The new movie by Darren Aronofsky, "The Wrestler" is the beautiful and terrible story of an aging professional wrestler, Randy 'The Ram', played by Mickey Rourke. The hard-bodied and oafish Randy finds no comfort in the world outside the ring. He lives in a dilapidated trailer, has an estranged daughter and an demeaning side job at a local grocery store. He lives for the weekends when he can wrestler.
The movie is really a modern story of Job.
Of course, Randy doesn't fit the traditional Job-archetype. Through the movie you realize he is derelict, a delinquent father, a drug-user. He is not pious in any conventional sense.
Yet, he is unshakable in his faith. Not for God, but for wrestling.
The heart-aches, the heart-attacks, the poverty, and the alienation from friends and family are all endured. He is unflinching faithful to the religion and ritual of wrestling. And for his fidelity, what felicities does it bring him? None. His age relegates him to minor contests, his steroid use leaves him deformed, while still always true to profession.
During the movie, he begins a relationship with a stripper named Cassidy, played by the Marisa Tomei. She is the parallel to Randy; both live off the exploits of their flesh, and they are past the peak of their prime. While talking to Randy at a club she jokingly says, "You were pierced for our transgressions, you were crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace is upon you. You are the sacrificial Ram." And he is. You can almost here Randy 'the Ram' saying to the gods of Wrestling, 'Forgive them - the fans - for they know not what they make me do."
Also, see this article of "Job as Wrestler". Art immitating the Bible, and Bible immitating Art.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sacrificial 'Ram': "The Wrestler" as the Story of Job
"He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed." Isaiah 53:5
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Spiritual, Non Religious?
I was reading about F. Schleiermacher today. One of the few things we have in common is our discontent for what the Enlightenment did to theology.
A passage reminded me of the banal position of many in this generation, that of being 'spiritual, but not religious.'
He writes, "The emptiness of a rational religion consists in the fact that it is not a real religion at all, but an eclectic collection of dead fragments. It has not grown from a living intuition, but has been distilled from a dying form. It is attractive to many because, lacking any positive character, it offends no one. It creates discussions groups, but not churches; it rests on thought and not on feelings. It is not wonder that it appeals widely to the religiously indifferent, for it is an abstraction, and thus it stirs up on of the strong feelings aroused by concrete realities. Who can hate an abstraction? But then again, who can love one? (Makers of the Modern Theological Mind: Friedrich Schleiermacher, by C. W. Christian).
It makes me wonder... how many of our churches are already mere 'discussion groups.'
A passage reminded me of the banal position of many in this generation, that of being 'spiritual, but not religious.'
He writes, "The emptiness of a rational religion consists in the fact that it is not a real religion at all, but an eclectic collection of dead fragments. It has not grown from a living intuition, but has been distilled from a dying form. It is attractive to many because, lacking any positive character, it offends no one. It creates discussions groups, but not churches; it rests on thought and not on feelings. It is not wonder that it appeals widely to the religiously indifferent, for it is an abstraction, and thus it stirs up on of the strong feelings aroused by concrete realities. Who can hate an abstraction? But then again, who can love one? (Makers of the Modern Theological Mind: Friedrich Schleiermacher, by C. W. Christian).
It makes me wonder... how many of our churches are already mere 'discussion groups.'
Monday, December 1, 2008
Cosmic Evangelizing: The Need to Shoot Bibles Into Space?
After reading Sagan's Gifford Lectures, I turned anxiously to his novel Contact. The vastness of space and the seemingly inexhaustible amount material that comprise the comets, moons, planets, stars and black holes leaves one reeling. It is even a bit scary.
My good friend, The Monad, responded to my last post by writing,
The question indeed is of soteriology. If there is tripartite (mind, body and soul) life that is shackled by sin on other planets how are they saved? Are they saved?
My other good friend sees orthodox soteriology as being not only an anthropological but a cosmological panacea.
This answer isn't satisfying.
The value of reading Sagan is that we are challenged to strongly critique the entire anthrocentric enterprise. Christianity, wrongly or rightly, has a soteriology that is completely enthralled with the notion of humanity. Early Church history and controversy deal almost exclusively on the communicatio idiomatum.
Patristic thought may concede that Christ vindicated creation (universe and all), but they will stubbornly hold that specific salvation of humanity was only possible through the Incarnation.
St. Athanasius famously states, "He was made man, so that we might be made gods."
Poignantly, the soteriological question for St. Anselm was, Cur Deus Homo? or Why Did God Become Man?
Perhaps most provocative is St. Gregory of Nazianzus claim, "That which was not assumed is not healed; but that which is united to God is saved."
Extraterrestrials (a name for that itself is thoroughly anthropocentric) are not going to have a human nature. In that case, will their unassumed nature not be healed? If they are in every way like humans, except for having three eyes instead of two, will that third eye not be saved?
My friend writes,
Well, of course it does!
The Gospel is the Good News. Thus, any good soteriology should be able to pass the scrutiny of the most important question for pastors: Is it preachable?
This is only conjecture, but Christian soteriology will probably not stir the soul of E.T.
On the other hand, if my good friend is right: God has vindicated all creation and creatures and promised a 'new heaven and earth' (or earths?). Then it seems that Evangelicals need to set new priorities. Forget Asia and Africa - there are as many as a billion worlds that need to know that God through Christ has given them new life! Evangelicals should become the biggest supporters of NASA, and begin a program to shoot bibles into space.
I'm not joking.
If one is convinced that Christ has undeniably, solely saved the fate of the entire cosmos one ought to feel an uncontrollable desire to rush headlong into the vast blackness of space only to hope to come across intelligent life and proclaim, "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again!"
My good friend, The Monad, responded to my last post by writing,
"The question of what salvation would be on other planets is mind-boggling. I suppose if there is evil on those other planets than salvation is necessary...can Satan exercise dominion on other planets? What's to say that he can't? Then the question becomes one of soteriology. How does Jesus save? Is there something about the way in which Jesus brings salvation that is unique to this planet? We have no way of knowing."
The question indeed is of soteriology. If there is tripartite (mind, body and soul) life that is shackled by sin on other planets how are they saved? Are they saved?
My other good friend sees orthodox soteriology as being not only an anthropological but a cosmological panacea.
"The problems of finite-thinking have come about because of the belief that Christ's redemption ONLY applies to humans and not to rest of creation as well. Once we understand salvation as applying not to the salvation of souls but to the promise of the 'new heavens and new earth', the question about life on other planets and how they fit into the overall scheme of things, really is a moot point."
This answer isn't satisfying.
The value of reading Sagan is that we are challenged to strongly critique the entire anthrocentric enterprise. Christianity, wrongly or rightly, has a soteriology that is completely enthralled with the notion of humanity. Early Church history and controversy deal almost exclusively on the communicatio idiomatum.
Patristic thought may concede that Christ vindicated creation (universe and all), but they will stubbornly hold that specific salvation of humanity was only possible through the Incarnation.
St. Athanasius famously states, "He was made man, so that we might be made gods."
Poignantly, the soteriological question for St. Anselm was, Cur Deus Homo? or Why Did God Become Man?
Perhaps most provocative is St. Gregory of Nazianzus claim, "That which was not assumed is not healed; but that which is united to God is saved."
Extraterrestrials (a name for that itself is thoroughly anthropocentric) are not going to have a human nature. In that case, will their unassumed nature not be healed? If they are in every way like humans, except for having three eyes instead of two, will that third eye not be saved?
My friend writes,
"Sure the life, death and resurrection of the incarnate God happened in a remote corner of the universe, but that shouldn't limit its cosmic implications."
Well, of course it does!
The Gospel is the Good News. Thus, any good soteriology should be able to pass the scrutiny of the most important question for pastors: Is it preachable?
This is only conjecture, but Christian soteriology will probably not stir the soul of E.T.
On the other hand, if my good friend is right: God has vindicated all creation and creatures and promised a 'new heaven and earth' (or earths?). Then it seems that Evangelicals need to set new priorities. Forget Asia and Africa - there are as many as a billion worlds that need to know that God through Christ has given them new life! Evangelicals should become the biggest supporters of NASA, and begin a program to shoot bibles into space.
I'm not joking.
If one is convinced that Christ has undeniably, solely saved the fate of the entire cosmos one ought to feel an uncontrollable desire to rush headlong into the vast blackness of space only to hope to come across intelligent life and proclaim, "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again!"
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Serious Cosmological Theology
Today I was reading the transcript of Carl Sagan's Gifford Lectures in the book, "The Varieties of Scientific Experience.” I think Sagan is thoroughly modern, eschewing all notion of faith or belief. However, he helpfully critiques the narrowness of Western-religion's cosmology.
He writes, "The number of external galaxies beyond the Milky Way is at least in the thousands of millions and perhaps in the hundreds of thousands of millions each of which contains a number of stars more or less comparable to that in our own galaxy. So if you multiple out how many stars that means, it is some number - let's see, ten to the... It's something like a one followed by twenty-three zeros, of which our Sun is but one. It is a useful calibration of our place in the universe. And this vast number of worlds, the enormous scale of the universe, in my view has been taken into account, even superficially, in virtually no religions and especially no Western religions." (27).
The immensity of the universe begs the question of the uniqueness of life. And if life is rare, but not unique, what of the arc of the salvific history espoused by Christianity? Does all life inevitably trace this story line? Thomas Paine wrote of this question, "From whence, then, could arise the solitary and strange conceit that the Almighty, who has millions of worlds equally dependent on his protection, should quit the care of all the rest, and come to die in our world because, they say, one man and one woman ate an apple? And on the other hand, are we to suppose that every world in the boundless creation has an Eve, an apple, a serpent and a redeemer?" While Process Theology has enumerable and intractable problems, the tradition has at least taken cosmology seriously. Michael Lodahl, and, of course, Alfred North Whitehead, come to mind. Though, this tradition then usually jettisons the salvific history, for an endless processing history, which seems to reform the very historic Christianity into just another universal (read, ahistoric) religion. In comparison, Radial Orthodoxy has not shown that they are open to accepting modern science. The reunification of faith and reason stops short of evolution. This is a strange demarcation line considering the Catholic Church, which strongly influences R.O., has long held that evolutions and faith are fully commensurable. More broadly, C.S. Lewis’ space trilogy seems to suggest that the chapters of history play out on all planets that inhabit life, and God, rather than abandoning all others for the sake of one, provides His Providence and, ultimately, Salvation, to all.
Perhaps more concerning is the finite-tenancy we have on the Earth. Sagan writes, "Some 5, 6, or 7 billion years from now, the Sun will become a red giant star and will engulf the orbits of Mercury and Venus and probably the Earth. The Earth then would be inside the Sun and some of the problems that face us on this particular day will appear, by comparison, modest. On the other hand, since it is 5,000 or more million years away, it is not our most pressing problem. But it is something to bear in mind. It has theological implications." (20).
Indeed, theological implications abound.
While addressing the important theological questions of ecological-stewardship, some attention should be given to cosmological-theology in general, and cosmological-stewardship in specific. More broadly, issues of eschatology, economy, and revelation all garner relevance in this endeavor.
To end, Sagan has some helpful thoughts: “In fact, a general problem with much of Western theology in my view is that the god portrayed is too small. It is a god of a tiny world and not a god of a galaxy, much les of a universe.” Here Sagan and I are in complete agreement. He continues, “I don’t propose that it is a virtue to revel in our limitations. But it’s important to understand how much we do not know. There is an enormous amount we do not know; there is a tiny amount that we do.” (30). Christians may respond that what they do know is that God’s creation is good – no matter how vast or how dark, or how empty it might seem to be.
He writes, "The number of external galaxies beyond the Milky Way is at least in the thousands of millions and perhaps in the hundreds of thousands of millions each of which contains a number of stars more or less comparable to that in our own galaxy. So if you multiple out how many stars that means, it is some number - let's see, ten to the... It's something like a one followed by twenty-three zeros, of which our Sun is but one. It is a useful calibration of our place in the universe. And this vast number of worlds, the enormous scale of the universe, in my view has been taken into account, even superficially, in virtually no religions and especially no Western religions." (27).
The immensity of the universe begs the question of the uniqueness of life. And if life is rare, but not unique, what of the arc of the salvific history espoused by Christianity? Does all life inevitably trace this story line? Thomas Paine wrote of this question, "From whence, then, could arise the solitary and strange conceit that the Almighty, who has millions of worlds equally dependent on his protection, should quit the care of all the rest, and come to die in our world because, they say, one man and one woman ate an apple? And on the other hand, are we to suppose that every world in the boundless creation has an Eve, an apple, a serpent and a redeemer?" While Process Theology has enumerable and intractable problems, the tradition has at least taken cosmology seriously. Michael Lodahl, and, of course, Alfred North Whitehead, come to mind. Though, this tradition then usually jettisons the salvific history, for an endless processing history, which seems to reform the very historic Christianity into just another universal (read, ahistoric) religion. In comparison, Radial Orthodoxy has not shown that they are open to accepting modern science. The reunification of faith and reason stops short of evolution. This is a strange demarcation line considering the Catholic Church, which strongly influences R.O., has long held that evolutions and faith are fully commensurable. More broadly, C.S. Lewis’ space trilogy seems to suggest that the chapters of history play out on all planets that inhabit life, and God, rather than abandoning all others for the sake of one, provides His Providence and, ultimately, Salvation, to all.
Perhaps more concerning is the finite-tenancy we have on the Earth. Sagan writes, "Some 5, 6, or 7 billion years from now, the Sun will become a red giant star and will engulf the orbits of Mercury and Venus and probably the Earth. The Earth then would be inside the Sun and some of the problems that face us on this particular day will appear, by comparison, modest. On the other hand, since it is 5,000 or more million years away, it is not our most pressing problem. But it is something to bear in mind. It has theological implications." (20).
Indeed, theological implications abound.
While addressing the important theological questions of ecological-stewardship, some attention should be given to cosmological-theology in general, and cosmological-stewardship in specific. More broadly, issues of eschatology, economy, and revelation all garner relevance in this endeavor.
To end, Sagan has some helpful thoughts: “In fact, a general problem with much of Western theology in my view is that the god portrayed is too small. It is a god of a tiny world and not a god of a galaxy, much les of a universe.” Here Sagan and I are in complete agreement. He continues, “I don’t propose that it is a virtue to revel in our limitations. But it’s important to understand how much we do not know. There is an enormous amount we do not know; there is a tiny amount that we do.” (30). Christians may respond that what they do know is that God’s creation is good – no matter how vast or how dark, or how empty it might seem to be.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Seminary as Univerisity and Univirsity
Somehow my work has revolved around seminary education itself. In a sense, I have been dealing with meta-theological education. The nature, structure and desired end of seminary education are important questions rather than codified answers. The root of seminary comes from the Latin, sēminārium or even more simply sēmin, or seed. Thus, seminary is a place of planting and tending to seeds. So, seminary cultivates theological acumen, pastoral disposition and bold leadership. The etymology also reminds one of the many agrarian references in the Bible: the lilies of field, the tares among the wheat, the day laborers and on and on.
The construction of the modern university also intrigues me. This is especially the case considering the work of John Milbank. His interest to commence a Christian Enlightenment (making theology the master discourse, precisely because none can master it) is a reconstruction of the university. The project would be to invaginate the university. Instead of outward radiating, the myriad discourses would be constituted and affirmed inwardly by theology. An academic wheel, where the theology would be the center hub and the other sciences would act as spokes. This was the case not so long ago in the 17th century when theology was said to be the “queen of the sciences.” In 1810, Berlin University was founded and was to become the model for the modern university. Vociferous discussion took place as to if theology ought to be part of the new university structure. Friedrich Schleiermacher argued successfully for its inclusion, but theology was relegated as merely one discourse among many, and later, damnably, its whole dissected into discrete parts (Bible as literature, Theology as philosophy, Christian history as history, and Practical ministry and psychology and sociology).
The German, early 20th century model for the university became the indispensible archetype. The root of university is denoted in its project and structure. First, it comes from the word “universe” which derives from Latin. It consists of two words: uni (one) and vertere (to turn). Thus, the “universe” or the “university” is enveloping (or turning) everything into one thing. Yet, in trying to speak of everything usually says nothing.
So, let me suggest an idea. Let me play a language game. Instead of the seminary aspiring to become the university, let it rather be both a univerisity and a univirsity.
The univerisity is not concerned with everything, but rather concerned with a specific something that signifies everything. Thus, theological education centers around uni (one) veritas (truth). This truth is singular, particular and the master signifier. It is the master signifier because it is the first sign: the Word, Christ Jesus, the only Son of God. This particular truth initiates, situates and norms any further construction in theological education. The univerisity (one-truth) becomes a pronouncement as to the institutions’ originating genesis, productive synthesis, and culminating thesis. The fidelity to the Veritas becomes then the measure of the mission.
The seminary should also be the univirsity. In this sense, the name proclaims the Incarnation. That Jesus of Nazareth was Christ. Thus, it is the vir or, in Latin, the man, that creates this truth. This uni (one) vir (man) is then the entire construction of theological education, because He is the word (logos) of God (Theos). Thus, Robert Banks’ definition for theological education, “To Know God in Christ and to help others know God in Christ” is an appropriate one. Christ then properly becomes the theological and educative keystone.
In the 19th century, Christian theology was relegated to being just another subject among multiple subjects in the modern university. Since then, it has only continued to decline in importance and has been forcibly moved farther from the center, literally 'marginalized' to the periphery. DePaul University, the largest Catholic school in the country, doesn’t have a theology department, but only a “Religious Studies” department. Neither does Northwestern University, founded by Methodists and until the 1920’s were the ‘Fighting Methodist.” Christian theology isn’t even offered a special place among the varied world religions, even at universities that were founded as Christian institutions. So, what theological education needs is not a transformed university – as this project must be abandoned – but for seminaries and those few remaining theological departments to be univerisities and univirsities. Theological education must engage not with everything rolled into one, but more simply with one Truth and one Man found in the person of Christ.
The construction of the modern university also intrigues me. This is especially the case considering the work of John Milbank. His interest to commence a Christian Enlightenment (making theology the master discourse, precisely because none can master it) is a reconstruction of the university. The project would be to invaginate the university. Instead of outward radiating, the myriad discourses would be constituted and affirmed inwardly by theology. An academic wheel, where the theology would be the center hub and the other sciences would act as spokes. This was the case not so long ago in the 17th century when theology was said to be the “queen of the sciences.” In 1810, Berlin University was founded and was to become the model for the modern university. Vociferous discussion took place as to if theology ought to be part of the new university structure. Friedrich Schleiermacher argued successfully for its inclusion, but theology was relegated as merely one discourse among many, and later, damnably, its whole dissected into discrete parts (Bible as literature, Theology as philosophy, Christian history as history, and Practical ministry and psychology and sociology).
The German, early 20th century model for the university became the indispensible archetype. The root of university is denoted in its project and structure. First, it comes from the word “universe” which derives from Latin. It consists of two words: uni (one) and vertere (to turn). Thus, the “universe” or the “university” is enveloping (or turning) everything into one thing. Yet, in trying to speak of everything usually says nothing.
So, let me suggest an idea. Let me play a language game. Instead of the seminary aspiring to become the university, let it rather be both a univerisity and a univirsity.
The univerisity is not concerned with everything, but rather concerned with a specific something that signifies everything. Thus, theological education centers around uni (one) veritas (truth). This truth is singular, particular and the master signifier. It is the master signifier because it is the first sign: the Word, Christ Jesus, the only Son of God. This particular truth initiates, situates and norms any further construction in theological education. The univerisity (one-truth) becomes a pronouncement as to the institutions’ originating genesis, productive synthesis, and culminating thesis. The fidelity to the Veritas becomes then the measure of the mission.
The seminary should also be the univirsity. In this sense, the name proclaims the Incarnation. That Jesus of Nazareth was Christ. Thus, it is the vir or, in Latin, the man, that creates this truth. This uni (one) vir (man) is then the entire construction of theological education, because He is the word (logos) of God (Theos). Thus, Robert Banks’ definition for theological education, “To Know God in Christ and to help others know God in Christ” is an appropriate one. Christ then properly becomes the theological and educative keystone.
In the 19th century, Christian theology was relegated to being just another subject among multiple subjects in the modern university. Since then, it has only continued to decline in importance and has been forcibly moved farther from the center, literally 'marginalized' to the periphery. DePaul University, the largest Catholic school in the country, doesn’t have a theology department, but only a “Religious Studies” department. Neither does Northwestern University, founded by Methodists and until the 1920’s were the ‘Fighting Methodist.” Christian theology isn’t even offered a special place among the varied world religions, even at universities that were founded as Christian institutions. So, what theological education needs is not a transformed university – as this project must be abandoned – but for seminaries and those few remaining theological departments to be univerisities and univirsities. Theological education must engage not with everything rolled into one, but more simply with one Truth and one Man found in the person of Christ.
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