Monday, June 21, 2004

The Erosion of Biblical Authority in Modern Thought

"Where has God gone? I shall tell you. We have killed him - you and I. We are all his murderers . . . God is dead. That which was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. There has never been a greater deed." Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)


The spirit of skepticism and freethinking which seems to have permeated contemporary Western Civilization is, in actuality, an old remnant of critical thought firmly rooted in the age of Renaissance (ca. 1300-1600). Indeed, the Renaissance marked the beginning of an intellectual history which, in many ways, has continued on through the present day. As one historian notes, "No longer are man and the world seen wholly within the religious context, their place charted and mapped within the hierarchy of Being, their actions judged solely in terms of the drama of salvation" (A Concise History of Atheism - Thrower). No, in the Renaissance, the potentialities of man, which had been locked away for nearly a thousand years, would be unleashed in a way unprecedented since the classical age of Greece and Rome. Men such as Michaelangelo, da Vinci, Gutenberg, Columbus, Magellan, and Shakespeare were all men possessed by the Renaissance spirit, and because of their humanistic achievements, the world would never be the same.

The most profound and consequential event of the Renaissance, however, would be the Copernican Revolution (ca. 1600) - i.e., the theory of heliocentrism (that the earth revolves around the sun). For since Copernicus and Galileo overthrew the notion of a geocentric universe (that the sun revolves around the earth), not only was the whole concept of biblical theism called into question (albeit in secret), but now, the "theological scheme of redemption" with man at the center seemed "absolutely incredible" (Waldo Emerson - Allen). Consequently, a new paradigm was formed in human thought upon which a more critical and skeptical philosophy might be constructed; and the period of time which succeeds the age of Renaissance represents an epoch during which man would propose new philosophies and ideologies, each of which would present a serious challenge to the historic Christian faith. This progressive liberation of the mind from medievalism would reach its zenith in the late-eighteenth century during the so-called Age of Reason, or Enlightenment.

Now although the changes leading to secular advance during the Enlightenment are numerous and complex, I believe that it is possible to reduce the whole of it to two pivotal changes in philosophic and scientific thought that would forever change the landscape of religious belief, resulting primarily in the rapid erosion of biblical authority in modern thought. First, let us consider the philosophy of David Hume (1711-1776), the Scottish thinker and skeptic who challenged the historicity of biblical miracles, and therefore provided a context for antisupernaturalism. Then, let us briefly measure the tremendous impact of Darwinian evolution, and its insistence that the universe, and all that it contains, can be accounted for purely by naturalistic means.

The skeptical writings of David Hume, specifically his works, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (1748), The Natural History of Religion (1757), and Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion (1779) constitute, as one scholar has noted, "the most powerful attack upon the rationality of belief in God ever mounted by a philosopher" (Hume - Gaskin). Indeed, Hume's powerful critiques against certain arguments for the existence of God have been sustained by many even to this day. With regard to our discussion, however, it is Hume's assault on the historicity of biblical miracles that is most damaging. As C.S. Lewis wrote in his work on miracles, "Ever since Hume's famous essay against miracles, it has been believed that historical statements about miracles are the most improbable of all historical statements" (Miracles - Lewis).

Essentially, Hume argued that the physical laws of nature cannot be broken. Why? Because David Hume was a later disciple of the great Isaac Newton (d. 1727), who, in his classic "Prinicpia Mathematica" (1687), argued essentially that the entire universe is giant machine, finely tuned (by God), but so perfectly coordinated and harmonized that it is nothing less than a grand symphony. Although there has been discussion whether Newton was a Deist, or somewhere between a Cambridge Platonist and a Theist, it is obviously apparent to the reader that his idea of a grand "mechanistic universe" (i.e. that the universe is like a giant machine) opened plenty of doors for deistic and skeptical thought about the Bible, although this was not Newton's intention.

Anyway, David Hume (a brilliant historian, who, because of his skepticism never held a chair in philosophy), locked on to Newton's new paradigm (like many other academics) and started to challenge the "miracles" of the Bible as intrusions into an invioable mechanistic universe. Moreover, he never failed to remind his readers about this contradiction, noting that all men observe this phenomenon every day. In his words, "Who has witnessed a miracle, that is, a violation of the physical laws of nature. Is it a common experience for us to see men raised from the dead? How many of us have witnessed the healing of a paralytic? And who can say he has seen a blind man receive sight from a holy man?" - moreover in an empirical environment as the Gospels purport. Thus, miracles are not a common experience in the world of modern man. But Hume doesn't stop here . . . in fact he goes further and sets forth a very powerful argument. Essentially, he asks the question, "So what is the common experience of men?" Well, (1) We know that men have a tendency to lie, (2) We know that men have a tendency to exaggerate stories for the sake of fascination, and (3) We know that miracle stories are usually reported by ancient or barbaric peoples. Therefore, since we know from common experience that man has a propensity to distort the truth, it is much more reasonable to conclude that the biblical miracles were either fictitious inventions, exaggerations of certain events, or simply part of the mythos of a barbaric and superstitious people. Hume published this essay in 1749, and if you look closely at the copyright dates of the earliest higher critics (i.e. those who attack the historicity of the Bible), you will find that "most" of these authors began to write in this destructive tradition after Hume, at the onset of the Enlightenment. And that is why most academics in Europe (including many of our founding fathers) were essentially "deists" in the late 1700s.

Obviously, Hume constructed his entire thesis upon the naturalistic assumption that the biblical God cannot intervene supernaturally into the natural plane. This was his inference from the Newtonian mechanistic worldview. As mentioned earlier, however, the implications of David Hume's antisupernaturalist philosophy were far reaching and profoundly consequential. If the biblical miracles were not historic occurrences, then the scriptural concept of God would have to be abandoned; and furthermore, the life of Christ would have to be demythologized, stripped of all supernatural overtones (e.g., we would have to abandon ideas such as the virgin birth, the miracles of Christ, the resurrection, the ascension, the second coming, indeed the very Messiahship of Jesus and the idea that his death on the cross had any efficacy for the salvation of sinners, etc.). Thus, with the skepticism of Hume blinding the eyes of men at the end of the eighteenth century, the rapid erosion of orthodox biblical Christianity was well underway.

Now whereas David Hume's denial of the possibility of miracles provided fertile soil for further skepticism about the biblical God, Charles Darwin(1809-1882) sowed the seeds of popular evolutionary philosophy which would eventually deny the existence of God by providing a rational explanation for the origination and existence of all things. In essence, the theory of Darwinian evolution contends that molecular life arose spontaneously from inorganic matter a finite time ago, and that through random processes (blind chance) in nature, life evolved over hundreds of millions of years into higher biological forms, eventually culminating in the species of man. This theory of biological evolution (now) is called neo-Darwinism ( = natural selection + transmutation + time), and although there are some alternative theories, Neo-Darwinism remains ascendant.

Interestingly, the contemporary opinion that evolution is the "recent" discovery of nineteenth and twentieth century technological advance and scientific genius is simply false. For even though Darwin's Origin of Species by Natural Selection (1859), subtitled, The Preservation of the Favored Races in the Struggle for Life) was initially responsible for the popularization of the evolutionary hypothesis, evolutionary thinking originated long before Charles Darwin. Even the renowned paleontologist and co-architect of neo-Darwinism, George Gaylord Simpson, admittedly wrote, "There is practically nothing in Darwin's theories that had not been expressed by others long before him" (Life of the Past - Simpson). Historically, speculation into evolutionary ideas and concepts began as early as the seventh century BC with the emergence of the philosophical schools of classical Greece (ca. 600 BC).

Nevertheless, despite the antiquity of evolutionary speculations, the tremendous impact of Darwin cannot be overstated. For even as the creationist Henry M. Morris once observed:

It is probably safe to say that no other book since the Bible has
so influenced the world. Even though most people today have
never read Darwin, the entire educational establishment looks
to "Origin of Species" as the intellectual watershed from which
all modern thought descends.
(The Long War Against God - Morris)

With Darwin, then, a powerful intellectual challenge was issued against the traditional Judeo-Christian assumptions regarding the origin of man and the universe. In opposition to the traditional biblical beliefs about creation, astrophysical theories of cosmic evolution were soon advanced positing the multi-billion year evolutionary development of planetary systems, stars, and galaxies; and eventually, the exclusion of God became the underlying premise behind every theorem or equation. Thus, with Promethean fortitude and boldness, the civilized voice of man exclaimed, "We can discover no divine purpose or providence for the human species . . . Rather, science affirms that the human species is an emergence from natural evolutionary forces" (Humanist Manifesto II).

Summary

In sum, the influence of David Hume and Darwinian evolution on contemporary religious thought can be understood in the following way:

1. David Hume, in the eighteenth century, denied the historicity of biblical miracles, thus casting doubt on the immanence (or reality) of the Judeo-Christian God, and therefore provided a context for further antisupernaturalistic thinking.

2. Charles Darwin, in the nineteenth century, provided a rational explanation for the origination and existence of all things, and therefore removed the philosophic necessity for a creator God. There was no need for a Creator anymore since life and the universe originated on their own.

The radical implications of Hume and Darwin, then, ultimately lead us to the conclusion that God is nothing more than the fictitious creation of homo sapiens, a supreme being erected in the minds of men by the "evolutionary principle" in order to promote moral and ethical order within the species for its survival. Furthermore, the Bible is not the inspired word of God, but just one of many of the world's religious writings, all of which are cultural or nationalistic expressions of man's collective religious mind. And most importantly, Jesus of Nazareth is not the divine Son of God and Savior of mankind, but simply a moral teacher who lived and died about two thousand years ago. Thus, in Hume and Darwin we have the systematic deconstruction of orthodox biblical Christianity, and the emphatic rejection of the existence of God.

Thus, we have arrived at the present societal view that orthodox Christianity is nothing more than myth, and that God is simply a figment of mankind's imagination. This is "naturalism."

Sunday, May 16, 2004

The Johannine Logos - The Influence of Greek Philosophy and Judaic Thought

In the beginning was the Word
and the Word was with God
and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God
All things were made through Him . . .
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us
and we beheld His glory
the glory as of the only begotten of the Father

John 1:1-2; 14
___________________________

At the ancient monastery church in Daphne, Greece, there looms in the dome of the cathedral a colossal mosaic of Christ Pantocrator, its ominous presence imposing upon all who enter into the hallowed room. Indeed, the eleventh century icon reveals that awesome, majestic power that overthrew the death tyrant nearly two-thousand years ago. And like the historic Christ who pierced the veil of darkness with the glorious light of His immortality, so too, the iconographic depiction bursts forth showing Jesus Christ as the "King of kings and Lord of lords," the divine Logos, enthroned in the heavens -- the ruler and center of the universe. Obviously, from a theological perspective, the ancient Daphne mosaic reflects the high Christology of Nicaea and Chalcedon, a Christology ultimately derived from the Johannine doctrine of the Logos. But whereas it is simple to deduce the theological origin and background of the awe-inspiring mosaic, the influences which compelled the fourth evangelist to use the Logos designation as a descriptive appellation for the Savior are much more elusive. Indeed, this is indicated by the fact that, even though a considerable body of scholarly literature has been devoted to identifying the primary influence(s) behind the Johannine designation, there still remains a general lack of consensus in the academic forum as to the origin and background of the Johannine Logos doctrine.

In this essay, then, we will endeavor to explore the divergent views proposed by Christian scholars regarding the contextual influences which underlie the the Logos Christology of John. In Part One, we will examine the suggested Hellenistic background for the Johannine doctrine, tracing the evolution of the philosophical term logos from its initial Heraclitean conception to its more developed expression in later Stoicism. Then, we will consider the impact of Hellenistic thought on some of the early Church Fathers, and show how that influence affected their perception of the Johannine Logos. In Part Two, we will evaluate the proposed Judaic background for the Logos doctrine, paying close attention to Johannine dependence of the Creation/Sinai motifs and the Hebrew dabar YHWH (= word of the Lord), as well as the symmetry which exists between the Prologue and certain texts from within the corpus of Jewish Wisdom Literature. Finally, in part Three, we will set forth our own position, which is not an uncommon one -- namely, that the author of the Fourth Gospel found in the term logos a concept which, to the Gentile world, he could present Christ as the fulfillment of all metaphysical speculation; and which, to the Jewish world, He could present Christ as the ultimate revelation (word) and manifestation (theophany) of God. In his personification of the Logos, then, the inspired writer brought together the philosophical world of Athens with the religious world of Jerusalem, and, in synergistic fashion, he form a new philosophical/religious reality that is neither Hellenic nor Judaic -- but rather, a reality that is authentically and originally Christian.1

Part I -- Suggested Hellenistic Background
In any discussion of the Greek philosophical doctrine of the logos, one must regress into the pre-Socratic era to examine the religio-philosophical context of the age. For, it was during this period, the sixth century BC, that the Greek philosophers would begin to challenge the existing polytheistic structure which had dominated ancient civilization for so long. Indeed, in the midst of a plurality of gods and goddesses, the Greek philosophers recognized that there must exist some unifying principle behind the universe, and underlying Reason or Force which pervades cosmological and metaphysical reality. thus, limited to natural theology and intellectual speculation, the early philosophers began to posit various notions regarding the nature of this unifying principle.2

The first thinker to advance his thesis on this cosmological/metaphysical problem was Thales (ca. 600 BC), the founder of the Milesian school of philosophy in Ionia, the cradle of Western thought. (At that time, the Ionian Coast on the west coast of Asia Minor, or modern day Turkey, was an Athenian colony. It was also the approximate region of the seven churches of Asia Minor as mentioned in the biblical Apocalypse of John). In essence, Thales posited the idea that the unifying principle behind ultimate reality was simply water (in its gaseous, liquid, and solid forms).3 Although such a proposition may seem ludicrous to the contemporary mind, what is important here is that Thales raised the question as to the nature of the unifying prinicple, and he opened the door for further metaphyiscal speculation.4 The successors of Thales differed widely in their propositions, Anaximander positing infinity as the unifying principle, and Anaximenes suggesting air; but it was Heraclitus of Ephesus (fl. 504-501 BC) who first used the term logos in connection with the concept of the unifying prinicple. In his speculations, he identified the logos as the universal Reason, the universal law immanent in all things, binding all things into a unity and determining the constant change in the universe according to universal law."5 Certainly, Heraclitus did not posit the existence of a transcendent monotheistic deity, but he did recognize that, in a universe of constant change, the metaphysical logos remained constant as the underlying principle of order.

In subsequent centuries, during the Socratic, Platonic, and Aristotelian periods, the great philosophers made little contribution to the Heraclitean logos doctrine, their concerns being epistemologcial rather than speculative.6 For Plato, the logos was that which was in accord with truth (in apposition to that which is myth), while for Aristotle, the term was equated with Reason (at least in its Heraclitean context). Nevertheless, this transistion would have some import on the later Stoic interpretation of the concept. Thus, beginning with Zeno (ca. 300 BC) and the rise of the early Stoa, the Heraclitean logos was revived and systematized within the framework of Stoic pantheism.7 Essentially, the Stoics believed that the unifying principle behind ultimate reality was an all-pervading cosmic fiery vapor which they termed logos spermatikos (semnial reason), and which they identified with an impersonal pantheistic God.8 Accordingly, this seminal logos (or vital energy) was the "generative principle" of the cosmos, as well as the universal Reason (or rationale) which determined and kept in order the particulars of the universe.9 Simply, the Logos was the rational element which pervaded the universe and unified reality. Thus, in Stoic thought, the Heraclitean logos received its greatest expression, resuming a central role in Hellenistic philosophical cosmology.

Finally, within the realm of Hellenistic philosophy, we should include Philo Judaeus (25 B.C-50 A.D.), also known as Philo of Alexandria, perhaps one of the most learned Hellenistic-Jewish philosophers living in the diaspora. In many ways Philo tried to bridge the gap between Hellenistic and Judaic thought, and with regard to the concept of the logos, he seemed to convey a concept which was similar to the Johannine Logos, but at the same time quite different.

Now with regard to our discussion about the origin and background of the Johannine Logos, the question natually arises: "To what extent (if any) did the Hellenistic idea of the logos prevail upon the mind of the fourth evangelist?" Well, although we will deal with the specifics of this issue in Part Three of our essay, it would be worthy to note, at this point, that some of the early Church Fathers (e.g. Justin Martyr, Athenagoras, Clement of Alexandria, and so on) understood the Johannine concept to be an integration of the Heraclitean/Stoic notion.10 Justin, for instance, maintained that the Logos is the mediatorial revelation of God who was partially knonw by the Greek philosophers because of the spermatikos (a germinating seed) which they possessed within their souls; thus, he proclaimed Heraclitus worthy of being called a Christian.11 Similarly, Clement of Alexandria asserted that the Logos is Christ, the Divine Reason and Teacher of mankind, who revealed God to the Jews through the Mosaic Law, and to the Gentiles through the Greek philosophers.12

Although it appears that both Justin and Clement inferred a Hellenistic nuance from the Logos Christology of John, it must be remembered that these apologists were very much predisposed to Greek philosophy in their thinking -- Justin being a converted Stoic/Pythagorean/Platonist (he continued to wear the pallium), and Clement being a native of Alexandria, a convert from Stoicism.13 In our discussion regarding the background of the Johannine Logos, then, the early apologists are not especially helpful, since it is difficult to ascertain if they were truly reflecting the Christological tradition of the Johannine community, or if they were merely superimposing their own Hellenist preconceptions onto the Johannine doctrine (even as Philo of Alexandria sought to synthesize Hellenistic and Judaic thought). In the case of Justin, we are more inclined to believe that he utilized Greek philosophical speculation as a "point of contact" for intellectual and apologetical concerns rather than as the controlling center of his epistemic system; for, throughout his writings he continually asserts the preeminence of biblical truth over philosophy.14 Nevertheless, an appeal to Justin's Logos Christology as evidence of a Hellenistic background for the Johannine doctrine is tenuous at best.

Part II -- Suggested Judaic Background
Until recent years, the idea that the Johannine doctrine of the Logos could have originated in Judaic thought was the minorty view among scholars. Indeed, with the rise of New Testament higher criticism in the nineteenth century, many scholars asserted an extra-Judaic origin for the Fourth gospel, proposing a date of authorship as late as AD 170.15 This consensus was based on several factors, one of which was the presence of a Platonic dualism motif in the Fourth Gospel -- e.g. spirit/world, light/darkness, truth/deceit, and so on. The majority of scholars ignored the author's apparent intimacy with Palestinian customs and instead concluded that the author was firmly entrenched in Greek philosophy (or Gnosticism, cf. Rudolf Bultmann). Thus, it was almost universally acknowledged that the Johannine Logos doctrine was thoroughly influenced by Hellenistic thought.16

In the twentieth century, however, the late-date hypothesis would be overthrown with the discover of Rylands Papyrus 457 (P52), an Egyptian codex fragment of John 18:31-33, 37-38, which first came to light in 1935. With the discovery and publication of this earliest extant New Testament manuscript, a hundred years of sophisticated critical theories were tossed onto the ash heap of history. Many eminent scholars such as Sir Fredrick Kenyon reconized the manuscript as early second century, dating to about AD 130.17 But a more recent analysis by Kurt Aland suggests a much earlier date probably at the "beginning of the second century."18 In either case, contemporary New Testament scholarship is now in agreement with the traditional view that the Fourth Gospel is indeed a first century composition.

Now with regard to the nineteenth century critical assertion that the dualistic paradigm in John betrays a Hellenistic influence (Platonic idealism), the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947 would altogether eliminate that notion. Indeed, several of the Qumran texts, especially the Rule of the Community (1QS) and the War Scroll (1QM), exhibit a dualistic motif, which, according to most scholars, is entirely independent from Platonic idealism, yet hauntingly similar to the dualism of John.19 Hence, since the discovery of the Qumran Scrolls, the dualism which characterizes the Johannine program does not necessitate a Hellenistic antecedent, since the Essenic writings prove that such language was proper to Judean religious thought in the first century AD.

Needless to say, because of these discoveries (as well as other advances in New Testament studies), contemporary Johannine scholarship has shifted markedly from a Hellenistic orientation to a more Judeo-centric approach; and this radical change in methodology has weighed heavily in the debate regarding the origin and background of the Johannine Logos. Most scholars, instead of looking to the Heraclitean/Stoic ideologies for answers, now place tremendous emphasis on the author's dependence on the Creation/Sinai motifs and the Hebrew dabar/YHWH ("word of the Lord"), as well as some of the parallels which can be found in Jewish Wisdom Literature.20 At this point in our discussion, then, let us consider the relevancy of these Judaic elements.

A simple reading of the Prologue should immediately conjure up images of the Creation and Sinai stories from the Pentateuch. Even the words, "In the beginning" (= en arche - John 1:1), are identical to the LXX translation of the Hebrew Gen 1:1 text, indicating that the evangelist's intent, at the outset, was to establish a Judaic context for the rest of the Prologue.21 In the following verse, the evangelist would further integrate other concepts from Genesis 1-3, such as creation, light, life, darkness, etc., ultimately progressing to verse 14a (lit. "And the Word became flesh and 'pitched His tent' among us, and we beheld 'His glory'"), an obvious allusion to the Sinai/Tabernacle motif of Exodus 40:34ff. As Raymond E. Brown comments, "When the Prologue proclaims that the Word made his dwelling among men, we are being told that the flesh of Jesus Christ is the new localizaiton of God's presence on earth, and that Jesus is the replacement of the ancient Tabernacle."22 Thus, in the incarnational Christology of John the manifestation (theophany) of God's glory (shekinah) plays a controlling hermeneutical role. Therefore, the Pentateuchal context of the Prologue would suggest that we look for a Judaic background to the Johannine doctrine of the Logos.

In searching for Old Testament parallels, the recurrent phrase "word of the Lord" (dabar YHWH = logos kyriou LXX) immediately strikes us as the most likely antecedent for the the Johannine Logos. Indeed, this concept was critical to the whole idea of divine revelation, and, as a phenomenon experienced by the Hebrew prophets (e.g. "The word of the Lord came to Zechariah . . ." - 1:1), the word consisted of ther thoughts and will of God.23 Moreover, it served as the effective instrument of His divine action; thus, for the Psalmist, "the word of the Lord" served as the mediatorial agent of creation (33:6), while for the prophets of God, the "word of the Lord" possessed an inherent life-giving power (Isa 55:3).24 Interestingly, both of these themes are prevalent in the Johannine Prologue.

Now although the "word of the Lord" was never explicitly personified in Hebraic thought, it nevertheless possessed a "quasi-substantial existence of its own."25 Certainly, this is evident from numerous texts, but there is one scripture in particular in which the "word" serves an independent function which is almost identically parallel to the incarnational motif of the Johannine Prologue. In the Isaian invitation to the abundant life (Isa 55), a chapter to which Jesus often alluded, there is a verse (11) which says, "So shall my 'word' be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me empty, but it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it." As Brown indicates, "We have here the same cycle of coming down and returning that we encounter in the Prologue."26 Thus, it seems an inescapable conclusion that the Johannine Logos, as the incarnation and revelation of the mind and will of God, is firmly rooted in the Old Testament concept of dabar YHWH // logos Kyriou LXX // memra Adonai Targum.

On a similar plane, another conceptual parallel to the Johannine Logos comes from the corpus of Jewish Wisdom Literature (Proverbs, Sirach, Baruch, and the Wisdom of Solomon). Interestingly, whereas in the Torah and the Prophets the "word of the Lord" only possesses an implicit independent function (or personification), in the Wisdom literary genre the idea of a "personified" Wisdom (Sophia LXX) is fully developed, serving as a controlling hermeneutical theme. Indeed, many of the attributes and actions which are ascribed to the Logos of John can also be ascribed to personified Wisdom.27 The following should suffice in demonstrating the Johannine dependence on the canonical and apocryphal Wisdom Literature:28

1. "In the beginning was the Word (Logos)" (John 1:1).

-"The Lord created me (Wisdom) at the beginning of His work" (Prov 8:22).
-"From eternity, in the beginning He created me (Wisdom)" (Sir 24:9).

2. "All things were made through Him" (John 1:3)

-"For Wisdom is the fashioner of all things" (Wis 7:2).

3. "That which came to be in Him was life" (John 1:3-4).

-"For he who finds me finds life" (Prov 8:35).

4. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (John 1:5).

-"For the light is succeeded by night, but against Wisdom evil does not prevail"
(Wis 7:30).

5. "Yet the world knew Him not" (John 1:10).

-"No one knows the way to her (Wisdom) or is concerned about the path to her"
(Bar 3:31).

6. "He came to His own" (John 1:11)

-"Afterward she (Wisdom) appeared upon earth and lived among men. She is the
Book of the commandment of God and the law that endures forever" (Bar 3:37-4:1).

7. "And His own received Him not" (John 1:11).

-"You (Israel) have forsaken the fountain of wisdom" (Bar 3:12).

8. "And the Word (Logos) became flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1:14).

-"Then the Creator of all things gave me (Wisdom) a commandment, and . . .
assigned a place for my tent. And he said, 'Make your dwelling in Jacob . . .'"
(Sir 24:10).

In analyzing the parallels between the posed writings, it is important to recognize that the similarities are not only conceptual, but also stylistic, reflecting anlalogous linguistic phrases and poetic patterns.29 Furthermore, comparative studies between the Prologue and Sirach, for instance, have revealed that not only are the mediatorial functions of Wisdom and the Logos strikingly similar, but "the order in which these functions are presented is roughly the same."30 Thus, from this evidence, Johannine dependence on Jewish Wisdom Literature is more than certain.

Part III - A Synergistic Approach
In sum, it seems that the suggested Judaic background provides a sufficient context for the origin of the Johannine doctrine of the Logos. Even as contemporary New Testament scholarship has concluded, the Creation/Sinai motifs, the Hebrew dabar YHWH, and the parallels within Jewish Wisdom Literature all provide a firm foundation upon which the Johannine theologian could have presented his Christian Logos. Nevertheless, to dismiss entirely the Greek philosophical nuances inherent in the word Logos (1:1) would be to disregard the Hellenistic zeitgeist which prevailed during the Roman era; and furthermore, it would ignore the historical/geographical considerations which are pivotal in one's understanding of the authorial intent of the Johannine writing.

If the author of the Fourth Gospel was indeed the Apostle John writing from Ephesus about AD 90,31 then we can be certain that he would have been well-acquainted with certain Hellenistic ideologies, including the Heraclitean/Stoic conception of the Logos.32 Ephesus, which was the capital of proconsular Asia, was one of the chief centers of Hellenistic culture; and though the city was renowned for its Artemis cult and accompanying polytheistic ritualism, it was also the home of the ancient Heraclitus, the father of the cosmological logos doctrine, who incidentally was greatly revered even in John's day. And nearby was the city of Miletus (about 20 miles away),33 the very cradle of Greek philosophy, where Thales, Anximander, and Anaximenes once speculated about the unifying principle, and wondered about the underlying reason which pervaded metaphysical and cosmological reality.

When all things are considered, then, it is not unreasonable to assume that the holy Apostle found in the term Logos a concept, which to the Greek world he could present Christ as the fulfillment of all metaphysical speculation; and which, to the Jewish world, he could present Christ as the ultimate revelation (word) and manifestation (theophany) of God, the incarnation of personified Wisdom (Sophia). Astonishingly, in the Johannine doctrine of the Logos we have the convergence of numerous ideological motifs which find their ultimate meaning in the person of Jesus Christ. Perhaps the words of Archibald Alexander would serve as an appropriate conclusion to the thesis we have set forth in this essay:

"From whatsoever source the term Logos was originally derived, whether from Hebrew tradition or Hellenic speculation - on Christian soil it is a new product. It is neither Greek nor Jewish, it is Christian. The philosophical abstraction has become a religious conception. Hellenism and Hebrewism have been taken up and fused into a higher unity, and Christ as the embodiment of the Logos has become the creative power and the world-wide possession of mankind."34
______________________________________________


Notes and References
1. Archibald Alexander, "Logos" in International Standard Bible Encyclopedia
ed. James Orr, 5 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1939, 3:1916.

2. Frederick Copleston, Greece and Rome: Pre-Socratics to Plotinus Vol. 1 of A History of Philosophy, 9 vols., New York: Image, 1946, p. 20.

3. Ibid., p. 22.

4. Ibid., p. 23.

5. Ibid., p. 43.

6. G. A. Turner, "Logos" in Zondervan Pictorial Encyclopedia of the Bible,
ed. Merrill C. Tenney, 5 vols. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1975, 3:953.

7. Copleston, pp. 387ff.

8. Ronald H. Nash, Christianity in the Hellenistic World, Grand Rapids: Zondervan,
1984, p. 69.

9. Alexander, 3:1912.

10. Ed. L. Miller, "The Logos of Heraclitus: Updating the Report,"
Harvard Theological Review 74:2 (1981):161-76.

11. Johannes Quasten, Patrology, 4 vols. Westminster: Christian Classics,
1950, 1:209.

12. Ibid., 2:21.

13. Ibid., 2:4-5.

14. Theodore Stylianopoulos, "Justin Martyr" in Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, London: Garland, 1990, pp. 514-16.

15. Donald Guthrie, New Testament Introduction, Downers Grove: InterVarsity,
Revised Edition 1990, p. 297.

16. James H. Charlesworth, "Reinterpreting John: How the Dead Sea Scrolls Have
Revolutionized Our Understanding of the Gospel of John" in Bible Review (Feb 1993):
pp. 18-25.

17. Guthrie, p. 297.

18. Raymond E. Brown, "The Gospel According to John I-XII" in The Anchor Bible,
ed. David Noel Freedman, New York: Doubleday, 1966, LXXXIII.

19. Charlesworth, p. 21.

20. John Ashton, "The Transformation of Wisdom: A Study of the Prologue of John's
Gospel" in New Testament Studies (vol. 32: 1986), 161-86.

21. Brown, Sec. 1, p. 4.

22. Ibid., p. 33.

23. "Dabar" in Vine's Expository Dictionary of Biblical Words, eds. W. E. Vine et al.
Nashville: Nelson, Revised 1985, p. 240.

24. Brown, p. 521.

25. Ibid., p. 521.

26. Ibid., p. 521.

27. Thomas H. Tobin, "Logos" in Anchor Bible Dictionary vol. 4,
ed. David Noel Freedman, New York: Doubleday, 4:348-56.

28. Ibid., 4:348-56

29. Ibid., 4:348-56

30. Brown, p. 523.

31. Contrary to sophisticated critical theories which are prevalent in scholarly circles today, we have presupposed the tradition of the early Church -- a tradition passed on from Polycarp (c. 71-156) to Irenaeus (c. 115-202) -- namely, that the Fourth Gospel was the work of John the apostle in the last decade of the first century. It must be noted that modern criticism has attacked the Irenaean testimony of apostolic authorship, but this assessment is not based on objective, historical evidence; but rather, it is motivated by the implications of critical presuppositions which cannot be reconciled with the early testimony of the Bishop of Lyons (cf. Guthrie, p. 270). As an aside, a similar scholarly criticism was leveled against Irenaeus in his depiction of Gnosticism (Adversus Haereses), the claim being that Irenaeus was a propagandist who sought to present the Gnostics in their worst possible light. However, after the discovery of the Nag Hammadi codices in 1949, the polemical writings of Irenaeus were corroborated and thus proved accurate by the Gnostic texts themselves. In my view, then, Irenaeus is a reliable witness to the apostolic authorship of the Fourth Gospel. and furthermore, this confidence is buttressed by the testimony of the Muratorian Canon (AD 170), Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria, and Origen. Simply, if Irenaeus claimed that, as a young boy, he heard Polycarp (a disciple of John) attest to the apostle's authorship of the Fourth Gospel, there is really no reason to disbelieve him. Indeed, if we cannot rely on a tradition as strong as this, then in my view, the whole category of "tradition" as a means of discovering historical truth is entirely worthless.

32. The First Epistle of John, in its polemical thrust against the Gnostic heresy, demonstrates that John was very well-acquainted with Hellenistic ideologies. (cf. John Stott, The Epistles of John, Leicester: InterVarsity, 1960).

33. This is the site where Thales founded the Milesian school of philosophy, and also, where Paul exhorted the Ephesian elders as recorded in Acts 20.

34. Alexander, 3:1916.

Saturday, May 15, 2004

Soren Kierkegaard - Existentialism, Nominalism, and the Three Spheres of Existence

The dawning years of the nineteenth century were indeed years of great historic change. The Age of Reason was slowly disappearing over the horizon and the Romantic era was gradually rising to the fore. Moreover, it was a time of momentous social change and industrial progress, an age of revolution and powerful human expression. While Rousseau and Jefferson assailed the divine right of kings and proceeded to carve out their respective revolutionary ideals, great artists such as Beethoven, Goethe, and Goya were offering to the world their timeless creations. Meanwhile, the engines of the industrial machine were set in motion by the inventive genius of the age, creating a momentous force which has not ceased to this day. Thus the dawn of the nineteenth century was pervaded by the spirit of optimism and human ascent, and it was posited for the first time that the "theoretical possibility of uninterrupted human progress might be concretely realized."1 But as contemporary historians have observed, the Romanticist "escape from reason" was nothing more than a "fallacy of hope,"2 an imaginary dream of utopian ideals from which the European man would awake in horror.

Perhaps this shattered dream is best represented by the story of Beethoven and Napoleon, a story which seems to encapsulate the death of political idealism in nineteenth century Europe. As the story goes, Beethoven, though not a political man, but a grand admirer of Napoleon as an apostle of revolutionary ideals, dedicated his Third Symphony (Sinfonia Eroica) to the French general, inscibing "Buonaparte" at the very top of the manuscript's title page. However, in 1804 when the orchestral master heard that Napoleon crowned himself Emperor in the cathedral of Notre Dame, Beethoven flew into a rage and said, "Now too he will tread under foot all the rights of man, indulge in his own ambition; now he will think himself superior to all men and become a tyrant!"3 Infuriated, the master stormed to the table upon which his work of art lay, and tore the title page into shreds, the name of "Buonaparte" being committed to the hearth and flame. The resulting imperialism of Napoleon, then, would cause much dismay and disillusionment in the hearts of the European people; the intellectual edifice of Romanticism was doomed to collapse and a new context was being formed in which a new philosophy might emerge -- indeed, the philosophy of existentialism.

Perhaps more than any other system of thought, the existential worldview is dependent on the socio-cultural context of the age. Unlike any form of transcendental idealism, existentialism envelops and engages troubled civilization, responding to the predicament of the existing individual. Thus, we can say that existentialism is a philosophy which is attentive to the anguish, aspirations, and needs of the people, a philosophy which moves the existent to realize his "ultimate concern,"4 and thus attain an authentic existence. So, when we reflect upon the societal conditions which prevailed in post-Napoleonic Europe, and then take into consideration the fact that rationalism and higher criticism had already contributed greatly to the erosion of biblical authority, it is not difficult to see how the philosophy of existentialism could have taken root, even though it would not flourish until the twentieth century.

In truth, a concrete definition of existentialism is elusive, indeed a difficult assignment. For, it is not a philosophical system or school of thought per se, nor can it be reduced to a series of propositional truths or tenets. Furthermore, the philosophers which are identified as existentialists are thinkers who differ on the essentials; thus, existential thinkers should not be viewed categorically, but rather on a continuum which spans a wide range of thought. For this reason, then, we find within existentialism such Christian thinkers as Dostoevsky and Kierkegaard on one end of the spectrum, and such atheists as Nietzsche and Sartre on the other end.5 But what is common among existential thinkers is an attitude of revolt against traditional paradigms of thought, especially the epistemological and ontological structures offered in institutionalized Christianity and systematic philosophical idealism (e.g. Platonism or Hegelianism). Rather than viewing reality and existence from an objective rationalistic perspective, existentialism makes precedent the individual's subjective presence and participation in the changing world order.6 Truth is never realized by an a priori assent to a systematic worldview, but by the existent's dialectical interaction with the dynamics of the life situation. The meditative individual contemplates his finitude in the seeming void of the infinite, and endeavors to understand his relation to the world in order that he might attain some form of "authentic existence." Thus, through his own freedom and volition, the individual shapes his own existence, an existence which is part of abstract reality, but not necessarily dependent on it. Thus, authentic existence means that one must become more and more an individual and less and less a member of the "herd," or common humanity. Essentially, then, this is what is meant by the common existential refrain, "existence precedes essence." In sum, this is existentialism.

In the text of this paper, we will explore the ideas of one of the pioneers of existential thought, the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard (1813-55). Although we will allude to various aspects of his existential philosophy, our primary focus will be concerned with his distinct approach to Christianity against the backdrop of nineteenth century nominalism which prevailed in the Danish State Church as well as in Protestant Christianity in general. Soren Kierkegaard was a passionate thinker, sometimes eccentric, and sometimes cynical, who vigorously opposed "Christendom" in its nominal form. In doing so, he served as the prototypical thinker for future existentialists in their polemic against any form of institutionalized nominalism, whether religious, academic, social, or otherwise. Yet although Kierkegaard has been deemed the "father of existentialism" by many contemporary thinkers, it is doubtful that he would have recognized his own ideas in many of the twentieth century existential writings.

At any rate, Kierkegaard's purpose was to awaken the masses from their passive spiritual slumber; and, in his mind, he even sacrificed his marital commitment to Regina Olsen in order to serve God for the sake of this higher principle. He truly believed that Christianity could address the individual existential concerns of the people; but true Christianity, for Kierkegaard, would come with a price. According to his way of thinking, in the early centuries of Christianity, becoming a Christian meant sacrifice and separation from the world, indeed renouncing the ways of the kosmos and following Christ in a continual state of self-surrender, even in the face of scorn and ridicule. In Kierkegaard's day, however, as well as in any era of nominalism, becoming a Christian meant conformity to social principles which were thought to have been derived from Christianity. Thus, in the Danish-Lutheran society, everyone was a Christian. And as Kierkegaard argued in his Attack Upon Christendom, "If all men are Christians, then Christianity eo ipso does not exist."7 Thus, according to Kierkegaard, Christianity had been reduced to a meaningless and irrelevant system which was wholly foreign to its true original form as preserved in the New Testament. Rather than propagating Christian truth (as was supposed), the church was simply contributing to the abolition of authentic Christianity.

As one would expect, because of his countercultural views, Soren Kierkegaard was made the object of scorn and ridicule in the Danish state press. Thus, he was relatively unknown in his own day, unrewarded and unappreciated as a philosophical thinker. Like many of the great minds in history, he simply transcended the age in which he lived. Yet in retrospect, we can see that his philosophical and psychological penetration of the human spirit was so profound that the twentieth century zeitgeist would altogether be different without his important literary contributions.

"The stone which was rolled before Christ's tomb might
appropriately be called 'the philosopher's stone' because its
removal gave not only the Pharisees but, now for 1800 years,
the philosophers so much to think about."
8

Soren Kierkegaard was born in Copenhagen, Denmark in 1813, and it seemed that tragedy would grip his family all the days of his life. By the time he was twenty-one, two of his sisters, a brother, and his mother had all died, and Soren himself would only life to the age of forty-one. Whether one would attribute such tragedy to his father, who as a young boy cursed God for seemingly condemning him to a life of obscurity on the shepherd plains of the Jutland Heath,9 or whether one would attribute such sickliness and frailty to a genetic abnormality which infected the Kierkegaard family, the fact remains that though Soren lived a short life, his proficient mind and prolific pen produced an abundance of ideas, which have earned their place in the bibliotheca of human thought.

In the mind of Kierkegaard, the rationalism which resulted from Enlightenment thinking was nothing short of repugnant. Most of all, he abhorred the philosophy of Hegel, a philosophy which could be regarded as one of the most ambitious systematic philosophies ever devised by the mind of one man.10 Not that Kierkegaard was irreverent toward the great idealistic thinker; indeed, by no means. Kierkegaard recognized the immensity and magnitude of the Hegelian achievement. But as Frederick Copleston has indicated, this was precisely the problem with the Hegelian system according to Kierkegaard. "Kierkegaard regarded Hegel as the greatest of all speculative philosophers and as a thinker who achieved a stupendous intellectual 'tour de force.'"11 Problematic for Kierkegaard, however, was that Hegelian philosophy was a "gigantic 'tour de force' and nothing more."12 It pretended to be a transcendent philosophy which could objectively discern and define all of reality -- indeed, an effort of Promethean fortitude -- but for Kierkegaard, though the Hegelian system sought to encapsulate all of reality within an objective, abstract system, Hegel neglected on very important fact, namely, the "individual existent" and his dynamic interaction within the all-comprehensive reality. Thus, with some cynicism, Kierkegaard wrote, "If Hegel had written his whole 'Logic' and in the Preface had disclosed the fact that it was merely a thought-experiment, he would have been the greatest thinker that has ever lived. Now he is a comic."13

Most importantly, however, what aggravated Kierkegaard the most was that the Hegelian ethos had been superimposed upon the Danish State Church (and Protestantism in general), and had thus reinforced the spirit of nominalism within the church. Of course, Hegel's primary effort was directed at resolving the Kantian distinction between the phenomenal and the noumenal realms,14 the solution being a progressive dialectic between the two which would result in a synthesis of theological and philosophical postulates -- or as some contemporary scholars have asserted, a transformation of the Christian mythos into a philosophical/contemporary understanding.15 Practically, however, Christianity became equated with Christendom (or institutionalized nominalism), the criterion of faith being an assent to the ethical principles of the universal Christian system.

For Kierkegaard, however, this gross nominalism presented a critical problem which had to be overcome if authentic Christianity was to have any practical realism. Within the Hegelian paradigm, there was no place for an individual dynamic faith, i.e. a subjective faith that was elementary to the authentic Christian life.16 Christendom was simply a "prodigious illusion" which distorted and masked the the true essence of the Christian kerygma. As Kierkegaard himself noted in his Point of View:

"What does it mean that all these thousands and thousands call themselves Christians as a matter of course? These many, men, of whom the greater part, so far as one can judge, live in categories quite foreign to Christianity! People who never think about God, never mention his name except in oaths . . . Yet all these people are all called Christians, call themselves Christians, are recognized as Christians by the State, are buried as Christians by the Church, are certified as Christians for eternity!"17

Thus, according to Kierkegaard, most of the people within Christendom were not really true Christians, i.e. disciples of Jesus Christ. Indeed, as Kierkegaard argued in his Training in Christianity, if these people (whether minister, philosopher, or statesman) had lived contemporaneous with Christ, they certainly would not have comprised his following, but rather, his opposition. In reality, they were simply the heirs of 1,800 years of Christian civilization (i.e. "the upshot"),18 and "they live(d) in aesthetic, or at most, in aesthetic-ethical categories" (a subject to which we will allude in later discussion).19 For Kierkegaard, then, the great sea of nominalism in which the Church was immersed in his day resulted not in the propagation of Christian truth (as was commonly believed), but rather, in the abolition of authentic Christianity. The "faith that was once and for all delivered to the saints" (Jude 3) had been reduced to a superficial triviality; it had been diffused among the passive recipients of mediocrity, and had thus come "dangerously close to sanctioning the Christian faith with the spirit of worldliness."20

In sum, then, the key question for the Danish thinker was, "How can one become a Christian if everybody is already a Christian?" Spoken another way, "How can one preach Christianity to those who presume to be Christians?" Kierkegaard was no fool, however. He recognized the near impossibility of resolving such a sicio-spiritual problem. As he wrote in 1848, "Once in a while there appears a religious enthusiast: he storms against Christendom, he vociferates and makes a loud noise, denouncing almost all as not being Christians, yet he accomplishes nothing . . . and illusion is not an easy thing to dispel."21

Despite this, however, Kierkegaard viewed himself as the one who would "storm against Christendom" and expose the institutionalized nominalism which prevailed within the Danish State Church. In articulating authentic Christianity, he would build his system upon three pillars, namely, (1) the idea of the Three Spheres of Existence (i.e. the aesthetic, ethical, and religious) as set forth in his Stages on Life's Way, (2) his doctrine of Christ's invitation to the individual in Training in Christianity with the inherent "paradox" and "offense" associated with true faith in Christ -- the paradox and offense being the concept of "theanthropos," and finally (3) the so-called "leap of faith" which begins precisely where logical, systematic thinking leaves off. Essentially, then these are the three pillars upon which the Kierkegaardian "system" is built. Thus, it is within this core of his philosophy in which his developed ideas are contextualized and properly understood.

Because of the brevity of this essay, in the following pages we will focus primarily on the first pillar, i.e. the Three Spheres of Existence, or "Stages on Life's Way."

The Three Spheres of Existence

In the spring of 1845, Kierkegaard wrote his Stages on Life's Way, a work which ponders the question, "How should a human being exist?" Reminiscent of Plato's Symposium, the question is addressed from different perspectives by various fictional characters who have been invited to a banquet. (In the Symposium the issue of discussion was the "meaning of love"). In this work, though, Kierkegaard (through his fictional characters) delineates three spheres of existence or realms, namely the "aesthetic, ethical, and the religious."22 Contrary to Hegel's triadic logical progression (thesis, antithesis, synthesis) which leads to the individual's greater metaphysical understanding,23 Kierkegaard's concern is the psycho-spiritual growth of the individual personality through a series of triadic stages.

The first stage, or aesthetical sphere of existence, is concerned with the sensual world of gratification, pleasure, and worldly pursuits. It is the realm in which man feeds his impulses and emotions, excluding from the forefront of his consciousness "fixed universal standards" and "religious faith."24 As Copleston observes, "Open to all emotional and sense experience, sampling the nectar from every flower, he hates all that would limit his field of choice and he never gives definite form to his life."25 It must be said, however, at this point, that Kierkegaard does not mean to equate aestheticism to mere hedonism, although hedonism would certainly be included in the aesthetic category. Rather, the Kierkegaardian concept of the "aesthetic level of existence" would include primarily, in the Epicurean sense, a priority of immediate self-fulfillment in apposition to some form of loyalty to a supreme universal law. Accordingly, then, the aesthete discovers no contentment in his self-absorbed pursuits (resulting in "despair") and is thus faced with a critical "choice," indeed an "Either/Or," i.e. whether to remain in the aesthetical sphere of existence (what Kierkegaard metaphorically regards as "the cellar,"26 never attaining any form of "authentic existence."

Nevertheless, some men realize the futility of living in the aesthetical sphere, and thus "choose" to proceed to a life of duty, commitment, and morality -- indeed, the second "stage on life's way," the ethical sphere of existence. Whereas the aesthetical stage is typified by the passionate Don Juan, who in European myth (e.g. Mozart's Don Giovanni) lived a life of immediate satisfaction in every situation, the ethical stage is typified by Socrates, a man who though it his duty to pursue a life of virtue in obedience to a universal principle.27 The ethical man, then, accepts universal moral principles and assents to a higher law, thus giving "form and consistency to his life."28 In Kierkegaardian thought, the idea of transition, i.e. of a man who moves from the aesthetic to the ethical level of existence, can be found in the analogy of a man who renounces mere sexual impulses and the convenience of non-commitment and instead enters into a state of marriage, thus making a lifelong covenant with his lover according to the dictates of a higher universal law.29 Accordingly, he has moved from the aesthetic into the ethical sphere of existence, and has thus progressed toward an authentic form of existence.

In the ethical life of duty and commitment, the existent pursues a life of virtue and moral assent to the universal; however, a truly earnest attempt to live such a life eventually results in the individual's awareness of his own insufficiency and shortcomings. He realizes that his autonomous internal volitional powers are unable to bring him to the level of an authentic ethical existence. Thus, the existent reaches the classic point of "despair" and is again faced with the critical "choice" of "Either/Or," i.e. whether to make the transition to the next level, i.e. the religious sphere of existence.

Interestingly, within the ethical stage Kierkegaard introduces to us the tragic hero, i.e. one who sacrifices himself for the universal moral law. In essence, the tragic hero divests himself of his own self-interests for the sake of the universal. An example of the tragic hero would be Socrates, who refused to participate in a last minute plot which would free him from prison, his purpose being that the integrity of his teaching might be jeopardized -- thus, a heroic action of self-sacrifice or martyrdom for the sake of the universal. Or King Agamemnon, who in the Iliad, could not set sail for the shores of Troy because he had offended Artemis, a goddess who thwarted the efforts of his naval fleet and then demanded the sacrificial blood of his daughter Iphigenia for propitiation. as a royal figure who recognized that the fate of all Greece was at stake, and that he had made alliances with Menelaus, Achilles, and Odysseus to go to war against Troy, Agamemnon became a tragic hero by sacrificing his own daughter for the sake of the universal, i.e. the fate of his nation.30 And indeed, throughout history, how many hundreds of thousands of people have sacrificed their lives for the greater good (the universal) of their nation? Yet Kierkegaard, in his book Fear and Trembling, goes on to contrast this tragic hero (or "knight of resignation") with what he calls the "knight of faith" (a subject to which we will allude in our discussion of the "third stage on life's way," i.e. the religious sphere of existence).

Now, according to Kierkegaard, when the existent who has been living at the ethical stage becomes confronted with the "despair" of realization and thus "chooses" to move into the religious sphere of existence, he has essentially recognized the fact that authentic existence cannot be attained without God at the center. Controverting the Kantian "Categorical Imperative," which invokes God "practically" but not "existentially," Kierkegaard seeks to emphasize an immanence in the life of the existent, an immanence which affirms the individual's relationship to God on a deep and personal level. As Copleston notes in regard to this element of Kierkegaardian thought:

"Every man is, as it were, amixture of the finite and the infinite. Considered precisely as finite, he is separated from God, alienated from him. Considered as infinite, man is not indeed God, but he is a movement towards God, the movement of the spirit. And the man who appropriates and affirms his relationship to God 'in faith' becomes what he really is, the individual before God."31

Now the prototypical figure for Kierkegaard in illustrating the religious sphere of existence is the biblical patriarch Abraham. As Kierkegaard relates to us in his Fear and Trembling, God requires Abraham to appropriate and affirm his relationship to God "in faith" by suspending any adherence to the universal ethical law. According to the Kantian dictum, there could be no transcendence of the universal ethical law since it was precisely man's conformity to this law that measured man's perfection or lack thereof.32 So, whereas ethical univerality became a teleological end for Kant, it was the suspension of such ethical universality that provided the theme for Kierkegaard's hermeneutical investigation of the biblical Abraham.

Thus, God calls upon Abraham to perform an abhorrent task, a task so scandalous that no ethical mind could conceive of such an abomination. Indeed, there is nothing done for the sake of the universal in this decree. For, in commanding Abraham to slay his only son Isaac simply to prove his faith, God is purposely removing Himself from any fixed universal realm and thus encountering the existent (Abraham) on an individual plane that is far beyond comprehension or objective understanding. For this reason, then, Abraham cannot speak of his trial to Sarah, or Eleazar, or Isaac, or anyone else, because as Kierkeggard notes, "Abraham is an emigrant from the sphere of the universal."33 he has moved into a realm of solitude where only he and God can convene, a realm where the "Individual can stand in absolute relation to the Absolute."34 Interestingly, Kierkegaard resembles Thomas Aquinas here; for, as James Collins points out in his work The Mind of Kierkegaard:

"It is a Thomistic teaching that the secrets of the heart, especially those associated with the disposition of freedom, remain inviolable. These secrets are open only to God and the individual, for not even the angels can pierce this inscrutably private zone. And it is not only inviolable but also in a way ineffable: the individual cannot, if he would, communicate to another his complete attitude."35

Thus, it is within this realm of "subjectivity" that the existent Abraham communes with God. There is no conformity to an objectiveyly defined Hegelian system, there is no conformity to the Kantian dictum, and external impositions and influences cannot penetrate this realm of "subjectivity." Abraham stands alone before God, in "fear and trembling," unconditionally accepting the call to faith which God has required. It is here, then, that Kierkegaard contrasts the tragic hero (or "knight of resignation") with the "knight of faith" who is Abraham.

As Kierkegaard observes, the tragic hero like Socrates or Agamemnon resigns himself to the fact that his self-sacrifice will result in an irreversible finality -- nevertheless, a finality which will result in the good of the universal. For instance, Socrates knows that his death is imminent, but his conscience is assured that his sacrificial action is in congruity with the universal. And Agamemnon, as well as Iphigenia, are assured that the required popitiatory sacrifice to Artemis will result in victory for the Greeks. Thus, their action is interpreted as a "sacrifice for the universal cause." In Kierkegaardian language, then, we can say that these tragic heroes are knights of resignation because they have have infinitely resigned their fates to the good of the universal.

What, then, is the difference between these tragic heroes and the biblical figure Abraham? Among the many similarities, where does one find the distinction? Well, as Kierkegaard explains, Socrates, Agamemnon, and Iphigenia had all resigned themselves to their irreversible fates for the sake of the universal. However, although Abraham, too, had passed through this very same fire of resignation (i.e. he infinitely renounced his claim to the one he loved -- Isaac), he went one step further. Though he had resigned to the fact that he would spill the blood of his only son on the heights of Mount Moriah, he nevertheless believed "on the strength of the absurd" that he would receive Isaac again, not in death, but in life.36 In Kierkegaard, the word "absurd" does not have the meaning as in Albert Camus' "Myth of Sisyphus," nor does it mean something that is "logically impossible," but rather, it implies something that is "humanly impossible." Thus, we could say that Kierkegaardian absurdity recognizes such impossibilities as "apparent," and thus commits them to the realm of faith and the divine potentiality. Thus, Abraham became a "knight of faith" because he believed "that for God all things are possible."37 As Kierkegaard himself writes:

"What did Abraham do? He believed on the strength of the absurd, and it was indeed absurd that God who demanded this of him should in the next instant withdraw the demand. He climbed the mountain, even in that moment when the knife gleamed he believed -- that God would not demand Isaac. Certainly he was surprised by the outcome, but by means of a double movement he had come back to his original position and therefore received Isaac more joyfully than the first time."38

The admiration that Kierkegaard (or his pseudonymous author, Johannes de Silentio) has for Abraham is astounding. In Kierkegaard, the scriptural saying that "Without faith it is impossible to please God" (Heb 11:6) takes on a deeper meaning than is typically articulated in most commentaries which reflect on the biblical chapter of Genesis 22. Kierkegaard penetrates deep into the words of Scripture, underneath the text, if you will; thus, he probes deeply into the psycho-spiritual dimension of the man Abraham and brings forth a fresh meaning to the text. Apart from the twentieth century misinterpretations and exploitations of Kierkegaardian thought, we must no discard his thinking as it applies to the religious sphere of existence. In Kierkegaard, Christianity is a religion of personal faith, not nominalistic assent, and Abraham is the paradigm of the "man of faith" who is prepared to intercommune with God on a deep and personal level, in a realm of subjectivity which denies entry to any other. Thus, as we come to the end of this essay, I think it is appropriate to finish with the words of the great philosopher himself, Soren Aabye Kierkegaard, who in his assessment of the biblical Abraham, defined him as a man who would forever become the father of the faithful:

"No! No one shall be forgotten who was great in this world; but everyone was great in his own way, and everyone in proportion to the greatness of what he 'loved.' For he who loved himself became great in himself, and he who loved others became great through his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than all. They shall all be remembered, but everyone became greater in proportion to his 'expectancy.' One became great through expecting the possible, another by expecting the eternal; but he who expected the impossible became greater than all. They shall all be remembered, but everyone was great in proportion to the magnitude of what he 'strove with.' For he who strove with the world became great in conquering the world, and he who strove with himself became greater by conquering himself; but he who strove with God became greater than all. Thus, there was strife in the world, man against man, one against thousands, but he who strove with God was greater than all . . . greater than all was Abraham."39
____________________

Notes and References

1. George Perkins, et al., eds. The American Tradition in Literature. 7th ed.
New York: McGraw, 1990, p. 245.

2. Kenneth Clark, Civilisation: A Personal View. New York: Harper, 1969, p. 293.

3. Michael Hamburger, ed. Beethoven: Letter, Journals, and Conversations.
New York: Thames and Hudson, 1951, p. 47.

4. Robert Bretall, ed. A Kierkegaard Anthology. Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1946, p. xxi. *Though the term "ultimate concern" was utilized and later developed by the theologian Paul Tillich, the idea is throughly Kierkegaardian.

5. Walter Kaufmann, ed. Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre.
New York: Meridian, 1989, p. 11.

6. Antony Flew, ed. A Dictionary of Philosophy. "Existentialism"
New York: St Martin's Press, 1984, p. 115.

7. Soren Kierkegaard, Attack Upon Christendom, in Bretall, p. 446.

8. Kierkegaard, The Journals, in Bretall, p. 2.

9. Walter Lowrie, A Short Life of Kierkegaard. Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1942, pp. 16ff.

10. Frederick G. Weiss, ed. Hegel: The Essential Writings, New York: Harper,
1974, p. 2.

11. Frederick Copleston, A History of Philosophy: From the Post-Kantian Idealists to Marx, Kierkegaard, and Nietzsche. Vol. 7 of 9. New York: Doubleday, 1965, p. 335.

12. Ibid., p. 335.

13. Lowrie, p. 116.

14. Copleston, p. 167.

15. Thomas Altizer, The Gospel of Christian Atheism. Philadelphia: Westminster,
1966, p. 66.

16. Soren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling. Trans. Alastair Hannay.
London: Penguin, 1985, p. 29.

17. Kierkegaard, The Point of View, in Bretall. pp. 330-31.

18. Kierkegaard, Training in Christianity, in Bretall, p. 396.

19. Kierkegaard, The Point of View, in Bretall, p. 332.

20. James Collins, The Existentialists. Chicago: Henry Regenry Co., 1952, p. 16.

21. Kierkegaard, The Point of View, in Bretall, p. 331.

22. Collins, p. 6.

23. Ibid., p. 6.

24. Copleston, p. 342.

25. Ibid., p. 342.

26. Kierkegaard, Sickness Unto Death, in Bretall, p. 346.

27. Plato, Apology. Trans. Benjamin Jowett New York: Modern Library, 1928, p. 75.

28. Copleston, p. 343.

29. Ibid., p. 343.

30. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 139.

31. Copleston, p. 343.

32. James Collins, The Mind of Kierkegaard. Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1983, p. 92.

33. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 139.

34. Copleston, p. 334.

35. Collins, The Mind of Kierkegaard, p. 96.

36. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 75.

37. Ibid., p. 75.

38. Ibid., p. 65.

39. Ibid., p. 50.




Thursday, May 13, 2004

The Pelagian Controversy - Augustine / Pelagius

The Pelagian Controversy : Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis

by William J Tsamis


"I once more repeat my position: I say that it is possible for a man to be without sin. What do you say? That it is impossible for a man to be without sin? I am not saying that there is a man without sin . . . Our contention is simply about what is possible, not about what is, and what is not."

Pelagius
As quoted by Augustine in his A Treatise on Nature and Grace, Against Pelagius
Book I, Chapter 8 - (Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers 1, Vol. 5).
_______________________________________________________________________

Introduction and Historical Context

Throughout the history of Christianity, there have been great intellectual wars waged in the name of, and for the sake of, truth. With a spirit of unrelenting zeal and intensity, councils have convened, creeds have been formulated, and in the wake of such ecclesiastical discipline, numerous anathemas have been hurled and not a few heretics have been denounced. In a pattern of dualistic theological conflict, we remember Athanasius and Arius, Cyril of Alexandria and Nestorius, Patriarch Photius and Pope Nicholas, Luther and Leo X, Calvin and Arminius, and a host of other saints and heretics whose interpersonal theological disputes and disagreements caused great disruptions within the "one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church," against which not even the gates of hell could prevail. Not least among these, however, was the great disputation between Augustine and Pelagius, two contemporary thinkers who would clash at the dawn of the fifth century (ca. 411), the former being the bishop of Hippo in North Africa who once experientially fathomed the depths of utter sin and depravity, the latter being a monk from the isles of Britain who lived uprightly in increasing integrity and piety, apparently untainted by the sin and moral evil which prevailed in the world. Thus, with no orthodox anthropological doctrine yet defined by the end of the fourth century, the Eastern Church being consumed with christological and theological schisms and controversies, perhaps it seemed fit that divine providence might bring together two antithetical Western thinkers from distant lands, and thus forge a scriptural anthropology of grace which would glorify God in His soteriological work and thus exalt the cross of the Saviour, Jesus Christ.

The time of the Pelagian Controversy was a time of great change, especially with regard to geopolitical and hegemonic change. Indeed, the sands of Rome were shifting and the lines of provincial demarcation were being erased and redefined. Now although the fall of the western Roman Empire would not arrive until the year 476, when the Germanic tribal chieftain Odoacer would depose the emperor Romulus Augustulus, the pillars of Rome had been crumbling for nearly a century under the consistent and ferocious attacks of the barbarian hordes. After the Visigoths defeated the Emperor Valens and his Roman legions at Adrianople in 378, the legend of Roman invincibility died on the battlefield along with the emperor and his legions, and thus, a century of chaos was now ushered in.1 Vandals, Ostrogoths, Huns, Burgundians, Angles, Saxons, Jutes, and others began to tear away at the flesh of the dying beast which was once Rome, seizing territories at will, and thus driving the once invincible armies of Rome into evacuation and retreat. The western provinces of Rome were swallowed up by the gluttonous barbarians, and the former provinces became the new strongholds of alien cultures.

Now it was on the occasion of the sack of Rome in 410, led by Alaric the Goth, that
Augustine was compelled to write his classic City of God, which essentially defended Christianity from the accusations of pagan writers that the fall of Rome was the consequence of the abandonment of the pagan gods.2 A massive literary undertaking of fourteen years, Augustine effectively articulated a philosophy of history which centered on the sovereignty and providence of God in the affairs of men. Moreover, he not only defended the truth of Christianity, but he polemically attacked the immorality of Roman pagan religion, insisting that the gods of Rome along with their respective sacerdotal systems were worthless in conveying any ethic to their peoples; they were simply a reflection of the perversions of pagan Rome, upon which the God of gods was now visiting His divine judgment.3 Augustine gives evidence to this assertion by demonstrating that in spite of all the "destruction, slaughter, burning, plundering, and distress visited upon Rome . . . it was something entirely new that the fierce barbarians, by an unprecedented turn of events, showed such clemency for the vast basilicas which were designated as places of refuge [for Christian and pagan alike]."4 Augustine reminds his readers that it was not the sudden compassion and mercy of the barbaric savages that spared the lives of both Christians and pagans, but "It was God who struck awe into ruthless and bloodthirsty hearts, who curbed and wondrously tamed them."5

Now because of the geopolitical instability of the times, especially around the perimeters of the empire, Pelagius, the British monk, migrated to Rome in about 380-384.6 There, he studied law, perfecting his polemical skills, and he fused his monastic legalistic piety with his clear intellect, striving all the while to effectuate some change in the corrupt morals of societal Rome. Also, during his time in Rome, Pelagius befriended one, Celestius, who would later become a champion of the Pelagian system. Indeed, it was from the latter that the controversy would take its rise, for as Philip Schaff notes, it was Pelagius who was "the moral author of the system," while Celestius would be regarded as "the intellectual author."7 At the time of Alaric's march against Rome in 410, however, both Pelagius and Celestius would take flight from Rome's impending doom, and set sail for the shores of sanctuary in North Africa. Whereas Pelagius would mark a brief stay in North Africa, leaving for Palestine in 413 in order to forward his anthropologcal views there, Celestius would stay behind in Carthage and seek orders for the presbytery. Ironically, it would be from the latter event that the Pelagian Controversy would then arise.
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Biographical Context

Before we discuss the anthropological doctrines of Pelagianism, along with its Augustinian antithesis, let us briefly digress into a biographical sketch of the two thinkers so that we can arrive at some understanding at how these two prominent men, Pelagius and Augustine, not only differed in their antrhopology, but in their psychological development and experience as well. For as Berkhof, citing the words of Wiggers, says,

"Their characters were diametrically opposite. Pelagius was a quiet man, as free from mysticism as aspiring ambition; and in this respect, his mode of thought and action must have been wholly different from that of Augustine. Both therefore thought differently, according to their totally different physiognamy; and both, moreover, must have come into conflict just as soon as external occasion should be presented." (Augustinianism and Pelagianism, p. 47).8

So with regard to this debate, i.e. the Pelagian Controversy, the developmental backgrounds of the two men are of immense importance. How each man arrived at his own respective system was not entirely due to scriptural exegesis and inference, but also due to the experiences and essential psychological profiles of the two men in their developmental years. Now with regard to Pelagius (ca. 350-425), there is scant evidence about his early life, although we can presume that he came from a noble family since he was highly educated in language (speaking both Latin and Greek) as well as in the cultural arts. As we noted earlier, he was always known to be a man of great individual piety, morality, and self-discipline. Even Augustine, though he condemned the Pelagian doctrine as error, spoke well of Pelagius' exemplary character. So, from various writings, we can deduce that Pelagius was a moralist who lived an austere, puritan Christian life, a man who believed from his own experience that all men possessed an absolute "freedom of the will" and self-determination toward the holy life. As a man, then, Pelagius is to be commended for his loyalty to the moral teachings of the Saviour; as a theologian, however, as we shall see later, Pelagius is to be denounced as one who emphasized a form of legalism which denied a preeminent role to the grace of God.

Now with regard to Augustine of Hippo (354-430), if we were to examine his developmental years, we would find a man of contrary psychological character to that of Pelagius. Whereas in the life of Pelagius we see stability and concrete affinity to the Christian religion, in the person of Augustine we see a young man "tossed about to and fro" on the waves of various worldviews and thought systems. Even in his youth an active mind, it was when Augustine read Cicero's Hortensius that he began his quest for wisdom, and in the words of the patristic scholar Johannes Quasten, "his long and tormented interior evolution began."9 And though he received a Christian education in his earlier years - his mother Monica being a pious Christian - Augustine had read the scriptures with little or no profit. So, appealing to his rationalistic tendencies, Augustine pursued other forms of thought until he finally rested in the religion of Manichaeism in its heterodox Christian form, which essentially articulated (1) a form of rationalism which excluded faith, (2) a purely spiritual form of Christianity which excluded the Old Testament, and (3) a radical metaphysical dualism which solved the problem of evil.10 For about a decade, then, Augustine would align himself with Manichaeism and maintain a strict anti-Christian bias. But after reading the writings of certain academics and philosophers such as the Platonists, Augustine recognized the irrational and mythical aspects of certain Manichean metaphysical presuppositions, and he thus fell into the realm of skepticism.

During his years of turmoil, Augustine plunged the depths of immorality and lived a life of full-blown hedonism. Immersed in promiscuity, he lived unmarried with a woman for about thirteen years who bore him a son named Adeodatus, to whom he remained a faithful father his whole life. In his famous work The Confessions, Augustine relates to us his level of depravity:

"For in that youth of mine I was on fire to take my fill of hell. Outrageously in all my shady loves I began to revert to a state of savagery: my beauty consumed away and I stank in [God's] sight; pleasing myself and being anxious to please in the eyes of men."11

Nevertheless, despite his immersion in the hedonistic lifestyle, Augustine excelled in learning and became a professor of rhetoric at Milan in the year 385. Partly due to the volatility of the times, and partly due to his soaring intellect, Augustine experienced tremendous success and, for a time, he even considered pursuing a political career. In reflecting on those years, however, he said,

"In the years that I taught the art of rhetoric, I was overcome by a desire for [monetary] gain. I took money for instructing my pupils on how to overcome
other people by speech-making."
12

Augustine, then, was a master of logic and rhetoric, a very successful and rising star,
but he was deeply unhappy and discontented.

Ironically, or providentially, a very learned and eloquent man also resided in Milan, a spiritual man whose character and intellect transcended even the greatest minds of the era - his name was Ambrose, the bishop of Milan. Not only was Ambrose a highly skilled rhetorician, but he was a master of classical philosophical works as well, a true scholar of his age. Most importantly, however, Ambrose possessed the soul of a pastor who deeply cared for the Church, not only in an intellectual polemical sense, but in an ethical and moral sense as well. Thus, it would not be long before Augustine would hear of Ambrose, and subsequently desire to listen to his powerful homilies which were rich with theological and philosophical insights. Yet although Ambrose would have a profound effect on the "spiritual restlessness" of Augustine, it would be by a simple act of faith in the Saviour that Augustine would enter into the kingdom of God and be baptized into the Church. And after his baptism by the great Ambrose in 387, he decided to abandon his career as a professor of rhetoric, along with the renunciation of his formal lifestyle, and instead, return to Hippo in North Africa with his son and his mother in order to found a monastic community. In 385, however, Augustine would become bishop of Hippo, a post which he would retain his entire life, a post from which he would launch his timeless theological and polemical writings. In sum, then, this is the story of Augustine's radical metamorphosis from hedonistic paganism to the faith of Jesus Christ.
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The Pelagian Thesis

In discussing the Pelagian Controversy, it is critical to point out that the Church, until that time, had not really dealt with the issue of anthropology in any depth. If we could ascribe any systematized doctrine to the Eastern Chuch, we could say that the Greek Fathers, especially those at Alexandria, were so concerned with the cosmological dualism and fatalism of earlier Gnostic systems, that the anthropology which was developed in the East stressed a "synergism" which attributed salvation to the work of the human will alongside the work of divine grace.13 Moreover, as we stated in our introduction, the Greek Fathers of this era (e.g., Athanasius, the Cappadocians, John Chrysostom, Cyril of Alexandria, et al.), were consumed with christological and theological subordinationist issues, issues of course which would prove to be of immense importance to the historic Christian faith. It can also be said, at this point, that although the Eastern Church joined the Western Church in the condemnation of Pelagianism at the Council of Ephesus in 431 (along with the condemnation of Nestrorius), the anathema in no way implied an acceptance of Augustinian anthropology.14 Salvific theology in the Eastern Church had inferred from the words of Athanasius the doctrine "Theosis" (sometimes rendered deification or divinization), the words of Athanasius being "He became what we are, so that He might make us what He is." Certainly, the concept of Theosis is not to be confused with far eastern metaphysical monistic ideas such as the Vedantic idea of absortion into Brahman, but rather, the idea is inferred from incarnational theology and certain scriptures such as "You have become partakers of the divine nature" (2 Pet 1:4).

Thus, in the Western theological tradition the idea is similar to that of "glorification." In the centuries following the Council of Ephesus the idea of Theosis became more systematized by such Eastern thinkers as Maximus Confessor (580-662) and the mystic,Symeon the New Theologian (ca. 11th cent.). Perhaps the differences between anthropological doctrine in the East as compared to that of the West are best summarized by the words of the eminent scholar Jaroslav Pelikan:

"The divergences between the Eastern and Augustinian definitions of Christia-
nity were expressed in connection with this doctrine of deification (Theosis).
For although Symeon spoke at length about the fall of Adam and its disastrous
consequences, he was explicit in asserting that the consequences of the fall for subsequent generations were tied to the repetition of Adam's sin; guilt was not
transmitted through conception and birth to his descendants. The fall of Adam
had as its result that man was 'sick, weak, and infirm,' but a man's sin was still
his own."
(emphasis mine)15

So as we can see, the Eastern Church perceived anthropological and soteriological ideas in a much different way than the Western Church did. Much of the divergence, however, can be ascribed to the differing languages of the Eastern (Byzantine) and Western (Roman Catholic) churches, i.e. the languages of Greek and Latin respectively. As one scholar remarked with some wit, "They didn't understand each other because they simply didn't 'understand' each other." So, although the Byzantine and Roman churches were united at Ephesus in 431 in their condemnation of Pelagianism, we can see that there was an existing chasm with regard to their respective premises regarding anthropology and hamartiology. In lieu of this distinction, then, let us now return to our discussion of the Pelagian system.

Now the major proponents of Pelagianism were, Pelagius, Celestius, and Julian, the latter being a bishop at Rome who would become a fierce opponent of Augustine and thus battle against the Augustinian anthropology to the very day of his death. From the perspective of intellectual appreciation, it must be admitted that these three pillars of Pelagianism were no mean scholars, but rather, they were quite learned and orthodox with respect to their christology and theology. So, at this point, then, let us ask the question, "What exactly was Pelagianism, and what were the major tenets upon which the doctrine rested?"

If we look at the six major propositions forwarded by Celestius while he was at Carthage, we can truly see inside the Pelagian system and thus appreciate why Augustine necessarily put forth a polemical refutation. In sum, the six major propositions of Celestius were:

1. "Adam was created mortal and would have died whether he had sinned or not sinned."

2. "The sin of Adam injured only him, not the human race."

3. "The law leads to the kingdom, just as the gospel does."

4. "Even before the coming of Christ there were men without sin."

5. "Newborn infants are in the same state in which Adam was before his transgression."

6. "The whole human race does not die through the death and transgression
of Adam, nor does it rise again through the resurrection of Christ."16

Although the six propositions of Celestius are concise in form, certain inferences can be drawn with respect to some major heterodox theological ideas, and for this reason Pelagianism was first condemned at a synod in Carthage in 411, Celestius refusing to recant the errors ascribed to him, and then at the Synod of Diospolis in 415, the Council of Carthage in 418, and the final, universal anathema pronounced at the Council of Ephesus in 431.

Now, first and foremost in the mind of Pelagianism was the idea of "the freedom of the will," namely, that man has an absolute power over his own will, and that in each instance where man has the opportunity to make a moral decision he has the power to choose between good and evil, between the holy and the unholy.17 In the view of the Western church, this Pelagian idea seemed to diminish, or altogether exclude the doctrine of grace and instead imply a self-determinative principle within man which would make possible the achievement of a sinless life without the grace of God. Thus, the concept of "posse non peccare" (i.e., the possibility of not sinning) was not limited to Adam before the fall, but was possible for all mankind since there was no generational transmission of Adamic guilt, i.e. original sin. In the Pelagian system, then, men are born into the world much in the same way that Adam was, i.e., innocent, a tabula rasa upon which the self-determinative and uninterrupted will of man would write his own moral and salvific story. Through the fall of Adam, then, there was no hereditary corruption of the entire human race, but rather, Adam simply provided a bad example in his autonomous disobedience to the will of God. Accordingly, it is not the Adamic corruption of the human race which is the fountain of sin, but rather, the increasingly entropic socio-psychological conditions which provide the negative impluses for the sins of mankind.

Another dangerous implication of the Pelagian view was that it seemed to reinforce a doctrine of works which was blatantly contradictory to the doctrine of grace and the salvific plan of God. Essentially, Pelagianism asserted that, since there was no such thing as original sin, it was even possible for the heathen to attain salvation apart from the cross of Christ. Though this Pelagian view should not be confused with such contemporary soteriological ideas as inclusivism or universalism, it would not be inappropriate to identify the Pelagian view with any doctrine which ascribes works to salvation. For Pelagianism, then, the only beneficial aspect of the gospel was that it made "perfect obedience" far easier to attain.18

The most devestating aspect of the Pelagian system, however, was that it seemed to controvert the explicit teaching of the Apostle Paul in Romans 5. The natural rendering of the text, especially Rom 5:12-21, seems to convey the idea that Adam was the originator of sin, introducing it along with its consequence, "death," into the human race, and that Christ, the Second Adam, was the source of justification, introducing "life eternal" to all those who believe in Him. The Pelagians were fully cognizant of this difficultly in their system, and they attempted to construct an alternative hermeneutic which would support their doctrine. Pelagius, for instance, argued that the term "all" in Rom 5:12 was simply a general statement rather than a universal one, and that such pre-Christian saints as Abel, Enoch, Abraham, Isaac, Joseph, Samuel, Elijah, Daniel, and even Mary were free from a life of sin.19 With regard to this aspect of the Pelagian view, Schaff makes some meaningful comments: "In this system Paul's exhibitions of Adam and Christ have no meaning. If the sin of Adam cannot be imputed , neither can the merit of Christ."20 In sum, then, the exposition of Rom 5 would deal a crushing blow to the doctrine of Pelagianism.
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The Augustinian Antithesis

In the second decade of the fifth century, when Augustine undertood the task of refuting the Pelagian anthropology, he had already engaged in two disputations of critical magnitude, i.e., the heresy of Manichaeism and the Donatist controversy; so Augustine was no stranger to apologetics and polemical writing. When the Pelagians entered into the theological forum in which Augustine was a proven champion, they had no idea of the level of genius with which they would have to contend. As in many instances, the contemporaries of a great man (whether he be a thinker or an artist) have only a limited appreciation of the true level of his brilliance - only historians can look back in retrospect and truly understand the implications of a man's genius. Certainly, Pelagius, Celestius, and Julian (the traid of Pelagian thought) had no idea that the man with whom they had to contend, would be regarded as one of the most important thinkers since the Apostle Paul, and moreover, that an entire millenium of philosophic thought would be declared "The Augustinian Age." In sum, the Pelagian view, though set forth by no mean scholars, would be cut down by the sharp blade of Augustine's theological, philosophical, exigetical, and rhetorical brilliance.

Now, when Pelagius forwarded his doctrine of posse non peccare, thus extending the possibility of attaining holiness and sinless perfection beyond the fall of man, Augustine perceived the pastoral implications of the idea, namely, that laypeople would become discouraged in their quest for Christian piety and thus despair, because for them "perfect obedience" was impossible.21 Augustine could truly identify with converts to Christianity because he had come from the world of hedonism and paganism himself. Experientially, he knew the power of sin and the depth of human depravity; and, in his personal exodus from the kosmos, he knew, again experientially, the power of divine grace, as he so openly expressed in his Confessions. As Schaff so eloquently states:

"[In the Confessions], every Christian may bewail his own wanderings, despair
of himself, throw himself unconditionally into the arms of God, and lay hold
upon unmerited grace . . . [Augustine] teaches nothing which he has not felt.
In him the philosopher and living Christian are everywhere fused."
22

It must be emphasized that it was not in the interest of Augustine to denigrate the concept of the Christian's pursuit of piety and thus provide a way for antinomianism, but rather, in the sprit of Paul, Augustine sought to emphasize the fact that the Christian can experience metamorphosis only by divine grace. For this reason, then, it is interesting to examine the various metaphors used by the Pelagians to those of Augustine, for in these metaphors we see the contradiction of the two systems. For instance, whereas Pelagius taught his followers to strive toward spiritual adulthood by positive moral action, Augustine stressed the helplessness of infants and, therefore, the need for divine grace.23 Furthermore, whereas the Pelagian system required the Christian to pursue an uphill determinative course with absolute resolution, the Augustinian antithesis discussed moral action within the context of divine grace, i.e., positive human works done in spontaneity without effort, all for the love of, and for the sake of, Christ.24

Perhaps the greatest doctrine which is immediately identified with Augustinian anthropology is that of original sin. Of course the locus classicus for the doctrine of original sin is Rom 5:12-21,

"For just as through one man sin entered the world, and death through sin;
thus, death spread to all men (v. 12) . . . For as by one man's disobedience
many were made sinners, so also by one Man's obedience many will be made
righteous. Sin came into the world through one man and death through sin,
and so death spread to all men because all men sinned
(v. 19) . . ."

Now as we stated in our introduction, there was no theological or hermeneutical consensus regarding this Pauline text in the ante-Nicene, Nicene, or post-Nicene churches. Apart from Irenaeus, the second century (Western) bishop of Lyons who exegeted much of his recapitulation theology from the text of Rom 5 (cf. Against Heresies), we know that the early Greek Fathers, though conscious of humanity's universal solidarity with Adam's fall, never espoused any doctrine of inherited guilt (i.e., "original sin"). Indeed, from the greater corpus of the writings of the Eastern Church we can infer this emphasis by the recurrent attitude toward the sinlessness of infants (cf. Clement of Alexandria, Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory of Nazianzus, John Chrysostom).25 But with all due respect to these great thinkers of the east, no one in the early church had plunged the depths and dissected the locus classicus to the extent of Augustine. For Augustine, the critical issue here was not necessarily the "freedom of the will" (although he elaborated on it in depth), but rather, the role of divine grace in human salvation.26 Critical to the thought of Augustine was the recapitulation motif of Paul, i.e. sin and death through Adam, and justification and life through Jesus Christ. In the writings and teachings of the Pelagians, Augustine perceived a dangerous denigration of both divine grace and salvific theology. For him, unless there was a solidarity (or oneness) with the nature of Adam, there could be no solidarity (or oneness) with the person of Christ. Thus, for Augustine, sin was not merely a moral decision of the will, but rather, a condition of human nature itself; and this sinful nature (i.e., original sin) was transmitted to the entire human race through seminal generation (i.e., the theory of Traducianism which originated in the thought of Tertullian).

Although the Augustinian anthropology is defined extensively, we can deduce, in sum, that the power of sin due to the Adamic fall is universal and pervasive. It is seated in the moral character of man, and it manifests itself naturally through his actions. Though man is utterly depraved, this is not a negative theological factor, but rather a postitve one because it exalts the idea of God's redeeming grace. As Schaff notes, "The greater the corruption, the mightier must be the remedial principle."27 Whereas in Pelagianism we discover a doctrine of human ascent (works), in the Augustinian antithesis we discover a doctrine of divine descent (grace). In his Confessions, Augustine beautifully describes how man is nothing without God. Nor can man accomplish anything divine without the Lord of heaven and earth:

"And how shall I pray to my God, my God and my Lord? When I pray to Him,
I call Him into myself. And in me what place or room is there into which my
God should come? How should God into me, God who created heaven and
earth . . . Oh that I might find my rest and peace in you! Oh, that you could
come into my heart and so inebriate it that I would forget my own evils and
embrace my one and only good, which is you. Lord, have mercy on me!"
28

In Augustinian thought, the transforming power of Christ works within the heart of man, and first, cleanses the Christian through the forgiveness of sins, restoring the communion between man and God, and then begins to manifest itself outwardly through the life of the believer, reflecting the image and character of Christ. For Augustine, the ultimate manifestation of this image was one's love for his fellow man. But none of this could occur without the unmerited grace of God; this is sola gratia. And athough not necessarily identical to the Protestant exposition, it is still a powerful emphasis on the grace of God, something which, in an age of asceticism, was revolutionary in one sense, but in another, it was simply a return to Pauline theology.
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Semi-Pelagian Synthesis and Conclusion

In this paper, I have used as my outline the motif of Pelagian thesis, Augustinian antithesis, and Semi-Pelagian synthesis. Although this is a Hegelian paradigm (i.e. the dialectical method), let me say that it is not entirely loyal to Hegel's idea of the triadic paradigm. Rather, it is representative of the commonly misunderstood idea (or caricature) of the Hegelian method, i.e. that thesis and antithesis lead to a higher unity which is synthesis. According to this understanding of the Hegelian triad, the common ideas of the thesis and antithesis are synthesized, while the uncommon elements are laid aside. However, a true philosophic understanding of Hegel's method will reveal that the contradictions of the thesis and antithesis must be incorporated into the synthesis as well. Hegel articulates this in detail in his Phenomenology of Spirit. Nevertheless, in analyzing the historical outcome of the Pelagian Controversy, it occured to me that the caricatured understanding of Hegel's system appropriated itself perfectly. For, in the post-Augustinian doctrine of Semi-Pelagianism, the contradictions of Pelagius and Augustine are not incorporated in the higher unity, but rather, the contradictions are laid aside and the common ideas are thus integrated. With this said, then, let us conclude with a concise epilogue to the Pelagian Controversy, namely, the adoption of Semi-Pelagianism, its refutation, and the subsequent formulation of a Semi-Augustinian position.

Essentially, the problem for many thinkers who succeeded Augustine was the apparent contradiction of divine providence and free will. Augustine's emphasis on sovereign grace and predestination reminded many theologians of pagan fatalism and determinism,29 and for such eminent thinkers as the Eastern theologian John Cassian (365-433), a disciple of John Chrysostom, the predestinarianism of Augustine seemed to eclipse the whole idea of free will, the logical question being, "If God desired all men to be saved (cf. 1 Tim 2:4), then how could God predestine only some to eternal life?" Anyway, the principal defender of Augustine was Prosper of Aquitane (390-455), and it was primarily through his writings that the ideas of Augustine were preserved and diffused throughout the Middle Ages.30

That John Cassian would become the champion of Semi-Pelagian thought is not surprising since his monastic background would be sympathetic to the Pelagian view. Indeed, not only did Cassian labor with Pelagius for a short time in Rome, but his seven year association with the monastic communities of Egypt provided a fertile breeding ground for the idea that the Christian life is an uphill determinative course with absolute resolution - in essence, a doctrine of works. It is true that Cassian rejected certain elements of the Pelagian view (cf. his thirteenth Colloquy), affirming the absolute universality of human sin and necessity of divine grace, but it is also true that Cassian was a man of the Eastern Church who adopted the ideas of the Greek Fathers (who admittedly were better theologians and christologians than anthropologians), ideas such as Theosis, etc. In his own presdisposition to ascetic practice, he implicitly rejected certain Augustinian ideas such as predestinarianism and irresistible grace,31 which he felt were in conflict with Holy Tradition. So, in essence, Cassian discarded certain aspects of both the Pelagian and Augustinian systems, yet at the same time, he retained certain tenets which were central to both. In essence, according to the synthesis of Cassian, man is not totally depraved by the Adamic fall, yet he is greatly weakened; he is in dire need of God's grace, yet he must, through his own free will, co-operate with the offer of God's salvation.32 So, yes, the nature of man is corrupted by the fall in original sin, yet there is a role for human volition as well, especially with regard to initiating the process of salvation by desiring to receive the grace of God. In sum, then, this is Semi-Pelagianism in its essential form. It must be said, however, that this form of Semi-Pelagianism, though it prevailed in Gaul and in certain monastic communities, was eventually condemned by the Synod of Orange in 529. At Orange, the champion of Augustinianism, Caesarius of Arles drew from Prosper of Aquitane's A Book of Sentences from The Works of St. Augustine and systematically refuted the Semi-Pelagian position in a series of canons.33 Nevertheless, the absoulte monergistic predestinarianism of Augustine was also rejected (although gently), and a Semi-Augustinianism position was formulated, a position upon which the Roman Church would stand for centuries.

In the end, then, Augustine prevailed, and his ideas were further developed by later thinkers such as Gregory the Great and Thomas Aquinas. And in the Reformation, both Martin Luther and John Calvin would build their entire theologies on the doctrines set forth by Augustine. So, in a sense, the comment by Alfred North Whitehead bears a great truth - i.e., that "the rest of Western theology would be but a footnote to the ideas of Augustine."34

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Works Cited

1. T. Walter Wallbank and Alastair M. Taylor, Civilisation: Past and Present, 4th ed.,
(Chicago: Scott, Foresman, and Company, 1960), p. 210.

2. St. Augustine, City of God, Trans. by Gerald G Walsh, S.J., et al. (New York: Image, 1958), Book I, Chapter 3.

3. Ibid., Book I, Chapter 8.

4. Ibid., Book I, Chapter 7.

5. Ibid., Book I, Chapter 7.

6. Johannes Quasten, Patrology: The Golden Age of Latin Patristic Literature from the Council of Nicea to the Council of Chalcedon, Trans. by Placid Solari, 4 of 4 vols., (Westminster. MD: Christian Classics, 1986), p. 465.

7. Philip Schaff, The History of the Christian Church: Nicene and Post-Nicene Christianity, 3 of 8 vols., (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, reprinted 1995, original publisher Charles Scribner's Sons, 1910), p. 792.

8. Louis Berkhof, The History of Christian Doctrines, (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1937), pp. 131-32.

9. St. Augustine, The Confessions of St. Augustine, Trans. Rex Warner, (New York: Meridian), Book III, Chapter 4.

10. Quasten, p. 346.

11. St. Augustine, The Confesssions, Book II, Chapter 1.

12. Ibid., Book 1V, Chapter 2.

13. Schaff, p. 786.

14. Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100-600), 1 of 5 vols. (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1971),
p. 318.

15. Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: The Spirit of Eastern Christendom (600-1700), 2 of 5 vols. (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974), pp. 260-61.

16. Pelikan, 1:315-16.

17. Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology, 2 of 3 vols., (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, reprint 1993), p. 153.

18. Ibid., 154.

19. Schaff, p. 807.

20. Ibid., p. 808.

21. Michael P. McHugh, "Augustine" in The Encyclopedia of Early Christianty, ed. Everett Ferguson, (London: Garland, 1990), p. 124.

22. Schaff, p. 816.

23. McHugh, p. 125.

24. Ibid., p. 125.

25. Ibid., p. 669.

26. Schaff, p. 830.

27. Ibid., p. 843.

28. St. Augustine, Confessions, Book I, Chapters 2, 4.

29. Pelikan, 1:321.

30. McHugh, "Prosper of Aquitane," p. 760.

31. Schaff, p. 861.

32. Ibid., p. 861.

33. Pelikan, 1:329.

34. Alfred North Whitehead quoted in Pelikan, 1:330.