Division and Toleration
September 6, 2009
For the first 1500 years, the Church tolerated buckets of divisive crap.
The New Testament itself tells us of the varying factions attempting to coexist in the burgeoning Hebrew turned Gentile movement. The Church fathers exhorted the body of Christ to stick to its bishops as a primary instrument of unity. Eventually the five patriarchates developed, all with unique cultural contributions to the Christian experience, and all with a degree of tolerance for the others. This toleration was aided at least in part by ignorance. Without a railroad, a printing press or an interweb these churches were often unaware of what the others were doing—especially when Christianity began to spread more extensively in geography, custom and vernacular.
It took many generations for a big movement to develop that might threaten another corner of Christian Orthodoxy . Thus, certain factions would occasionally gain too much influence and the thundering decree of a church council would have to intervene. There was, of course, that slightly embarrassing schism bit in 1054 that resulted in two Catholic churches—divided. And admittedly, in the later medieval era, Rome’s teaching magisterium flexed rather too much authoritative muscle. But when compared to today’s modern smorgasbord of gooey, western protestant nonsense—such disagreements can be put in better perspective.
Luther, in spite of his original intentions, changed all this.
Old categories were re-imagined for determining what a Church did and who Christians were. If one (even just one person!) disagreed on how these categories were to be interpreted, they had every right to institute their own rival Church. Make no mistake, the Reformers still operated with this presupposition of a single, true Church. Zwingli, Luther, Rome—someone had to be right (one’s own side of course) while the others were definitely wrong. Faced with such blatant self-justification, the Church resorted to the logical end of its unavoidable division … War.
This didn’t work. So John Locke and other Empiricists came along to rescue the western Church from the bothersome necessity of killing each other. They explained how the truths of Christianity were discernible not just via revelation but by reason as well. Each individual could discern for themselves just what it was they found most preferable to believe.
The Christian Pluralist market was born! Like today’s browser wars, competition between faiths would only improve what faith had to offer to the modern society and the modern man. Never mind those bothersome Roman Catholics with their silly exclusivist claims—this was a reasonable society, an environment of independence and free will. Faith, just like anything else, was a voluntary choice—and each particular sect had to repackage itself as the best of these choices.
Come the turn of the century, with secularism in full swing, optimism for creating the perfect society reached its zenith. Empirical Science had sliced away the mythic husk surrounding Christian faith, revealing the golden nugget of truth at its center: (something like good morals, education and democracy). Meanwhile faith had spared Science from slipping too far into cold-hearted, inhumanity. With this double-edged, Enlightened sword, the western church marched into the wilderness, into the slums and into the very crevasses that once divided it—determined to spread this new gospel.
But the vision couldn’t last.
Two world wars shattered the enlightenment vision in Europe and by the later half of the twentieth-century this disillusionment had begun to spread to North America as well. The Gospel of Reason hadn’t met universal approval and liberalism had failed to free the world of the fundamentalism it had underestimated.
At the close of the century, the hopelessly idealistic Ecumenical Movement and its ilk have reached the end of their lowest-common denominator unity and face efforts at re-identification which are sure to exclude some. Fundamentalist Islam, no longer a glimmer at the horizon, stares the Church in the face and demands attention—though it speaks a completely different language.
In just three hundred years, voluntary churches have managed to assemble 30K Protestant denominations. What hope is there for a Christian who hopes to be truly catholic? What is Orthodoxy contextualized in a world where more Christians live South of the equator than North of it? At this point, I have no idea. The best answer I’ve found is buried in my BCP, in the collects for Various Occasions.
Almighty Father, whose blessed Son before his passion prayed
for his disciples that they might be one, as you and he are one:
Grant that your Church, being bound together in love and
obedience to you, may be united in one body by the one Spirit,
that the world may believe in him whom you have sent, your
Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in
the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
To Tony: A Response
March 30, 2009
*This is a response to Tony’s post which he just put up. I was going to just put this in the comment box but I soon realized it was too long. So read his post first, comment if you feel like it, and then if you want you can read this.*
Tony:
I’ll try and mention a few things that have helped me and that I think might help you; but in the end there’s no way I would presume to “solve” all your worries.
I am not sure if you are attending any specific church but I would highly recommend trying out churches in the liturgical tradition. (by “try out” I don’t mean to reduce it to “what liturgy you like,” or “church shopping;” I assume that you would be searching out their doctrine and all, talking to priests/pastors) There are many reasons why I would suggest this but I would point out one first, which is to me the most important; namely the Eucharist as focus and climax of worship. The famous and late Orthodox historical theologian Jaroslav Pelikan said it like this –
“That as long as there have been Christians they have gathered around bread and wine; theories about it have changed, details on performance have changed, but that central practice has never changed.”
That at least, Tony, is some incredible continuity. Certainly preachers all have their own interpretations, but the celebration of the Eucharist, and all that it entails, is contiguous with the whole of Christian history. It has been a great help for me to slowly understand the Eucharist as more than symbolic – as the place where we offer ourselves up and are taken up by grace into the living presence of our Lord. And, you are sort of right with Catholics, but also sort of wrong. As our friend “quickbeamoffangorn” will tell you, since the de-latinization of the liturgy there has been a proliferation of different takes on the liturgy and there are even now some Catholics who have to “church shop” if they don’t want to be in a “spirit-of-Vatican II” kind of parish. For instance in downtown Minneapolis, if you are a liberal Catholic you go down to the Basilica, and if you are not you go to St. Olaf. Nonetheless, there is certainly more continuity within Roman Catholicism between parishes. Though different “orders” emphasize different parts of Catholicism.
This is why both “Word” (ie-preaching, but not restricted only to this) AND “Sacrament” (ie-Communion, Eucharist, Lord’s Supper etc…) are the two central aspects of a worship service. Now we were raised with a very low view of the Sacraments in the AG (but oddly, a high view of the worship service and an understanding that God met us in worship). To us they were merely symbolic, and indeed, the symbolism is a necessary part of what is going on; but I would say that there is much more to the Eucharist than symbolism. Be it “transubstantial,” “consubstantial,” or “real presence,” the great catholic traditions all assert that it is Jesus Christ himself coming to meet us in the celebration of Communion. I also want to comment on the problem of “multiple interpretations.” Because I think that we are heirs to worst kind of low protestantism which believes that reading the Bible is an individual affair. Just me and my bible, yep. That reason alone, I think, has been the the cause of so many divisions within the protestant tradition: This idea that ones interpretation is the be-all-end-all interpretation, which can only result in confusion (as you and I have experienced it) and division. “I’m gonna leave and read the Bible MY way” I see this for instance in the fall away groups within Anglicanism in the US. There are 40 some odd “Continuing Anglican” churches and I expect there will be 40 more one day.
Let me humbly suggest that bible reading is a Communal affair, and even a graced one at that. When you and I read the Scripture we should be reading it with Jerome and Chrysostom as much as we read it with Borg and Wright. That is not to say that I believe in the Roman Magisterium, or in controlling Bishops, or that the older the interpretation the better – many allegorical readings by some church fathers are way out of the park – or whatever; but that there is a sort of hubris of Time in thinking that where we are right now is the full truth. Certainly “historical” reads of Scripture have changed in huge ways over the last 300 years of “historical investigation” of Scripture and certainly in 100 years our readings will be different. Continuity in this regard is not so much about monolithic readings of Scripture (as if it’s just one big book anyway!) as it is the mutual submission and self-giving in interpretation. Wright calls this a “hermeneutic of love,” I call it “reading with the church.”
To sort of synthesize what I am trying to say I would say that it seems that you are still in a “bible-centered” Christianity; I have found a “Gospel-centered” Christianity to be that which puts the focus where it needs to be. That is one of the reasons that I am becoming Anglican as opposed to Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox. As Anglicans, we try to put the great Creeds and the core of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection at the center of our Ecclesiology. You can be an anglo-catholic, Calvinist, Weslyan, liberal and it doesn’t mean that “your out.” That is also why I can say that I am a “whatever-I-am-now.” It’s not a lazy cop out of conviction, rather it is knowing that what I believe now at this very moment is not the whole of the Church. I can struggle in faith and even doubt certain doctrines (though I don’t want to just give up in doubt) because my belief is centered in prayer, worship and Eucharist; I’ve been baptized and filled up with the Holy Spirit.
I was just watching Star Wars and Princess Leia at one point says to her enemy “The tighter you grip the more star systems are going to slip through your fingers” That is sort of how I look at “truth” and “continuity.”
If I try and grip the truth, then fragments sort of pour out and I lose that certainty that I was looking for. But “knowing” is more like being held by truth than holding truth.
St. Paul said it outright – that we only see and know “in part,” but one day we will know fully even as we are fully known. So perhaps we are not reading the same book, but we serve the same Lord.
What Is It Good For? Nonviolence In A Violent World: Part IV
January 4, 2009
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IV: No. It’s just War.
Continuing my series on Nonviolence, this post will discuss Church tradition. I’ll lean heavily on an essay by Greek Orthodox Priest Stanley S. Harakas that appeared in his book, Patristic Ethics.
It would be an oversimplification to claim broadly that the pre-Constantinian fathers were wholly pacifist and that it was only after Empirical Christianity that anyone bothered asking tough questions about violence. Modern scholarship (Swift for example) has shown us that while nonviolence was the popular norm for the first two centuries of the Church, there existed a growing tension on the issue as the nature of Christianity became less subversive and more institutional. Likewise, the tradition of nonviolence did not die with Constantine’s cross in the sky, but expressed itself in more creative ways, often in opposition to the majority, and preserved more obviously in the Eastern tradition.
It would be impossible and redundant to launch a broad discussion on the history of Christian attitudes toward violence (wonderful studies exist elsewhere). Instead I’d like to briefly outline what I see as 1) primitive Christianity’s committment to nonviolence as an ideal, 2) the developing pro-peace tradition that interpreted that ideal, 3) and the travesty brought to this delicate interpretive-dance by Just War theory.
Peace As Reconciliation
For the patristics, peace wasn’t merely the absence of war, but the fullness of creation’s reconciliation with the Creator through Christ. Nonviolence wasn’t so much the point, as an inevitable, visible consequence of Kingdom living. Harakas provides an enlightening etymological background on the relationships between “shalom,” “eirene” and “peace,” that I don’t have space to discuss here but you should probably check out. This understanding of “peace as kingdom status” rather than merely “peace as absence of violent action” was expressed primarily theologically with ethical implications. In the letter from the Romans to the Corinthians we find a good example:
… let us hasten on to the goal of peace, which has been handed down to us from the beginning; let us fix our eyes upon the Father and Maker of the whole world, and hold fast to his magnificent and excellent gifts and benefits of peace. Let us see him in our mind, and let us look with the eyes of the soul on his patient will. Let us note how free from anger he is toward all his creation.
I Clement 19:2-3
The early patristics understood this peace to have unique outward, social and moral implications. For Clement of Alexandria, Christ uses the Church as his soldiers of peace:
The loud trumpet, when sounded, collects the soldiers, and proclaims war. And shall not Christ, breathing a strain of peace to the ends of the earth, gather together His own soldiers, the soldiers of peace? Well, by His blood and by the word, He has gathered the bloodless host of peace, and assigned to them the kingdom of heaven
Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Heathens, II
(And as David pointed out in the comments of Part III,) the status of peace is not a standalone ethic, but an intricate part of Christ’s command to love: “..if there is peace, there will also be love; if love, there will be peace, also” (John Chrysostom, Homily on Ephesians). For the ascetics, peace was also a unique outpouring of the inner spiritual life. “…true inner peace comes from above…” Thus, Christians should “…seek peace, which is the separation from the turbulences of this world… so as to obtain the peace of God.” (St. Basil, Homily on Psalm 33).
It should be no surprise that for most preconstantinians, this fuller status of peace led to nonviolence as a norm. Justin Martyr interpreted the period after Christ as the fulfillment of Isaiah 2:4 when the peoples of the world will beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning-hooks upon the arrival of Christians who “formerly killed one another” but now “refuse to make war on their enemies.” (Justin Martyr, First Apology 39:3). Tertullian famously maintained a sustained polemic against Christians serving in the military for both reasons of the inevitable idolatry involved with being a part of the Roman Legions, as well as for reasons of peace:
“Will a son of peace who should not even go to court take part in a battle? Will a man who does not avenge wrongs done to himself have any part in chains, prisons, tortures and punishments?”
Tertullian II, 1-7
There are many more examples but I must move on.
Interestingly, by the time of Origen, we already see evidence of compromise in this ethic. Attempting to portray a Christianity more complementary to the state (among many other things), Origen OKs acts of war for the Empire as long as there is “just cause” but reduces the Christian’s duty to that of peaceful prayer: “We do not go out on the campaign with (the emperor) even if he insists, but we do battle on his behalf by raising a special army of piety through our petitions to God.” (Origen, Against Celcus 7:73).
The subtle distinction here, from “war as evil that Christians cannot support” to “war as necessary evil that Christians can support through prayer and petition” provides a backdrop for future justification.
Pro-Peace in the Empire
For the brand new Christian Empire, non violence created a novel conundrum. How could the Empire maintain order without using violence. Eusebius (Constantine’s most vocal supporter) painted a utopian picture where the union of Church and Empire meant that “the whole human race was converted to peace and friendship when all men recognized each other as brothers and discovered their natural kinship” (Eusebius, In Praise of Constantine 2). But unfortunately, his optimism couldn’t last as the Empire continued to encounter opposition. One solution sought by the Apostolic Canons forbid monks and clergy from participation in the military but allowed it for civilians. The idea seemed to work functionally but introduced a duality previously foreign to Christian teaching on nonviolence.
The Eastern Church struggled with this tension differently from the Western tradition. Whereas Augustine called it a Manichaean heresy to suggest that war was intrinsically evil and unchristian, the Byzantine fathers historically retained a reluctance for war—even when violence was thrust upon them. St. Basil suggested a pardon for men who killed during war in defense of justice, but also provided that perhaps these men should be refused communion for three years since they were not “clean handed.” An anonymous Byzantine war strategy manual dated during the 6th century outlines carefully how the armies of the Empire could engage and defend the city with the least amount of bloodshed (for example, refusing to surround the enemy so that they might retreat if they wish; using diplomacy, intrigue, and hunger sieges primarily and only resorting to outright battle as a final option.)
My goal here is not to extract a concise “war as necessary evil” ethic from the Eastern Church so much as to illustrate how the ancient idea of “peace” outlined above was sought in creative, albeit difficult ways. From these few examples, we see the Eastern Church living in the “already but not yet” tension of living the nonviolent ideal in a violent world.
“Good Wars” and “Bad Wars?”
Contrast this with the strong “Just War” tradition of the Western Church, founded by Augustine and St. Ambrose. Whereas elements in the Eastern tradition maintained that all war was inherently bad, but at times unfortunately unavoidable; this theory introduced the idea that under the right conditions, violence could, in fact, be virtuous.
The travesty of Just War theory is precisely this idea of virtuous violence. By outlining right conditions for Holy War, proponents elevated violence to the same Kingdom status that peace once held alone. No longer was nonviolence the sole ideal—it was dethroned by a certain type of violence that could justifiably be proven to lead to a certain type of peace.
By justifying state violence, the Church was robbed of its theology for peace as reconciliation with God the Creator. Further, the fuller, mystical understanding of peace as a “Kingdom Status” was buried under natural law.
Such thinking has dominated the western landscape for most of Church history and been used to justify most violent atrocities Christians have either instigated or found themselves involved in. In Part V, I’ll discuss the modern errors of Just War thinking that still pervade modern culture as well as outline my thoughts for a new way forward for the pro-peace Christian.
“When individuals slay a man, it is a crime. When killing takes place on behalf of the state, it is called a virtue. Crimes go unpunished not because the perpetrators are said to be guiltless but because their cruelty is so extensive.”
St. Cyprian of Carthage, 6
Read Part V
AAF III: To The Text!
December 6, 2008
I Clement: Salutation
“The church of God that lives as an exile* in Rome to the church of God that lives as an exile in Corinth”
*alternative rendering – sojourns (so Holmes), or “as alien” or “temporarily resides”
As noted in the intro, but now here asserted in the text, it is the church corporate in Rome which addresses the church corporate in Corinth. The feel is distinctly different than Paul who consistently draws attention to his apostolicity, or Peter who does likewise, or the psuedonymous writers who draw on apostolic authority (ie-some catholic and pastoral epistles). It is even less assertive than the gentle leader(s) of the Johanine Community, whose leader affectionately goes by the title “The Elder.”
It is more akin to, say Polycarp of Smyrna, who addresses his letter to the Phillipians simply “Polycarp.” Only here we see the focus of appeal made by the whole Roman community rather than focused on a single individual.
As Eusebius notes (EH 4.23.11), this letter has long been thought to have been authored by Clement of Rome. And several of the manuscripts give a title to the work saying variously: “Clement to the Corinthians I”-so Codex Hierosolymitanus (AD1056), similarily the Latin (11thc copy of likely 2nd or 3rdc pieces), Codex Alexandrinus (5thc; missing 57.7-63.4) leaves out the “I”; The Syriac has the letter in the NT and is dated (AD1169-1170), it’s title is a bit more grandiose, “the catholic epistle of Clement the disciple of Peter the apostle to the church of the Corinthians”; similarily the Coptic (incomplete, 4th and 7thc)
Since we do not have enough manuscripts to comprehend the tradition or family tree of the letter, we can observe that it is not until over a thousand years later that we see a title which mentions Peter; where it is not part of the text, and even the title only mentions “discipleship” as being a quality of Clement; there is here no mention of a Petrine or apostolic authority. Though there are several passages in the body of the letter which do give such an impression (ch 42-44), to which in time we will get.
[All info from Holmes 3rd ed]
AAF II: Brief Rhetorical Analysis of I Clement…
December 4, 2008
…and Possible Implications For Understanding the Relationship Between the Roman and Corinthian Churches
In Aristotle’s third chapter in his lectures On Rhetoric, he classifies three genres of rhetoric; συμβουλευτικον, δικανικον, and επιδεικτικον; deliberative, judicial, and demonstrative respectively. The majority of classical rhetoricians adhered to this rather strict set of three genres. But not all did, Cicero’s De oratore and Quintilian’s Institutio oratorio each argue that the tri-fold classification system is much to narrow, nonetheless, Aristotle and his idea of three genres held sway over the education and instruction of rhetoric, even if in practice it is difficult to sequester a piece off into only one of the three kinds.
In time other subcategories emerged which suggested that public epistles and private letters were different is scope and character. Holmes tells us that I Clement is a strict exercise in deliberative rhetoric, placed in a public and literary epistle. The letter is highly stylized and is an attempt to persuade the audience to do something, and/or to dissuade them from doing something. A “deliberative” piece was also called a letter of advice. The message would have been framed as if to say “is it more beneficial to do this than do that.” It is a letter which implies there be room for a response, although we do not know if a proper response was made, or if the letter was successful at it intended purpose, although it is possible that II Clement is a sermon by a Corinthian elder after having been restored; if this is correct then 1 Clement was a success.
There were forms available for letters which presumed the authority of one party over another, and I Clement does not fit into that category. I Clem. makes authoritative use of LXX scriptures, some pseudepigraphical and unknown sources, Jesus traditions, I Corinthians and likely Romans and Hebrews as well. I Clem. also uses pagan and secular examples, including Stoic cosmology, the legend of the phoenix, and the Roman army. Appeals are made to ομονια “concord” (which is used 14 times!) and sought to settle στασις or “revolt.” That is to say, they made their appeals by examples from scripture, Jesus, the Apostles, nature, and societal expectations.
Given the nature of the letter, one of advice; that there were forms available which were official and implied authority, to which I Clem does not adhere; that the letter is addressed from the whole church to another church; that appeal is made to everything from the religious to the secular, but not to the authority of a figure in the Roman church or the church itself; that the letter attempts to persuade by argument with an implied response; and that a “teaching authority” or “authority of Peter” is never invoked
It seems at this initial stage, that we should understand the letter to be a word of advice to the Corinthian church from their fellow believers in the church of Rome, which assumes no authority over the Corinthians but instead uses rhetorical standards to persuade them to take a course of action the Roman church believes is the most appropriate Christian response.
*All information either came to me in an ecstatic vision, or I found it in the into to I Clement in Holmes 3rd ed, in David Aune’s “The New Testament in its literary Environment,” 1987 Westminster; or “The Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 BC – AD 400″ Stanley Porter, Brill 2001
Which Church Father are You?
December 3, 2008
I have a great love of history and liturgy. I’m attached to the traditions of the ancients, yet I recognize that the old world — great as it was — is passing away. I am loyal to the customs of my family, though you do not hesitate to call family members to account for their sins
AAF I: Intro to I Clement
December 2, 2008
Words and ideas do not just appear onto a scene. They have backgrounds in previous literature, and in the education and experience of the author. When talking about authority in the early church I have found that words get a lot of hype. Just how are we to understand episcopos, presbuteros, and diaconos? Let alone the other terms used to describe leaders in the early church. Well, since I am purposely limiting myself to the books on my shelves (this is an extracurricular activity for me after all) I do not suppose that I will be able to interact with all the secondary literature, but I can use works that are well versed in it, including such Roman Catholic scholars as Raymond E Brown and Hans Kung; who are both independent enough to challenge RC assumptions, but Roman enough to really make me think about my own presuppositions.
All in all, I have found Protestants to be much too skeptical of early sources, and Catholics to be anachronistic, as if all early literature should be viewed in light of St. Ignatius and not the other way around.
Going in the order of the books in my Holmes 3rd ed, I will try to keep to a focus on the way the words and themes are used in the books themselves, and I will not try to tie together all the literature into a coherent theme until this whole thing is over (at my current rate that could be…years) And so while I may mention briefly the use of words and ideas in the NT, I do not suppose that simply because it is a certain way in the NT it will be that way in Diocletian or I Clement.
For those unfamiliar, the letter of I Clement is from “The church of God that sojourns in Rome to the church of God that sojourns in Corinth” It is one of the earliest of Christian documents outside of the NT. In fact it may be earlier than some of the books in the NT, depending on how you date it all. It is usually estimated to have been written in the last two decades of the first century in the Year of our Lord. Although later tradition has ascribed this to Clement, sometimes called the Fourth Bishop of Rome , this is not designated in the letter itself, and the ascription is not original to the letter. Nonetheless, the unity and style of the letter implies a single author, even if the whole community contributed, and there is no reason not to ascribe the penmanship to Clement of Rome.
Social Background :
Given the use of a pagan letter-structure, the command of the Greek language, pagan ideas and examples, and their copious use of the LXX, we would be fair-minded to assume that the writer(s) of I Clement were hellenized Jewish Christians. Diasporic communities were organized after the Greek forms familiar to the wider culture, as “associations.” Officers would have been elected by the various members and the titles given them would have been ones used by Greek associations. Women were often leaders and were even known to have been the “president” of a Synagogue. The hierarchical structures were democratic: decisions often being made by all the assembly or by an elected council.
Though they would have sent a Temple Tax, these communities would have been autonomous of the authoritative influence of Jerusalem. They arbitrated their own civil and religious disputes, as did other religious associations. And so a formal hierarchy would have been unfamiliar to them.
The NT and other early literature such as The Didache indicate that charisms would have operated across the spectrum, young, old, male, female, etc…, and that such charisms would have played a large part in who had “teaching” authority or leadership abilities. Still, the so-called “Pastoral Epistles” lay out criteria that should be used to determine leaders of a more permanent character, and so we see a variety of structures and leadership realities in the Early Church (EC). We have no reason to presume one over another before we examine the text. That is of course, perhaps a false dichotomy, it may be that the two types are not mutually exclusive.
[Taken mostly from Koester, Helmut - Introduction To The New Testament vol.1: History, Culture and Religion of the Hellenistic Age, 2nd ed. Walter de Gruyter, New York - Berlin, 1995 pg.. 210-217]
Tony Hunt
jstambaugh
Shawn Wamsley
