-23)

Athanasius: The Son and Salvation in the Trinity, part 1

In the fourth century, Athanasius fought to uphold Nicene orthodoxy against the a resurgent Arianism which taught that “there was once when the Son was not.”  Against this tide, Athanasius upheld Nicea’s insistence that the Son is of the same substance as the Father.  According to him, Arianism misconstrued the biblical language of Father and Son, entailing in such titles a point in time where God became Father having “created” the Son from nothing (C. Ar., 1:27).  But, as Athanasius repeatedly asserted, God is not as man: the Father has always been the Father, and the Son has always been the Son.  They are eternally co-existent.  The Word cannot be separated from the One who speaks it.  Arians who say, “There was once when the Son was not,”  are as foolish to Athanasius as one who would say, “There was once when the fountain was dry, without life and wisdom” (C. Ar., 1:19).    To say such would be to strip God of his fullness.

Yet Athanasius’ contention with Arianism was not bent on mere speculation.  Rather, his polemic against the Arians stemmed from a conviction that Arianism was finally not Christian.   Thus, Arianism versus trinitarian orthodoxy was, for Athanasius, a matter of salvation.  But why was this so?  How did Athanasius conceive of salvation so that it necessitated belief in a trinitarian God?

To answer this question, I would argue that Athanasius’ response to the Arians was born out of his early work On the Incarnation.  In it, the identity of the Son in relation to the Father directly impinges upon the nature and purpose of the incarnation.  Hence, Athanasius rhetorically asks in a later work, “Since [Arians are] ignorant about the legitimate and true begetting of the Son from the Father, will [they] not err about his incarnate presence?” (C. Ar., 1:8)   For Athanasius, it is precisely the incarnation of the Word that connects his trinitarian theology to his soteriology, making soteriological criteria via his christologogy the aegis of trinitarian orthodoxy.  As such, I think Athanasius’ theology takes on a fundamentally narrative shape.  His theology is not attempting to answer ahistorical or abstract questions whereby he can simply marshal a proof-text to substantiate his point.  He is not speculative.  Rather, in On the Incarnation, his thought is historically rooted, not only in the event of the incarnation, but in the history of God and his relation to humanity as he thinks it is laid out in the biblical metanarrative.