Category: Philosophers
Honor to whom honor is due: Dr. Jerome Wernow.
Dr. Jerome Wernow is not listed on the website as one of the faculty of Western Seminary though he does contribute by lecturing on matters related to ethics and philosophy. He is the executive director of the Northwest Center of Bioethics. Most importantly he has been one of my favorite mentors.
Jerome has a brilliant mind and a big heart, which is a unique combination. He joined our philosophy and ethics class a few years ago and he did a fine job of keeping all of us students on our toes asking us questions and providing us with parabolic answers. When he gave his talk on bioethical issues I lamented that this is a standard subject of all M.DIV students. Thankfully, Western Seminary’s online learning option will include a class that he teaches on the subject.
I will miss going to lunch with Jerome to talk about ontology and epistemology while eating Cuban or Lebanese food. Those lunch meetings were all fun and encouraging. About a week before my thesis defense/oral exam I went to lunch with him and I was able to keep pace in our conversation. I knew at that point that I was ready for the exam. I knew if I could keep up with Jerome I was in good shape.
Jerome, thank you for being a great friend and mentor over the last couple years!
N.T. Wright (in response to James K.A. Smith) on tradition, creedalism, and canonical readings.
"I'm not persuaded that the fruits of historical science have suddenly put us in a position superior to pre-modern interpreters."
A few weeks ago James K.A. Smith wrote a bit about N.T. Wright’s new book How God Became King: The Forgotten Story of the Gospels (see “Kings, Creeds, and the Canon: Musings on N.T. Wright”). Initially he praised the work, then he moved into his critique. To summarize Smith didn’t like (1) that Wright seems to present his views on the Kingdom of God in the Gospels as something of which everyone is woefully ignorant until he came to explain it; (2) that Wright talks about the creeds as if they are “…the villain that tempted us to miss this ‘forgotten story.’ “; and (3) Wright dismisses “canonical readings” of Scripture (if this true then what are we to make of this video titled ‘The Whole Sweep of Scripture’ produced by The Work of the People featuring Wright?) and “the rule of faith” because he sees “tradition” as a “blinder.” Smith announces, “I’m not persuaded that the fruits of historical science have suddenly put us in a position superior to pre-modern interpreters.” (This is his challenge to Wright’s “originality” as someone who is as much a historian as a theologian.)
To summarize, Smith doesn’t think Wright has introduced something new that the Reformed tradition overlooked. He doesn’t see historical research as having added something essential to our understanding of Christian doctrine that the canon and creeds failed to provide. This book says what people like Abraham Kuyper, Richard Mouw, or others in the Reformed tradition have said already.
Some people commented questioning Smith’s suggestion that Wright sees himself as delivering something new that is actually quite old. One person pointed out that even if there have been people saying the things Wright is saying this doesn’t mean it is not a message that many still need to hear. Then N.T. Wright responded:
"And, excuse me, what’s this about me being dismissive of ‘canonical’ readings?"
He began by clarifying that his experience has led him to come across many people who do not have a solid answer for why we need the “content” of the Gospels themselves. Many see the reason for Jesus as being his death, burial, and resurrection. What are we to do with Jesus’ life and teachings? I must say as someone who has been around Pentecostal and E/evangelical groups if it weren’t for the writings of Wright I wouldn’t have an answer to that question either. It is great that Smith’s tradition has addressed this subject. For the rest of us who are outside Reformed circles with little to no interest in entering we are thankful for the work Wright has done on this subject.
Second, Wright defends his appreciation of the creeds. I must quote a large section:
“I take care precisely NOT to ‘fault’ the great creedal tradition. I use the two classic creeds in my regular prayers and worship – in the Anglican manner: the Apostles’ Creed every day, and the Nicene Creed at the Sunday Eucharist. (Just as they do at Calvin, of course.) The creeds are not the ‘villains’. They were not written to provide a teaching syllabus. They are the symbol, the badge, the list of things that were controversial early on which the church had to hammer out. The problem comes – and at what point in church history this occurred I couldn’t say, that not being my period – when the creeds are used as teaching outlines; because of course they skip precisely over the ‘middle bits’ of the gospels, and thereby, quite accidentally and non-villainously, collude with a quite different movement, with which many of my readers tell me they are all too familiar: a form of Christianity in which it would be quite sufficient if Jesus of Nazareth had been born of a virgin, died on a cross and never done anything in between. The rise of such a truncated form of Christianity is not at all (I suggest) the fault of the wonderful and beloved Creeds, but of quite different movements which have then (ab)used them as a teaching outline which has reinforced (quite accidentally in terms of the Creeds’ original purpose) the omission of the kingdom of God as a present reality. In other words, I not only don’t reject Nicene Christianity, I embrace it, affirm it, love it, live it, and pray it. But the best sort of Nicene Christianity has always insisted that you read the gospels themselves, and indeed pray the Lord’s Prayer, and that these are just as important for shaping who we are in Christ as the formulaic creeds themselves.”
'How God Became King' by N.T. Wright.
Third, Wright rejects that he dismisses canonical readings. He states that his book is “a plea to let the canon be the canon!” According to Wright appeals to “the canon” often mean appeals to a tradition and not the biblical canon at all.
Finally, Wright refutes Smith’s seeming dismissal of extra canonical literature. He states,
“So what’s this about ‘extra-canonical resources’? This is often said but it’s (frankly) nonsense. Without extra-canonical resources – e.g. lexicography – I would not be able to read the New Testament at all. Without knowing a bit about who the Pharisees were – and what the Sabbath meant to a second-Temple Jew – I wouldn’t understand Mark 2. And so on.”
Then Wright goes on to say a few more good things about the necessity of understanding at least some things about the context of Second Temple Judaism and the first century world. I am thankful to Smith for highlighting what he thought should be approved (I haven’t read the book yet), but as someone who has read a lot of Wright’s work over the years I am more appreciative of his response which I think frames his project as I have understood it. One comment said that the next generation will look at Wright’s work “as just another dead end project.” This is false already. For many of us in that already emerging next generation he has helped us rethink the Apostle Paul, the message of the Gospel, the Kingdom of God, the use of Hebrew Scripture in the New Testament, Second Temple Judaism, eschatology (one pastor friend of mine said he had given up on eschatology until he read Surprised by Hope), and so forth and so on. In some sense most scholars are forgotten in a generation or two. That is how the guild functions. To say Wright’s work is a dead end is to ignore the impact it has had already! (Of course, that person said in his comment that Barth’s project was “a dead end” and although I am not a Barthian I think this overlooks the reality that Barth remains one of the most influential theologians even now.)
Update (04/13): Smith replied to Wright and Wright has added a couple additional comments. Make sure to read those as well!
Rethinking history with Keith Jenkins (Pt. 3).
If you’ve haven’t had an opportunity to read Part 1 and Part 2 of my interaction with Keith Jenkins’ Re-thinking History I recommend reading those post first. In the third and final chapter of this book titled “Doing history in the post-modern world” Jenkins presents his logic for still doing historical work, even though he has shown himself to be very skeptical about one’s ability to accurately “know” the past. He addresses the definition of postmodernism, the implications of postmodernism, and how to do history now. (p. 59)
Jenkins follows Lyotard’s “death of centres” and “incredulity towards metanarratives”. He explains it as such:
“…all those old organizing frameworks that presupposed the privileging of various centres (things that are, for example, Anglo-centric, Euro-centric, ethno-centric, gender-centric, logo-centric) are no longer regarded as legitimate and natural frameworks (legitimate because natural), but as temporary fictions which were useful for articulation not of universal but of actually very particular interest; whilst ‘incredulity toward metanarratives’ means that those great structuring (metaphysical) stories which have given meaning(s) to western developments have been drained of vitality.” (p. 60
There is much right and some things wrong with Jenkins’ argument in my estimation. First, he is right to criticize the convolution of our unique perspectives into universals. Some like Kant thought this or that was self-evident in all humans because we share humanity. This may be true in part, but it is false in part as well. We do bring our socio-political, socio-economic, linguistic, biological, and other presuppositions to the world. This shades how we understand things.
For instance, if a Spaniard wrote a history of the conquistadors it may look very, very different from if a Native American sat down to tell the story. This doesn’t mean some “objective facts” like dates, names, and that one civilization “defeated” another aren’t obvious, but how that story is “framed” is relative.
I agree with Jenkins on the relativity of history telling, but he can easily, easily be misunderstood as ignoring any form of sure knowledge when we do historical work. We must remember that Jenkins doesn’t deny that some things can be “know”, but he questions whether the overarching story or message in which those facts are placed can be anything but subjective. As long as we realize subjectivity isn’t “bad” or necessarily “wrong”, but simply angled and limited, we can move forward.
Of course, we find ourselves with one major problem. If certain ways of telling the story of the world cannot be “true” why is Jenkins call to utter subjectivity “true”? He side steps this to say “Post-modernism is the general expression of those circumstances. Post-modernism is not a united movement. It is not a tendency which essentially belongs to either the left of the centre or the right…” At the end I still wonder what makes this “description” truer than other descriptions. Can postmodernism’s definition automatically kill this understanding of postmodernity? Or maybe the relativity of postmodernity proves its own point?
When we say that there are “histories” instead of a “history” we admit that our telling may be unique and limited. It doesn’t explain the world. On a side note, how does this jive with a Christian description of the world? In part we can affirm it. We know that the Christian way of explaining the world is our own. We can’t speak of God’s redemption through Christ as an active reality for those who believe. It isn’t “obvious” and “universal” for those who don’t believe. This doesn’t mean it isn’t “true”, but that is where eschatology comes into play.
Jenkins “steps” toward doing historiography in a postmodern world are helpful. First, he emphasizes a “reflexive methodology”. In other words, be self-reflective and self-critical. (p. 69) You must realize your work is an “act of interpretation”. (p. 70) Second, remember that when you write a history you are selective. You chose the data to present and the data to ignore. In doing this you control how your hearers understand “the past”. This makes it most obvious that what you are doing is not universal or objective, but it can be “true” none the less.
Final thoughts:
Let us imagine we are one of the Evangelists writing a Gospel. Is our historiography objective? No. We intend to tell the story of Jesus and we are intentional about tying Jesus to the story of the Hebrew Scriptures. Does this mean history is lost? No. It is framed and shaded. There are some things that will easily convince most people (Jesus of Nazareth existed) and other things you will work hard to prove (the resurrection). This is why the Four Gospels tell the same “Gospel” differently. They are subjective “histories” of Jesus.
That said, scholars mostly recognize they are better sources than some other later “gospels” because even if subjective and skewed to convert readers they are closer to the events, closer to eyewitness accounts, closer to the land and people. This doesn’t make them universal or faultless, but it does make them more reliable.
Now imagine you are a modern historical Jesus scholar. Your presuppositions and worldview concerning Jesus will inform whether or not you reject or accept the claims of the Gospels. One can hardly pretend to be the “objective” agnostic against the “subjective” Christian. Both are subjective. Both look at the data through a lens. Both may recognize some “truth” though it will be angled and not objective. I think realizing this is helpful moving forward. Acknowledging presuppositions never hurts…except those who want to pretend they don’t have any.
Rethinking history with Keith Jenkins (Pt. 2).
In my previous engagement with Keith Jenkins’ Rethinking History (see part 1) I examine his assault on the idea that history = the past, that history is singular, and that history can be objectively understood. Today I ponder his arguments in Chapter Two: “On some questions and some answers”. These are the seven questions he addresses with his answers:
1. What is the status of truth in the discourses of history?
Jenkins suggests that gaining real (true) knowledge is “unachievable”. (p. 28) As discussed in the last post there is a chasm between the event and the historian. We know the event through the traces it has left, but how reliable are those traces? Jenkins says we can still use the word “know”, but he makes this qualification:
We are (our culture is) a-moral, skeptical, ironic, secular. We are partners with uncertaintiy; we have distruved truth, have tracked it down and found it to be a linguistic sign, a concept. Truth is a self-referencing figure of speech, incapable of accessing the phenomenal world: word and world, word and object, remain separate. (pp. 29-30)
Jenkins states plainly, “…truth is always created and never found.” (p. 31) So, we can’t “find” the truth of history, we merely “create” it. This is what we know. Jenkins follows Foucault stating, “…truth is dependent on somebody having the power to make it true.” (p. 31)
Of course, the reader should stop in his/her tracks to ask, “Is Jenkins telling the truth?” Should we find it problematic that Jenkins expects us to believe him when he says, “History is a discourse, a language game; within it ‘truth’ and similar expressions are open, regulate and shut down interpretations. Truth acts as a censor–it draws the line.” (p. 32)
2. Is there any such thing as objective history, or is history just interpretation?
Jenkins says that it is true that we can find “facts” (p. 32) like the year someone was born, but he claims, “…historians are not too concerned about discrete facts (facts as individual facts), for such a concern only touches that part of historical discourse called its chronicle. No, historians have ambitions, wishing to discover not only what happened but how and why and what these things meant and mean.” (pp. 32-33) So it isn’t so much the problem of say know Jesus of Nazareth was understood by people to be the Messiah of Israel (a fairly self-evident fact), but what historians do with that data when they write their histories on Jesus of Nazareth. They are not objective anymore. They import their subjective understanding of Jesus into their discourse.
3. What is bias and what are the problems involved in trying to get rid of it?
Historians are bias. This is a plain fact. Let me use Jesus of Nazareth again. If someone is an atheist they will have no room for the possible historical accuracy of miracle reports. If they are a believing Christian they may have a very hard time denying the accuracy of such reports. There isn’t much to add to this.
4. What is empathy; can it be done, how, why, and if it cannot be achieved, why does it seem so important to try?
So how do we avoid pure subjectivity based on our bias? Many historians suggest empathy. In other words, “the claim that one has to get into an informed appreciation of the predicaments and viewpoints of people in the past in order to gain real historical understanding…” Let me return to historical Jesus studies. Scholars learn as much as possible about Second Temple Judaism, ancient Rome, the geography of the land, the religious beliefs of the people, and so forth. Why? Because if you don’t know the historical context you will import your modern context.
BUT Jenkins doubts that this is all that effective. He gives some reasons for why this is unachievable:
(1) “The philosophical problem of ‘other minds’…[which] considers whether it is possible to enter into the mind of another person we know well…” If we try our hardest to pretend we are a Jew in Jerusalem in the first century can we do it? Jenkins says no. (p. 39)
(2) “For what is effectively ignored in empathy is that in every act of communication there is an act of translation going on; that every act of speech (speech-act) is an ‘interpretation between privacies’.” If I try to think like a first century Jew as a twenty-first century American it is inevitable that I will translate things from that world into my own. I cannot understand it from their world.
(3) “…there is no presuppositionless interpretation of the past…” and “…interpretations of the past are constructed in the present…”
We can boil down Jenkins’ objection to the distance between historian and events, the need for translation, and they presuppositions we use to filter the data. At the end of the day we are no where near thinking like a first century Jew. We think about first century Jesus through twenty-first century paradigms no matter how hard we try not to.
That said, anyone who has done historical work knows from experience that one’s ideas do alter when we try to be empathetic. We do not obtain objectivity, and we do filter the data, but we move closer to understanding a different world when we try than those who do not. I think Jenkins point here must be taken with a grain-of-salt since he often comes across as “all-0r-nothing”.
5. What are the differences between primary and secondary sources (traces) and between ‘evidence’ and ‘sources’: what is at stake here?
Jenkins makes the assertion that all sources as “surface” sources. We cannot dig any further down. This leads him to the conclusion that we are “…if we are freed from the desire for certainty, if we are released from the idea that history rests on the study of primary/documentary sources…then we are free to see history as an amalgam of those epistemological, methodological, ideological and practical concerns I have outlined.” (p. 48)
I admit, I am a bit surprised by this assertion. Even if our knowledge of history is always on the surface at least primary sources are ground level while secondary sources are a few stories from the ground. There is no way to avoid making history into total mythology if we do not have primary sources. Not all secondary sources are created equal either.
Jenkins asks, “Does the evidence of the past press itself so irresistibly upon the historian that he/she can do not other than allow it to speak for itself?” (p. 48) No, of course not, but it is still the evidence, the data, and not merely a secondary report on the data.
Let’s compare historical work to that of a detective. Reading a newspaper’s account of a murder is not the same as investigating the murder scene and interviewing witnesses. Yes, interpretation is involved, and no we cannot have absolute certainty, but degrees of plausibility and certainty do exist. I am puzzled by Jenkins here.
6. What do you do with those couplets (cause and effect, continuity and change, similarity and difference) and is it possible to do what you are asked to do through using them?
I alluded to this problem earlier: when event A is followed by event B does it necessitate “cause-and-effect”. When a historian says that the United States bombed Hiroshima because of A is it really because of A or is that a construct made by the historian? Is it like a bat hitting a ball pushing it away? Do event work like that or when we do history do we create cause-and-effect?
7. Is history an art or a science?
History isn’t a science in Jenkins’ view, but more like an art. This threatens the guild, because it turns a nose to their methodology and regulations.
Rethinking history with Keith Jenkins (Pt. 1).
Recently I finished Keith Jenkins’ book Re-Thinking History (Routledge, 1991). Jenkins is a professor of history at the University of Chichester who is known for his advocating of a postmodern historiography. What characterizes a “postmodern” historiography? Well, oddly enough this statement by the philosopher Voltaire works quite well: ”There is no history, only fictions of varying degrees of plausibility.”
In other words, when someone writes a “history” they take data available to them (archaeological, botanical, paleontological, papyrological, etc) and they reconstruct a narrative from that data. It could be argued that many events given a cause-and-effect relationship in say a book on Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon are the complete invention of the author. Sure, we find that this or that happened, but do we know that this or that caused Caesar to move toward Rome? How do we know?
Some historians seek to do history as scientists do science. They want testable hypothesis that result in some form of “objective” knowledge. Others say that this is not possible, so the best analogy for the work of a historian is that of an artist taking various materials to paint a picture for his/her audience.
In Jenkins’ book he advocates a very subjective, almost relativistic understanding of history. I think there is a lot to learn from what he says, though I have my contentions. Over three parts I will interact with Jenkins as an amateur in historiography. I hope to come away a better thinker on how to do historical studies.
History is Histories; there isn’t one “history”.
Jenkins is a Lyotard of historiography in that his first attack is upon the idea that there is one “history” that is all encompassing. Rather, Jenkins argues that there are many, many “histories” (plural) that tell many, many stories from many, many angles. (p. 3) These histories are discourses on various subjects. (p. 5) History and “the past” are not one and the same since the past has happened, but history is a present interpretation of some of the events of the past. (pp. 6-7)
When the historian seeks to bridge the past to the present s/he does so with presuppositions involved. S/he has “epistemological fragility” as Jenkins dubs it. He states, “…no historian can cover and thus re-cover the totality of past events because their ‘content’ is virtually limitless. What he wants the reader to note is that even a modern historian writing on say the election of President Barack Obama must chose to include and exclude details and there are thousands of details that the historian cannot know. “Second, no account can re-cover the past as it was because the past was not an account but events, situations, etc.” (p. 11)
In addition to the chasm of time we have the chasm of experience. Jenkins notes that “…history relies on someone else’s eyes and voice”. (p. 12) Often we aren’t the primary source of our historical work. We rely upon the accounts of others. We receive the events through their subjective lens.
So how do historians make their work secure? Often it comes down to a discussion of methodology. Jenkins thinks this falls short since historians use many different methodologies and often do not agree on how to do the task at hand. (pp. 15-16)
Even if a historian thinks they have a well-developed methodology there are many more factors to consider: the guild and it’s influence, epistemological presuppositions, particular “routines and procedures”, the influence of the work of other historians, the process of writing a history (including the work of editors, limited word counts, sell-ability), and finally, to move to the reader, their own subjective understanding of what you wrote. (pp. 20-24)
What Jenkins accomplishes in his first chapter “What is History?” is the deconstruction of the reader’s confidence in objective historiography. He humbles the reader’s epistemological self-understanding. He challenges the whole guild of historians who feel that their club has discovered the “rules of engagement” for doing good historical work that allows us to say with confidence that this happened, this did not, and this is why this happened.
So you may ask what Jenkins offers once he has torn down the common understanding of historiography. This is his definition of “history”:
History is a shifting, problematic discourse, ostensibly about an aspect of the world, the past, that is produced by a group of present-minded workers (overwhelmingly in our culture salaried historians) who go about their work in mutually recognizable ways that are epistemologically, methodologically, ideologically and practically positioned and whose products, once in circulation, are subject to a series of uses and abuses that are logically infinite but which in actuality generally correspond to a range of power bases that exist at any given moment and which structures and distributes the meanings of histories along a dominant-marginal spectrum.” (p. 26)
If Jenkins is correct in his understanding of “history” then we should abandon any idea that we can be “objective” in our historical work or that we are recovering the “bare facts”. No, we are reconstructing a narrative from the available data. That said, it seems that Jenkins departs from epistemological arrogrance to epistemological nihilism. Does it have to be “all-or-nothing” or can we reframe the discussion around “degree” of “plausibility” instead?
Is an action moral only when the motive is pure?
Immanuel Kant
I’ve come to enjoy the program Justice with Harvard University professor Michael Sandel. I recommend you watch it some time! In episode 6b he discusses Immanuel Kant’s assertion that a deed is moral only when the motive is pure. For example, if a shop owner could give a customer the wrong change but doesn’t because he fears being caught (something that would harm the business) this action is not “moral” because his motive was not pure. If he gives correct change because it is the right thing to do then it is moral. Another example would be a man remains faithful to his marriage because he fears if he cheats he would be caught (i.e. the consequence is the motivation) is not the same as the man who remains faithful because he believes it is the right thing to do.
What do you say? Is the morality of an action determined by the action or by the motivation for the action?
Interview with Alvin Plantinga.
Brian Auten of Apologetics 315 has interviewed one of the most respected Christian philosophers alive today: Alvin Plantinga. This is the description:
Today’s interview is with Alvin Plantinga, emeritus John A. O’Brien Professor of Philosophy at the University of Notre Dame. He talks about his background and how he got into philosophy, theistic arguments (for two dozen or so, see here) and some he’d like to see worked on (the argument from evil & the argument from abstract objects), the use of the ontological argument, how he would speak to other about the faith, his view on the use of arguments for convincing others, properly basic belief, the proper function of his A/C, the shift toward theism in philosophy, reading recommendations for up-and-coming philosophers, study and reading habits, character traits for the Christian philosopher, topics he’d like to see Christian philosophers tackle, advice on apologetics, his latest book, Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion, and Naturalism, and more.
To listen go here.
Five thoughts on the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial.
The Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial was to have been dedicated this last Sunday, but that was interrupted by Hurriance Irene. This monument has already received much publicity, both positive and negative. These are my thoughts on the matter:
(1) This Memorial was inevitable. Can we imagine Washington D.C. never displaying a statue of the great Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.? I can’t. So whether or not you think that his statue should have been added to the National Mall you should realize that it was bound to happen sooner or later.
(2) Personally, I like that he has been given a Memorial in the National Mall. Dr. King did as much for our nation as Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, and others. He deserves our recognition for what he did for the United States. He stood against many of us, for us, and he helped make us better.
(3) Yet I understand the concerns expressed by Cornel West and others. In a New York Times article titled “Dr. King Weeps from His Grave” Dr. West argues that Dr. King wanted a revolution, not a memorial. He says,
“King weeps from his grave. He never confused substance with symbolism. He never conflated a flesh and blood sacrifice with a stone and mortar edifice. We rightly celebrate his substance and sacrifice because he loved us all so deeply. Let us not remain satisfied with symbolism because we too often fear the challenge he embraced.”
So true, and this is the great danger we face in creating a memorial for Dr. King. It may allow us to think we have arrived. We may think that Dr. King’s dream has been fulfilled. We may think the work is over. A Memorial can be empire’s way of saying, “Congratulations on a job well done. You got what you wanted, now shut up.” We cannot let this happen.
(4) We must continue to fight for Dr. King’s dream. This is still a Eurocentric culture. It still espouses white privilege. It is still easier for a Caucasian to get a job than a Black or a Latino. Our prisons continue to be overpopulated with Black and Latino men for reasons that often go far beyond crime-and-punishment. It is still true that a man makes more per hour doing the same job as a woman because he is a man. It is still easier for the rich to get richer than for the poor to get out of poverty. There is much that must be fought for and against. Dr. King’s Memorial cannot come to mean that we are done. It must remind us that we’ve only just begin.
(5) The Memorial must remind future generations of where we’ve been and what we’ve done. I say that out of both sides of my mouth. We have made progress. Slavery has been abolished. Segregation is no longer legal. But it was this country that supported slavery and Jim Crow laws. If I have children I want to take them to the Memorial to tell them of the great Dr. King. I will tell them of the importance of the Civil Rights Movement. But I won’t tell them this so they think we’ve progressed and that all is said and done. It will be a reminder of our corporate sins, our injustice, and the human capacity for evil. It will be a reminder that if we aren’t careful there will be a group that becomes oppressed right before our very eyes. I want my children to know that we’ve come along ways, but I don’t want them to forget from where we’ve come.
The fallacy of assumed universal experience.
Yesterday Rodney Thomas wrote a post titled “Can White People Do Contextual Theology Too?” wherein he rightly argues, “…many well-intentioned religious thinkers try to hide …whiteness in the name of universality. The idea that even white people do contextual theology is disruptive.” I recommend reading it, because it is true! Sometimes those of us with more Eurocentric worldviews forget that all history is not western history (using “western” for lack of a better word), all philosophy is not western philosophy, all religion is not western religion, and so forth and so on. While Derrida, Foucault, Lyotard, and other “postmoderns” receive a bad rap in my circles I think this was one of their great insights and one of their great contributions to the critique of western thought from within the paradigm of western thought: we should not assume our non-universals to be universals.
We hear a lot about African, Asian, and Latin American biblical studies/hermeneutics/philosophy/theology as if it is the abberation of the objective, universal approach to the aforementioned subjects. This assumes too much. It speaks of Eurocentric (i.e. white) approaches to various topics as universals when the truth of the matter is that this approach is contextualized as well. While I think it is right to discuss African, Asian, and Latin American (and other categories) forms of thought in order to be more aware of the differences, we must be careful to avoid to assumption the they contrast a fundamental, universal approach (i.e our approach).
It is easy to make this mistake. Often we assume our view is the universal, especially if we are in the majority. For example, my wife recently shared a few paragraphs from a chapter titled “Religious Microagressions in the United States: Mental Health Implications for Religious Minority Groups” in Microaggressions and Marginality: Manifestation, Dynamics, and Impact (ed. Derald Wing Sue) where the following paragraphs grabbed my attention (its from the Kindle edition so excuse the lack of page numbers):
“…another common experience for religious minorities may include asking someone to be a spokesperson for their entire religious or nonreligious groups. Such an act implies that individuals from a specific religious group have had universal experiences and that each person is interchangeable and nondescript. This phenomenon is similar to the theme ‘assumed universal black experience’ in which a Black/African person is asked to speak on behalf of the entire race (Sue, Nadal, et al., 2008). Expecting a person from a religious or nonreligious group to speak for his or her group can be viewed as unfair and may evoke stress from the recipient. Perpetrators from dominant religious groups are rarely asked to be representatives of their groups. This form of religious microaggression can be similar in literature on race. For example, McIntosh (2003) reveals that one privilege that Whites have is that they may never be asked to represent their entire group, while people of color may be asked to be spokespersons regularly. Similarly, Christians may never have to be spokespersons, while Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and other religious and nonreligious minority groups may be asked recurrently.”"
I have heard from fellow Caucasians/Whites the opening line, “My friend _____ is Black and s/he thinks….” as the beginning of an argument for why one African American/Black’s vantage point suddenly sums up the views of a whole ethnic/racial group. Some examples would be “My Black friend _____ doesn’t like the idea of Affirmative Action, therefore….” or “My Mexican friend _____ says that s/he doesn’t think it is fair for the school in the Latino neighborhood to get a larger portion of government aid, so….” and the African American or Latino who happens to have a view similar to that of the majority is cited as evidence that the minority group either (A) doesn’t necessarily disagree with the majority or (B) since some within the minority group agree with the majority the concerns of the rest of the minority are unjustified.
I am a white, male Protestant/evangelical. This puts me in the majority in the United States. Sometimes I sense the need to defend myself against the demonization of “whiteness” or “maleness” and often one card we white males play is the appeal to our minority or female friend. I know why we do this, but I’m not sure that it is wise, especially when we ignore the views of a minority group in favor of a “spokesperson” who agrees with us.
Those of us from religious groups that are the majority do the same thing. I have heard some fellow evangelicals warn about the dangers of Islam because they heard “a former Muslim, now Christian” outline their own negative experience with Islam and then they assume this describes all Muslims. The same thing can happen when a “former Catholic” explains to Protestants why “Catholicism” is bad. The Protestant appeals to the view of one former Catholic, but does not give other Catholics a speaking platform. (This is one reason why I was hesitant in writing my series on Oneness Pentecostalism, since I know I am only one former adherent.)
I am not saying that this is the type of thing being done of Rachel Held Evans’ blog where she has a series that includes, “Ask an Atheist”; “Ask a Catholic”; “Ask an Orthodox Jew”; “Ask a Humanitarian”; “Ask a Mormon”; “Ask a Mennonite”; and “Ask an Evolutionary Creationist”, but I do think there is a danger that readers of these posts may assume a smug sense of “awareness” now that “a Catholic” or “a Mormon” has spoken on behalf of the religious minority. Rachel’s series does something very positive–it invites evangelicals to dialogue with “the other”. It allows someone from a minority group to speak rather than be spoken for by an outsider. Most importantly, it allows an individual to show that a generalization of a given group ignores that different individuals in that group have different opinions on various matters. If these things are kept in perspective all is well and good. What needs to be avoided is that misconception that the “spokesperson” represents the group or that it is even a “good” thing that they must be a “spokesperson”. It should be seen as the beginning of a conversation including more voices, not a final word spoken by one individual.
For those of us in the majority we must ask ourselves how much we would like to be represented by one voice. One example, as a citizen of the United States it was very concerning to talk to people who thought that because President George W. Bush had a particular foreign policy that he represented the entire American ethos. One person I know from Belgium was quite surprised to hear that all Americans aren’t pro-war!!! Another example is that as a white male I don’t like when it is assumed that I come from a line of slave owners (no evidence of this in my family line) or that I think a good woman is one who washes the dishes and cooks every meal (I cook sometimes and I do many of the house chores). If someone asked my dad what a “white, American male” thinks of a given subject I’d be quite horrified if someone assumed that his views are my own.
So we must avoid the fallacy of assumed universal experience from two angles. First, we must avoid the idea that our own experience is the universal while others are abberations. Second, we must avoid the misconception that the view of one person of a minority race, ethnicity, sub-culture, or religion represents everyone in said group.
What are your thoughts on this issue?
All you need: The Gospel According to Cicero…
“If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need”. Marcus Tullius Cicero
Someone gave me a coffee mug for my birthday with this quote on it. I would add coffee to the mix of “needs” personally! The picture is our harvest of some of our winter veggies. 
Carrots and Beetroot
Five thoughts on objectivity, open-mindedness, and scholarship.
C. Michael Patton’s recent attack on Roman Catholic scholarship from the perspective of an evangelical caused me to think a bit more about the language he used regarding epistemology. In his first post “Embracing Doubt or Why ‘Roman Catholic Scholarship’ is an Oxymoron” he spoke positively of Rene Descartes’ starting point in doubting everything. Also, in a single sentence, he affirmed that “no one is completely objective in their studies” and then criticized Roman Catholics because “when it comes to their defined dogma” they “cannot really study objectively”. This has forced me to ask whether or not we are cautious enough when discussing “objectivity”, open-mindedness, and scholarship. These are my brief(er) thoughts:
(1) There is no such thing as so-called “objectivity”. Let’s examine this sentence: “JohnDave Medina examines his new piano.”
Who is the subject? JohnDave Medina. What is the object? The piano. Is it possible for JohnDave Medina to know the piano in such a way that he somehow embodies the piano making himself “objective”? No. He will always be the subject when he is examining something. Everything he sees and learns while accurate and true is still from his subjective perspective.
JohnDave Medina is wearing glasses. This means he may see the piano differently that a sibling with weak eyes who is not wearing his or her glasses. He senses the texture of the keys through his hands (no one can share that unique moment). There are a million ways in which this is a subjective moment.
I am not denying the reality of the object. I am saying that “objectivity” seems to be a misnomer. I know why we use the word. We want to indicate that we are open to exposing our own bias. We are willing to suspend our presuppositions as much as is possible. These are worthwhile exercises, but they are not examples of someone being “objective”.
(2) We should not deny our presuppositions. We must acknowledge their existence. We must hold to them cautiously.
Marc Cortez commented on my second post written in response to Patton titled “The inconsistency of an evangelical apologist (or stop trying to insult our Roman Catholic friends).” In this post he asked me if my own preference for a less set-in-stone confessional stance meant that I basically agree with Patton’s overall thesis while only denying how he applies it to the differences between Roman Catholics and evangelicals. I think the answer is “yes” and “no”.
Obviously, even if I were qualified (I’m not), I would not be able to be hired at a Roman Catholic institution where I would have to teach particular Roman Catholic doctrines. Why? Well, I don’t agree with those doctrines so it would make it a bit odd. I can say the same thing about The Master’s Seminary (sorry, I affirm women leading in the church and I think professional counseling is a good thing) or Dallas Theological Seminary (dispensationalism still confuses me after all these years) or Reformed Theological Seminary (do I have to explain?). On the other hand, there are some institutions who either (A) have a shorter lists of affirmations for those seeking employment or (B) have a list of affirmations that I can affirm.
If Fuller Theological Seminary or George Fox Evangelical Seminary has a shorter list of things that need to be affirmed than Denver Seminary or Wheaton College does that make the former institutions more “open-minded” than the latter? If an evangelicalism allows for more divergent thinking without penalty than Roman Catholicism does that make it more “open-minded”? Maybe, but to say that it does for sure is to miss something.
Whether or not one is “open-minded” can be (1) subjective and (2) not necessarily good. First, let’s say James McGrath suddenly came to hold some conservative evangelical doctrines like the infallibility of Scripture and the doctrine of the Trinity as evangelicals hold to it. Let’s say he suddenly sees the gospels of the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ as the only message of salvation. In his next class he tells his Buddhist student that without Christ she is separated from God. When all this comes to the forefront will he maintain his position as the Clarence L. Goodwin Chair in New Testament Language and Literature at Butler University? Probably not without a fight and I am sure that if he affirmed these things before he was nominated to this position he would not have earned it.
Is Butler University “open-minded” to conservative evangelicals? I assume most honest people would say “no”. Is this a good thing, a bad thing, or just a thing? I guess it depends on whether or not you are a Buddhist student wanting to take a class on the historical Jesus this next semester or an evangelical wanting a job at Butler University!
We can argue that certain guidelines make for better scholarship. We can say that some so-called “rules” of historiography allow scholars of early Christianity ranging from confessional evangelical to atheist to have a meeting point and that for that reason alone we should maintain particular guidelines for order. That being said, I don’t know that we are correct to say one way is more “open-minded” than another.
On the other hand we may say that the Society of Biblical Literature is more “open-minded” in some ways that the Evangelical Theological Society. An evangelical can deliver a paper at SBL in San Francisco in Novemember. An atheist historian will not be presenting at ETS. Of course, when it comes down to it, even SBL must not be “open-minded” about everything. They reject paper proposals and they do not allow high school seniors to give talks.
Everyone has presuppositions. We all allows certain things to count as legitimate knowledge within our paradigm and we all reject other things. At the end of the day the best we can do is ask everyone to do their best to admit their presuppositions (e.g. Someone may not be able to accept the resurrection of Jesus as a historical event because that person does not think good historiography allows for an explanation that assumes anything beyond naturalism), without pretending that somewhere in the universe their presupposition is set in stone as the only way to see things.
(3) We must enter the so-called “hermeneutical spiral” allowing our presuppositions to be challenged at times. So while I am cautious about saying one group is “open-minded” while another is not, I do agree with Patton that we must enter some form of hermeneutical spiral to test ourselves. We must be willing to ask whether or not what we believe makes sense. This may be where he appealed to Descartes. As a fellow Frenchman I am not against Descartes doubt though I must appeal to my friends Derrida, Foucault, and Lyotard (and many others) in my skepticism that doubt will someone make sure better at reaching some form of pure knowledge.
This is where my statements about institutions with more wiggle-room come to play. It is not that I am “open-minded” so I prefer “open-minded” institutions. It is that I want to test my understanding of this or that and be free to change my mind within reasonable limits!
What are “reasonable limits? Well, you guessed it…that’s a bit subjective. I could not teach somewhere were I had to deny my Christian beliefs. I think I could teach in such a way that allows my students to reach their own conclusions, but if I were asked if I thought about subject A, B, or C I’d like to be able to answer. Likewise, this means I’d like to teach somewhere someday where if I change my mind on a fringe doctrine (e.g. the historicity of Adam and Eve) I won’t have to fake it to stay employed. So when I say I appreciate those institutions with wiggle-room it may be because they are more “open-minded” or it may be that they are open where I am open!
(4) There are many reasons for maintaining presuppositions. One reason for Roman Catholics is because they have concluded that the Magistrate has a particular kind of authority. They are open-minded to that possibility that the Pope of Rome can speak ex cathedra while I’m closed to this. If Pope Benedict XVI makes one of these declarations tomorrow most Roman Catholics will submit because they have reached particular conclusions about the Papacy, the church, and authority.
Is there anything superior about my evangelical, low-church “yes, I like tradition when it agrees with me and no, I don’t like it when it disagrees” approach? Not really. Any Roman Catholic is free to change his or her mind and face the consequences. I am free to change my mind and face the consequences. Whether this relates to where we worship or where we are employed the similarities are more than the differences.
I maintain some presuppositions because I don’t think I have the right as an individual to redefine certain things. That is a presupposition as well. I don’t think I have the right to deny that the church speaks of the Christian God as Trinity. If I struggle or wrestle with that doctrine at times it is my struggle, but the Great Tradition of Christianity affirms it so I will affirm that it is orthodoxy. If I were to ever feel like the doctrine of the Trinity doesn’t make sense or explain God very well that would be my problem, but I wouldn’t say that the church should change.
One of my presuppositions that leads to this presupposition is that I don’t think the Holy Spirit would allow the church to get something this essential so wrong. So even where I struggle with this or that nuance of the doctrine of the Trinity, it is orthodoxy in part because I trust that God sent his Spirit to lead and guide his church into truth.
Do I lack the consistency of my Roman Catholic and Orthodox friends in this area? Yup, but it is what it is and I know it. There are some presuppositions I must maintain for my Christianity to exist (i.e. God is good; God is love; God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself) and there are other things that I don’t need personally (i.e. the nature of communion is A).
(5) To be open-minded is usually a good thing, but extreme forms of open-mindedness are not a virtue. I cannot find the exact source of the quotation, but I think it was G.K. Chesterton who wrote, ”Merely having an open mind is nothing. The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.”
I am not a fundamentalist because I would starve since my mouth would always remain closed to new insight, truth, and perspective. I am not a relativist because I don’t want to gag to death on lies and error. Somewhere, like eating, we must learn when to keep our mind open and when to shut it; when to chew and swallow and when to choke and spit.
Thought from the Ancient World: no one acts justly through their free will.
In Plato’s Republic (Book II) a character named Glaucon is discussing with Socrates the motivation for acting justly. He says the following which reminded me of the Apostle Paul:
“…men are not just of their own free will; unless, peradventure, there be some one whom the divinity within him may have inspired with a hatred of injustice, of who has attained a knowledge of the truth–but no other man.”
If I understand him correctly he think no one can be just without some sort of divine assistance.
Philosophy in three minutes.
There are many philosophers and much philosophy. Sadly, there is not as much time to understand it all. This is where you may find value in the summaries of these “Three Minute Philosophy” videos that are actually pretty funny (though I should warn they can be a bit crude in some places). See these examples:
Aristotle:
Plato:
Epicurus/Zeno:
Also, you can find one for Heraclitus, Aquinas, Galileo, Kant, Hume, Locke, and others. (HT)
Thought from the Ancient World: Old age.
In Book I of Plato’s Republic Socrates asks Cephalus, an older man, “Is life hard towards the end, or what report do you give of it?” Cephalus discusses what many elderly people say of being old, but he provides a positive outlook and in essence says that those who do not like being elderly are typically those who did not like any stage of life because at all stages of life they have been unsatisfied and slaves to their passions:
“For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men’s characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and are equally a burden.”
Thought from the Ancient World: Plato as inspiration for Gollum?
An invention of Plato?!
I have had a copy of Plato’s The Republic for some time now. I decided to pick it up last week to read it. Quickly I found it enjoyable to participate in a dialog/narrative where Socrates and others seek to determine the definition of “justice”. Then I found a surprise at which both philosophy geeks and Tolkien fans will probably roll there eyes: In Book II it seems like Plato provided the inspiration for the concept of “the one ring to rule them all” and even the character Gollum!
In the relevant section a man named Glaucon is trying to show Socrates that when humans act justly it is only because they fear the consequences of being unjust. If a person could do unjustly, and there were no consequences, than injustice would win the day. In order to prove his point he tells this fable:
“According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherd in the service of the king ofLydia; there was a great storm, and an earthquake made an opening in the earth at the place where he was feeding his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the opening, where, among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, having doors, at which he stooping and looking in saw a dead body of stature, as appeared to him, more than human, and having nothing on but a gold ring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended. Now the shepherds met together, according to custom, that they might send their monthly report about the flocks to the king; into their assembly he came having the ring on his finger, and as he was sitting among them he chanced to turn the collet of the ring inside his hand, when instantly he became invisible to the rest of the company and they began to speak of him as if he were no longer present. He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he turned the collet outwards and reappeared; he made several trials of the ring, and always with the same result-when he turned the collet inwards he became invisible, when outwards he reappeared. Whereupon he contrived to be chosen one of the messengers who were sent to the court; where as soon as he arrived he seduced the queen, and with her help conspired against the king and slew him, and took the kingdom.
Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other;,no man can be imagined to be of such an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a God among men. Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust; they would both come at last to the same point. And this we may truly affirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely be unjust, there he is unjust. For all men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice, and he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what was another’s, he would be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they would praise him to one another’s faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice. Enough of this.”
Now of course there are many that have noted this link. Apparently a whole book (and probably several) has been written on the relationship between Plato and The Lord of the Rings. Many others have written magazine or journal articles.In the J.R.R. Tolkien Encyclopedia: Scholarship and Critical Assessment edited by M.D.C. Drout there is an entry by Gergely Nagy on ‘Plato’ and he says this of the connection:
“In Plato’s Republic (2.359c-360b), the story is told of one Gyges who finds a ring of invisibility and then is corrupted by the power this confers upon him; as a parallel to Tolkien’s One Ring, this is, however, rather superficial, since Gyges’ ring only works to make him invisible and his evil is achieved by the power offered in the knowledge he thus gains.” (p. 513)
It may be superficial, but it sure would be hard to deny some sort of dependency. For Plato or Tolkien fans, what do you think of the connection?
