The Boy Scholastic Purchased A Pipe

And smoked it too! The smell reminded him of home and the autumn. He has had a good rest and is now ready to get to work.

On sound advice, I have decided to write down a few thoughts concerning a subject which has, of late, weighed heavy on my heart. The notion of salvation has always been very real to me, both in its necessity and in its divine origin, but its nature has been a subject the mystery of which I have only recently turned my attention towards. I found myself rereading several passages in the Gospels; focusing on only a few now will maintain brevity and provide clarity. We see the man in sin often being described as a "slave to sin" and that the salvation of Christ sets us free (John 8:31-36). This notion of slavery and freedom are powerful indeed; so is the notion of sin as a death and salvation as life. In the same chapter of John, we see Christ make one of his most powerful statements, yet one of his most enigmatic: "Very truly, I tell you, whoever keeps my word will never see death." (John 8:51)

This creates serious implications for the notion of salvation, for we all see an ending of our days on this earth, our own deaths. There comes an understanding from this imagery a different understanding of the notion of salvation in Christ -- it is not about our lives at all, but the nature of our lives on earth. Though some deny Christ, all live earthly lives; though some accept Christ, all die earthly deaths. We cannot either attribute these verses to a Heaven and Hell, for those in Hell still live and by no means die. What Christ must therefore speak to is the nature of our lives, that without him there is slavery and death, but within him there is freedom and life. But what are we freed from? and what is this life?

These questions form a wall which a direct assault could not hope to overcome. But there are other verses pertaining to salvation to which we must now turn in hopes of reaching an understanding of the nature of the salvation in Christ. We know it stands in opposition to God's judgment, but how so?

6But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. 7When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." 8Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.

9At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. 10Jesus straightened up and asked her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"

11"No one, sir," she said.
"Then neither do I condemn you," Jesus declared. "Go now and leave your life of sin."

(John 8: 6-11)

We see here a powerful understanding of the salvation of Christ -- that though it comes from his sacrifice on the cross, it is not linked to our forgiveness. We see clearly that the notion of life in forgiveness comes from our belief and that this is what spares us from the death of sin. Christ does not condemn though we deserve. This woman in no way accepted him, in no way made a profession of any believe of faith. Without any notion of belief, he spare her his judgment and the wrath of God. This is not an anomaly but rather the nature of the mercy of God as seen through the Christ. John further echos this message, that we might understand:

"For God so loved the world that he sent his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." (John 3:16-17)

Again we see that salvation comes in terms of life and death, of the sin and faith that rest in this world. But when it comes to condemnation, for that Christ died for the world, bar none. "And we have seen and do testify that the Father sent the Son to be the Savior of the world." (John 4:14) Not of those who believe, not of those who have found and accepted him. He is the Savior of all, of the world. "Upon him is laid the inequity of us all." (Isaiah 53:6)

Salvation, then, is of earthly things and speaks to our earthly life, and in that we see a truth to the notion of life and death that originally eluded us. For who among us, knowing Christ, could leave him? He is our life, the living water who takes away our thirst. Without him we were dead, to the world, to ourselves, to life in its fullest. The salvation of Christ is the life fulfilled in the Will of God.

This invites a discussion of heaven and hell, for how could they remain unchanged when we have a full understanding of our salvation? The necessity for change, however, existed well before hand. I interject a strain of opinion, but it is necessary to contemplate before searching the scriptures. If we view hell as a lake of fire prepared for our endless torment, hell is not so great and terrible. No man believes disingenuously, for how could he chose to believe something which he did not think to be true? We may deny them and turn from them, but we always know what we believe and be persuaded of its truth. So to be sent to hell for the lack of a particular belief is a cheapening of the justice of God as it does not fully break a man. For he suffers in iniquity, resenting and hating God. It also asks for man to be separated from God, but how could this be the case when God is God? No this cannot be hell. But then what could be?

We know that hell is the antithesis of heaven, so in finding that perhaps we find a reprieve from our agnosticism. Given our understanding of salvation, heaven is the product of the life fulfilled in Christ, so that we may look at God one day and that He might say to us, "Well done my good and faithful servant!" (Matthew 25:21) It is the acknowledgment on the part of our creator, who yearned for our very being and designed us that we might be with Him for eternity, knowing that we have reflected his love and found Him through faith and not through sight. It is the reward of the life fulfilled as the entry to our eternal communion with the Lord, where we know no pride in that accomplishment, but simply fulfillment.

Hell, then is the opposite, and in that we see the true dichotomy of the justice and mercy of God. Hell is standing before God as he looks and says, "Depart from me, for I never knew you." We see ourselves for the first time fully, know our transgressions, our lack of faith, our unwillingness to believe. We see our lives as a failure, dead and empty -- the most precious gift given to us left unacknowledged and unopened. The stench of wasted time and regret bores through our very being and rends out heart asunder. A man is made nothing. We see the justice in God, and as a in a perfect symphony, are overwhelmed by the sudden onset of the next movement -- the movement of God's undying grace. The man knows his utter failure and unworthiness, and yet God cradles Him and brings him into his fold. He cleans him and bathes him and that completes the perfect hell of suffering and despair -- the fullest, most complete realization of receiving that which we never deserved and lived a life devoted to nothing but its scorn. God breaks the spirit and the man is dead but brought anew and fully formed into the communion set aside for him from the beginning of days, from time immemorial. The first man finds the life eternal in the unified salvation and forgiveness of Christ, the second finds his death, but all are brought to God by his grace and mercy, that prophecy might be fulfilled when it was said "that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." (Philippians 2:10-11).

In this we find an understandable salvation and a real hell which inspires the fear which drives the many to the Lord. For it is the greatest fear of man that life might be wasted, that our existence might go unfulfilled, that our purpose would be left by the wayside. We find ourselves before the Cross, basking fully in its power and majesty.

The Boy Scholastic kissed a girl!

Well, sort of. While walking to the park, he got carried away trying to decide if he should go back and put sugar in his coffee when he walked into a girl. They both fell down but were more or less OK, although he hit the ground so fast that all of a sudden all he saw was sunlight, and he thought that he had been blinded by divine light. "But I'm not ready," he said after he'd reached his favourite bench (having apologized hastily to the girl in question and running the rest of the way). "But then again, when was anyone ever ready for what really matters?"

Things seem to be moving so quickly for me, even though my life itself is in that temporary stasis before the start of every quarter. It's my own fault, though, for putting off a very burning question for far too long. The longer I hang around, the more I realize that it's going to be impossible for me to dismiss Rudolf Bultmann's theology without addressing it head on, but what frightens me is that, the more I acknowledge that I disagree with it, the more it compels me.

The one topic that is really getting to me right now is the subject of the Resurrection. As a lot of you know, I've been spared most of the crisis that people face on the subject of miracles by a strong acceptance of the fact that God does what he wants, but it is the other side of Bultmann's argument that is getting to me. I realized while I was back home spending time with the more fundamental of my theological friends that they place primary importance on the Resurrection and not the Crucifixion. Now, I've spent a large amount of time in the Gospel as of late, and the one thing that I've taken away in this reading is something that Bultmann stressed -- that the Crucifixion is the important element. Christ died for our sins, he was born to die, he was the sacrificial lamb. It's not that he was resurrected for our sins (that doesn't even make sense when I think about it). The notion of the Resurrection is, by and large, another sign of Christ's authenticity, much like his lineage or the Virgin Birth.

And to be quite frank, I would follow Christ with no less vigour if there was no prophecy surrounding his being. It isn't an old prediction fulfilled that compels me to take up the Cross, it's the truth of the Word, it's the power of the personage of Christ, of his life, of his action as the perfect incarnation of his teachings. Don't get me wrong, though, by believing that I don't believe in any fulfilled prophecy -- but I see it more as a sign for those who need it. Paul needed no such sign, though, and neither do I. The life of Christ is more than enough for me, and there's nothing to boats about that, either. It's simply a matter of in which manner a person best hears the call, and I hear it in his life, not in the fulfilment of a prophecy.

But I digress -- what really begins to worry me is the notion of the Resurrection as a physical, historical event when juxtaposed against the importance of the death. Namely, when the body dies, it begins to decompose. It's death. The notion of re-animation is a bit absurd, because you either die or you don't -- to come back from death is to not have died. Furthermore, and most troubling to me, is that the idea that Christ walked to the Cross knowing that he would be physically resurrected is like walking into a fight knowing the other guy's going to throw it. Christ's death has to be the perfect sacrifice to atone for the sins of the many, and a death like that doesn't fit the bill. He needs to have actually died, to have quit this mortal coil, and the more I think about it, the more that calls for a spiritual, non-historical, resurrection. It doesn't rely on an empty tomb, but it's far more meaningful when I think about it, than any returning body. Paul would seem to support this, in a way, as he considers himself an Apostle because he saw the Resurrected Christ, though he experienced the personage of Christ rather than seeing some re-animated corpse. As misguided as the internet meme "Zombie Jesus", it sort of sums up what I'm talking about. If I'd seen the Christ in a bodily Resurrection, I'd have thought he never died. But a spiritual resurrection, one of a heavenly nature, would be the clinching proof that he was The Christ.

It's just that, the more Bultmann sinks into me, the more I worry about adopting his entire theology, which creates in me a great anxiety (as Bultmann thinks it should). But Christ is the King of Peace, and His doctrine shouldn't breed in men an anxiety about their lives, but inspiration and hope. And without a notion of the eternal soul, where then is God's justice? His wisdom? His mercy? I can't find it anywhere, least of all where Bultmann says it should be, and so I sit here, in an odd position. But at the same time, I am filled with wonder, that in the midst of all this confusion, my only wish is that it was Sunday, that be singing songs of praise. For now, I will be still, and know that He is God.

The Boy Scholastic spent the last five minutes trying to imagine infinity.

He nearly gave up, but then a pretty girl walked by humming a lovely song, and suddenly realized that imagining was the wrong way to go about it.

It's funny how much we can think about something just to know so little about it. I used to think myself impervious (or at least, well-guarded) against such uncomfortable revelations, as I take great pains not fall among the ranks of those Senators who advocate the posting of the 10 commandments but can't list them. But for the life of me, I can't write down what I believe to be a "good" definition of theology. I can provide the Greek roots, I can tell you what it is supposed to be, but I can't express it. And that bothers me.

I've so far refused to look at anyone else's definition, because it's important to know what I believe it to be. At the very least, it would grant me a measure of insight into who I am and what God means to me. The best thing to do, I think, would be to talk about what it isn't but even that is difficult to do. Theology isn't apologetics, but it should be apologetic: good theology should provide clarity about the relationship between man (men) and God. But the point of theology isn't to offer an apology, but something more. It's not about rhetoric, though it is rhetorical, and it isn't about convincing, though it does seek to be right as opposed to wrong. Theology isn't intellectual, but it should be rational and logical: it should apply to everyman, regardless of who his father was or how many sheepskins hang on his wall. Theology isn't history, but is should be historical; it isn't invented, but it should be constructed; it isn't of man, but it should be anthropological. Try to focus too much on the one, and you get criticized by the others.

I think of the great theologians that I admire, but why are they theologians? They created theologies, certainly, but what? Barth has his theology of crisis, Bultmann his theology of κήρυγμα, Gutiérrez his theology of liberation, but they all speak to different things, and while at times they do, it is not inherent that they overlap. An Augustinian view of sin neither affirms nor denies a Lutheran view of determinism. But these are theologies versus theology. I don't wish to confuse an object and its form.

I know what you're saying -- it's simple to see that the entomology is right -- but much of theology is what we don't know about God, or how we can't study God, or how even speaking about God with the belief that we assert knowledge of God is sinful. But even in that we're saying that we know something about God. But it's like saying that, if we preach tolerance, we should be tolerant of intolerance. It's both true and false at the same time, or rather, there is an element of falsity and an element of truth to the statement due to its simplicity.

In the end, answering this question is the same for me as speaking about God is for Bultmann -- when I say what theology is, what I am actually saying is what theology is to me. And that's the ticket. There is some fantastic link between theology and God other than what would appear at first glance. Theology is the study of the relationship between man and God, which gives insight both into the actions of God and into the being of man.

Now that I've said it, it seems very obvious.

The Boy Scholastic Reveres Soup

Armed with a thermos, the library doesn't seem so far away. "Soup," he whispers to himself, "is liquid courage."

I was reading a mildly interesting article, which did the good work of reminding people that there has not been a conclusion to the free-will versus predestination* argument, even though it severely mis-represented the nature of the debate, stating that the notion of predestination became prominent in the 18th century.

"Well," I said to myself, "someone doesn't read Calvin. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Regardless, it did a proper job of explaining the fact that both philosophers and scientists (both from the biological and physical sciences) see merit to the argument of predestination. I normally wouldn't bring something like this up -- after all, I pop-article isn't really my style -- but after a section about how questioning free-will might make people "less moral", it ended with the following paragraph:

"People who explicitly deny free will often continue to hold themselves responsible for their actions and feel guilty for doing wrong. Have such people managed to accommodate the rest of their attitudes to their rejection of free will? Have they adjusted their notion of guilt and responsibility so that it really doesn’t depend on the existence of free will? Or is it that when they are in the thick of things, trying to decide what to do, trying to do the right thing, they just fall back into the belief that they do have free will after all?"

No doubt written as an attempt to soothe any readers who might have been steered too close to an existential crisis (the horror!), there is an interesting talking point here which has always been of Theological interest to me (surprised?). The author notes the same type of phenomenon that Hume notes in his Treatise on Human Understanding. With those unfamiliar with the work, Hume discusses the ways in which humans comprehend the world around them, noting that it is grounded in experiential evidence. However, experiential evidence is illogical -- we have no logical basis whatsoever for believing that, because something happened this way before, under the same circumstances, it will happen again the same way.

His reasoning can be summarized as follows: If I hold a ball in my hand above the floor, and I then assert that letting go of this ball will cause it to fall to the floor, I make that assertion because it has been my experience that, when I hold something in the air and then release it from my grasp, it will drop downwards: I justify my assertion by experiential evidence. When asked to justify my belief in the validity of projecting a result from experiential evidence, I can only maintain that experiential evidence is an indicator because it has been my experience that experiential evidence functions in that way. And here we have a problem, for experiential evidence cannot be the justification for experiential evidence's validity. Circular reasoning or some such nonsense.

Now, at the same time that he points this out, Hume makes an equally important observation that, despite how we may try, we cannot escape the belief that experiential evidence is valid. Even those who claim that they do not believe in experiential evidence will still shield themselves if you throw something at them, when by their own beliefs they have no reason to do so (the ball is just as likely to turn into a duck as it is to continue along a projected course and strike you, if we deny experiential evidence). Hume notes that, though there can be no logical proof of the fact, we are unable to shake the validity of experiential evidence from our existences, as it is the basis for our understanding.

Now, this same situation is, as I see it, present in the free-will v. predestination debate. There is no logical reason to believe in free-will -- it goes against the notion of experiential evidence, the very basis for how we as humans understand. To say that we have free-will, that is, that we are able to make a choice void of influence to the point that there is an introduction of randomness, is to say that we are not rational beings, (i.e. that we act by reason based off of experiential evidence). This goes against the notion of human action and existence, and yet it is impossibly, as the author of the article notes, to find a person who does not feel responsible for their actions, and in that way, somehow the author of their actions, a position which stands against the common notion of predestination.

So how do we reconcile the two? Do we do it in the same way that Hume does? We can't, really, because the only opposition to experiential evidence is the fact that there can be no logical reason that it be trusted, leading him to the conclusion that it is inherently human (Hume, by the way, follows all of this to an argument for predestination). In our case, we have two sides, each supported by two sets of facts. Predestination is supported by logic and experiential evidence, which free-will is supported by our existential realities. To think that a man's understanding and existential reality could be separate from one another so as to lead to different conclusions is altogether mind-boggling (I don't fully understand it myself), but it leads me exactly to where I want to go, that is, to a conclusion.

Theologically, scientifically, and existentially, I am aligned to the proposition to the unification of ideas. A unified theology of the personage of Christ, an grand unified theory, and a union of body/soul -- they all walk together. It's what drew me to Christianity, to Lutheranism, to academic study. The notion of God demands unity and universals, as does science, and I am therefore doubly dedicated to bringing unity to thought.

It is therefore no surprise that I would propose the union of free-will and predestination. Crazy, I know, but just hear me out. One thing that we can be certain of is that, as humans, we have a limited perspective, and that things change depending on our perspective (this is a huge part of everything from existential thought to Einstein's Theory of Relativity). Looking at the two sides, it's hard to line them up, because all of the evidence for each comes from a different plane of perspective. The belief in free-will is supported by the existential perspective, while the belief in predestination is supported by a universal perspective. If you've ever read the book Flatland by Edwin Abbott, you may understand what I'm talking about a bit better. From a perspective limited to two dimensions, a sphere will appear to be nothing more than a circle of whatever size the sphere's diameter is at the point at which the sphere intersects the 2D perspective. This sphere is therefore two different things from two different perspectives: the universal perspective is what it is (objectively, if you can believe such a thing), while a limited perspective sees only what it is able to see.

In this way, man possesses a free-will while, at the same time, still living in a deterministic universe. He is culpable for his actions because he cannot at all perceive anything else other than himself as the force behind that which he does. For all intents and purposes, he does control his actions, so real is the perspective to him. Free-will, like the validity of experiential evidence, is hard-wired into human nature, because they are the ways in which we as humans function as a result of our limited perspectives. From a universal perspective, where all influences and factors are observable, it is impossible to separate oneself from the deterministic attitudes of everything, and that the single blip that began everything (if, indeed, we can assert a beginning) necessitated all that was to come.

Theologically, this serves as a perfect reconciliation of God's omniscience and of human moral culpability. We, of course, do not escape the misguided arguments of God being evil as a result of all this, but those can be dealt with on another day (though to many those arguments are far more concerning than the argument I am proposing to settle). There may, of course, be a problem with something, which I am always glad to hear, or there may be someone who beat me to this, in which case, I would not be glad to hear it, but ought be told either way. If this does turn out to be a smart thing I've said, please don't take it from me. I need whatever I can get.

On a side note, I'm being accepted as a member of Augustana Lutheran Church this Sunday (August 24th). If your live where I live, and would like to come be present, I would love you to be around. One step closer to ordination, hurrah!

*NOTE: I'm using predestination VERY loosely here. It's probably closer to determinism, but I'm lazy today and don't want to double the length of this defining terms.

The Boy Scholastic asks for reading lists in advance, but politely so.

He understands when professors aren't quite ready but is excited when they are. At this moment, he is very pleased, indeed.

So, my professor told me to pick up a copy of "The Ancient Economy" by Sir M.I. Finley to get ready for this class, and I have to say, the first chapter is one fine read. He basically proposes to dismantle the modern notion of cyclical economic development (i.e. that the ancient economy was just like capitalism on a smaller scale) by demonstrating that the ancient peoples had no concept of economy at all. It makes sense, and he attributes it to the structure of the ancient society, which is what really gets me. I'm only on page 30 or so, but it's already shaping up to be ridiculously interesting, especially from a theological standpoint, because so often we have to recognize (and thereby counteract) our subconscious efforts to interpret things as if they were written yesterday and not 2000+ years ago.

It's why I find myself moving much more towards a centrist position than the conservative position I began with. For me, there is no especial draw to liberalism (or rather, the draw to liberalism is counter-balanced by my understanding of a persistent yet improper desire to alter my interpretation so as to save Christianity from persecution from social progressives and, in the same fashion, to earn acceptance), but instead a desire to fully understand the mindset of the faith that is documented in the text, and in that way, understand the message of the text.

This is important to me for two reasons. First and foremost is my own faith, which must be my first priority, for how can the faithless and those who persist in error hope to lead others towards faith and truth? But that is also the second, that I might properly teach and instruct. For I have found so much apparent conflict (or, rather, duality) in theology, juxtaposing justice and mercy, faith and works, free will and divine fore-knowledge, man and God, that my desire is to unify all of it, and to put to rest questions of disjointed theology.

It's not so much for the Christian, although many theologians preoccupy themselves with these questions (though they normally pick a side) and many lay Christians accept these things through faith (as they should), but rather for those for whom these concepts stand as obstacles is seeing the special dignity of Christ. It was a conversation on the Megabus that I overheard which really set my heart a flame with this desire (not that the groundwork was not already present). Two men sitting in front of me where chatting idly about things, and stumbled onto the subject of religion. Partially out of a desire to be unoffensive (although it was, to me, extraordinarily offensive) and partially out a desire to sound educated (though it was the most uneducated statement imaginable), one man said that there will always be religious extremists and separatists, but that every religion is just The Golden Rule when you looked at it intelligently. I wanted to say something, then I wanted to cry, then I became overwhelmingly upset. "If you only understood!" I wanted to say. "If you could only truly understand the special dignity of Christ and what separated him from work-based "faiths", you'd never say such a thing! If you only truly understood what it meant to be both in grace and yet a sinner, to be powerless over your own sanctification and redemption, to be truly indebted to God, and to really understand, and thereby experience, the full width, depth, and length of love in its purest form!" You see how I get, sometimes? It broke my heart.

And then, at the same time, there was a conversation going on behind me between two college students at Loyola (a Jesuit college, in case you were unaware), about how one had become an Atheist and could simply "no longer believe in God." When asked to give reasons, she explained all of her problems with the Catholic church -- how a priest refused to baptize the child of a woman, who having left her husband because of spousal abuse, had remarried outside the church (the church refused to remarry her on the basis of a divorce not brought on by adultery), and how the child died soon after of illness. For a Catholic, the infant baptism covers original sin (excuse me if this is something you already know), and for that mother to have her child die having been denied a baptism would be the most devastating thing imaginable. The one comfort that mother had, the salvation of her dead child, the church "stripped" from her, and the minds of this college student, God had done it. She cited multiple examples of the failings of the catholic priesthood, though none quite so heartbreaking as the mother and child.

With this girl, my heart was in so many pieces that I had to say something, though I'm not much of a public speaker. I quietly introduced myself as a student studying religion and divinity at the University of Chicago, and politely suggested that her problems were less with God and more with the Catholic church, and asked whether or not she had ever considered Protestantism. She said that she was just unable to believe, and though there was so much to say, I couldn't muster any of it. My lips said that I understood and told her to e-mail me if she ever doubted her doubt as my hand gave her my e-mail address, but my heart cried out as I turned back to my own thoughts. I wanted to ask what it meant for her to believe in God, and who was God to her that she found Him so unbelievable? Why didn't I ask? I worry that it was out of a lack of courage or trust in God, but it was because I knew the answer without asking -- the church had tainted her ability to truly see God. This is my problem with the church, most of all the Roman Catholic church, that for so many it puts men in the place of God so that, when those men fail, people see it as God's failing, that the imperfections of the priest are the imperfections of God. I wanted so much to tell this girl that the failure that she felt separated her from the church were not the failings of God but the failing of the faith of men. But how could she have heard?

If ever I were to become a priest, it would be to correct these errors. But how could I succeed? My faith too will falter, it has in many occasions. I run out of fingers when attempting to count my failures in the last week, in the last day, since breakfast this morning. We need the church, but we lack the understanding of its relationship to God. We require justice but we long for mercy. We are men, yet are apart from our God who completes us. God is not understanding, but he provides it. His grace should impart the peace of unity and clarification. I by no means intend to study that I might be the dispenser of grace, but rather that I could elucidate the grace that comes from God. To lift high the cross. To be the mirror reflecting the light.