McSwain’s most clear and concise explanation of the theological concept of belonging and how it informs the proclamation of the gospel appears in a recently published article at The Other Journal. Make sure you check it out.

This article is significant for two reasons. First, McSwain explicitly distinguishes between theological belonging and practical belonging, suggesting that a method for proclaiming the gospel that fails to consider theological belonging is deficient and at odds with the two-fold witness of scripture and the tradition. Second, McSwain offers a compelling historical account of how Young Life’s gospel proclamation became entrenched in a methodology that runs counter to its very nature as an incarnational ministry and the sort of practical belonging it demonstrates at almost every level of its ministry.

Gunton’s care to distinguish between the “content” of the Christian faith and particular historical “forms” is helpful. Whenever we attempt to introduce a modern theological formulation, we must always judge whether or not the form actually changes the content. If it does, the we should be critical, lest we reintroduce old problems in new clothing.

When Gunton comes at the Christology of Pannenberg, he finds reason to be concerned that Pannenberg is unable to recapitulate the content of classical Christology and instead creates a sort of degree Christology that repeats problems of historical forms of docetism.

Gunton invests time in explaining the difference between “Christology from above” and “Christology from below.” Below is a brief explanation of his study of the two different methods and his preference for a Christology that begins confessionally from above yet holds some sense of double movement. Enjoy:

Yesterday and Today: A Study of Continuities in Christology (London: SPCK, 1997)

The dichotomy of Christology from below/from above is something that Gunton gets from Pannenberg (51). Pannenberg intends to characterize ancient Christological formulations as “from above,” meaning that they are an a priori philosophical presupposition imposed upon the content of the biblical witness to Jesus Christ. Classical theology worked from the transcendent to the historical. The traditional Christological formulations failed to take seriously the humanity of Christ as the starting point for knowing his divinity. The modern world no longer uses the same philosophical language. Immanence replaces transcendence as worldview. Therefore, a new method for Christology is necessary – one which recovers the historical record of Jesus’s life and uses modern language to reformulate Christology in an a posteriori fashion.

Gunton looks at Christology from below in two contemporary manifestations: the works of Karl Rahner and Wolfhart Pannenberg. Rahner’s Christology from below is intended to be a change in method alone. His goal is to deploy contemporary language and a modern anthropological approach in order to arrive at the same content that traditional Christology intended to espouse. This is important for Gunton because it is an attempt to make a methodological shift that does not require a change in the content of the faith. Ultimately, Gunton does not think that Rahner’s movement from below succeeds on its own in arriving at Christ’s divinity. Rahner comes to a point in his anthropology where he must account for Christ’s divinity without resorting to docetism or adoptionism. At this crucial point in his work, he reintroduces the traditional concept of the hypostatic union “from above.” This amounts to a double movement, both from below and from above. Thus, in order for Rahner to come to the same content of traditional Christological formulations, he must appeal to some of the same language and concepts as ancient Christology. Rahner’s Christology from below, while an adequate orthodox formulation of Christology, is not truly “from below” as per Pannenberg’s classification (11-18).

Pannenberg represents an example of a contemporary theologian who is not concerned with demonstrating continuity in the content of the Christian faith. For him, Christology cannot begin with confession (as in Barth). Instead, theology must use the same method as other academic disciplines, starting with the historical accounts of the life of Jesus and drawing conclusions from the evidence available. In this way, one may properly construct a series of statements (called “Christology”) about Jesus’ divinity in light of the single historical event in which the transcendent and the immanent are collocated: the resurrection. Pannenberg does not resort to the sort of double movement that we see in Rahner. He demonstrates little concern for the content of traditional Christology by rejecting Chalcedon. While truly “from below,” Gunton does not see Pannenberg’s Christology from below as a successful project. In essence, Pannenberg’s theological move attempts to correct theological mistakes from the past by adopting a more modern method; however, as Gunton notes, the problems of the past do not simply disappear. Instead, Pannenberg is susceptible to make the same mistakes in a different way. For example, Gunton demonstrates that you can begin with the human Jesus and construct a degree Christology of sorts that still isolates Christ’s humanity from the rest of humanity in a way that essentially creates the same problems of docetism. It appears that even with a move from the immanent to the transcendent, one can repeat the mistakes of those who move from the transcendent to the immanent (19-29).

For Pannenberg, Christology from below is the counter-thesis to more traditional Christology from above. Gunton makes a distinction between different types of christologies from above. Origen and Hegel typify what Gunton calls Type A; Karl Barth represents Type B. The modern critique of Christology from above is that it allows a priori philosophical commitments to dominate theological method. Gunton uses Origen to demonstrate how this is a somewhat accurate critique of some classical formulations of Christology. In Origen, he sees an extreme example that over-emphasizes the eternal Logos yet somehow does not historically end up on the side of heresy, as did Arius and the Gnostics. Perhaps this is because there is a sense in which Origen’s Christology is both from above and below. Even though the transcendental eternal Logos dominates his discussion of Christ’s divinity, Origen maintains that the believer must begin epistemologically with the humanity of Christ and ascend towards a greater understanding of Christ as Logos. Thus, we have another example of a Christological “double movement” (35-38).

Hegel represents a modern example of Type A Christology from above. Gunton’s choice to use Hegel must be explained. Although Hegel’s philosophy is a philosophy of immanence, Gunton clearly demonstrates that Hegel’s method is “from above.” For Hegel, there is something about Christianity as revealed religion that allows one to trace the immanence of the Spirit. It is only with that movement from above in the incarnation that bread and wine become the mystery that is flesh and blood. Nevertheless, like Origen before him, the way one comes to receive revelation is immanent, within the mental development of the individual human. Again, there is a double movement that confuses the categorization of “from above” or “from below” (39-43).

Karl Barth’s Christology is what Gunton calls Type B Christology from above. It is different from Type A in the sense that it does not begin with a philosophical presupposition per se, but begins with belief. There is in Barth, yet again, a double movement. His Christological formulations are rooted in the revelation of faith from above yet the revelation occurs in this world and we come to understand it in history. Barth’s Christology is superior to Type A because it is not an instance of an a priori philosophical commitment imposing “from above” formulaic constraints on the “from below” content. Instead, it is the case that we receive the contents of the faith in scripture as from below due to the fact that the writers of the text first believed that Christ was God. It is their confession that constrains the contents of the text from above. This is dogmatics as Barth defines it.

The attempt to distinguish Christology from above and Christology from below in the way that Pannenberg suggests seems to be unhelpful thus far. Rahner’s approach from below as well as Origen and Hegel’s approaches from above rely on aspects of both. Even Barth, who remains Pannenberg’s most significant theological opponent in this regard, appears to hold to some sense of double movement. Only Pannenberg comes consistently from below and in so far as he does so, Gunton is not convinced that he ever really gets around to demonstrating how he moves beyond Christ’s humanity to his divinity. For Gunton, Pannenberg’s Christological dichotomy does not accurately describe the way Christology was done or should be done.

Here I try to capture the theological notion of recapitulation within the scriptures concerning the Tree of Life.

Soon, I will post another reflection that this study generated on the Trees of Paradise. I wrote it as an alternative lesson for the advent book but could not get it down to 300 words. Look for it in a few days!

Rev 22:12-21: The Beginning and the End.

The end is like the beginning.

How could it not be? After all, the one who was there at the beginning – the firstborn over all creation (Col 1:15) – will be there at the end to hand the kingdom of God over to his Father (1 Cor 15:24). In other words: the one in whom all things have their beginning is the same one in whom all creation will find its end.

We are often tempted to view history from its beginning or its end – from paradise lost or paradise regained. What we fail to recognize is that we cannot know anything about the creation or the new creation – about Eden or the Kingdom of God – except through the one who was there at the creation of the world and will be there at the inauguration of the Kingdom of God.

Christ the Center.

In the shadowy origins of our collective memory stands the tree of life – hidden since Eden; it is our past. So to, the promise of the tree of life stands on the horizon of our anticipated destiny (Rev 22:14); it is our future. From this middle, we cannot see the beginning or the end. Our memory and understanding are damaged by sin. Our desire to explain our beginnings and to create hope for our ends amounts to mythology and idolatry.

In this messy middle, the creator becomes creature; the root of David becomes his offspring (22:16). The Word of God – through whom all things were created (John 1:3) – comes into creation and gives us a point of reference for both our beginning and our end. As the second Adam, Christ is the end of death (1 Cor 15:22). So to, as the first fruits of the resurrection, Christ is the beginning of the new creation. From the one who hangs on a tree of death we receive the promise that we might finally taste the fruits from the tree of life.

by Gillian McCulloch

In the ever-growing dialogue between science and theology, one particular conversation continues to attract thoughtful work by theologians: the anthropological question. We should not be surprised that so many devote so much time and energy to this question. After all, in so far as we confess that Jesus Christ was both fully divine and fully human, we cannot help but to reflect on God without reflecting on the God who became human and is, as many have claimed, the only true human.

McCulloch’s book takes its place within the dialogue as an engagement with the doctrine of creation. This necessarily has anthropological implications, which she adequately explores; however, she is not primarily concerned with the anthropological question. Deconstruction of Dualism is not preoccupied with the debate concerning the constitution of a human being (mind/body dualism vs. materialism) in itself, but only as it relates to the larger problem of materialism as a cosmology.

Recent critiques of dualism by Ecofeminist theologians stand at the forefront of McCulloch’s concerns. These critiques successfully demonstrate that certain patriarchal appropriations of dualism place male over female and humanity over creation in ways that are abusive, objectifying and scripturally problematic. Nevertheless, the Ecofeminist solution – moving towards materialism – does not adequately take serious the Christian belief that certain dualisms must exist. One such dualism, for instance, is the creator/creation distinction. Without some form of dualism, the notion of reconciliation is unintelligible.

The problem that Ecofeminists make is that they assume the problem is with dualism itself. Therefore they seek to eradicate it by appealing to materialism. In so doing, they provide an equally distorted theology that cannot adequately account for evil, God or the soul.

McCulloch takes Ecofeminist critiques of certain dualist manifestations seriously while attempting to maintain a form of dualism. At the anthropological level, this amounts to a position that is called holistic dualism. This is a dualist position that McCulloch claims is refined in light of scientific evidence. While materialists assume that science makes dualism unnecessary, McCulloch is eager to adopt a holistic dualist anthropology of some sort because it takes seriously the body and the rest of creation while still accounting for theological concerns with death and resurrection, sin and evil, etc.

Thoughts: McCulloch treats the Ecofeminist appeal to materialism with great care. She is careful to affirm the validity of Ecofeminist critiques on certain patriarchal manifestations of dualist anthropology. Yet, she does not allow the pendulum to swing so far that everything can be reduced to a materialism that cannot account for the Christian doctrines of God, creation and fall, and reconciliation. Her holistic dualism is informed by her understanding of the incarnation and what it means to say that God became human in Jesus Christ and the two natures interact with each other in some way that allows us to properly speak of them as a unity.

Deconstruction of Dualism was published in 2002 and is the result of doctoral research conducted in the 1990s. For this reason, the text fails to explore other possible anthropological theories; namely, non-reductive physicalism (NRP). An increasingly popular position amongst Christian theologians, philosophers and psychologists, NRP is the theory that humans do not have souls. All of the traditional things ascribed to the soul (memory, will, consciousness, etc.) do not exist in some other place. Instead, they emerge from the complex physical system that is the human. This position offers a strong alternative to substance dualism because it seems to make the most sense of scientific data concerning the brain. Simultaneously, NRP attempts to avoid the reductionist problems that McCulloch and others see with materialism.

McCulloch’s book is not hampered by her lack of knowledge of the NRP movement. In fact, I suspect that when confronted with the argument she would still suggest that holistic dualism remains a preferable explanation of the human in light of the necessary cosmological dualism of Creator and Creation. Although, I also suspect that she would be comfortable acknowledging that one could prescribe to NRP without falling into the ethical problems presented by materialism or patriarchal forms of dualism.

You will notice that central themes that draw these videos together are Christocentric Trinitarian theology, the finished work of Christ, and the significant influence of 20th century Scottish churchman and theologian T.F. Torrance on most of these pastors and theologians.

Enjoy, and I promise to have a book reviewed before the end of the week.

I attended the morning lecture and the following is a summary and review of the lecture.

Wolterstorff’s task is to address the subject of “art and justice.” He begins by way of summarizing Elaine Scarry’s book On Beauty and Being Just and then defining his position in distinction from Scarry’s. Essentially, his critique of Scarry is that she slips into a Romanticism that defines beauty as that which holds things together. This is an attempt to counter the effects of modernity. Think Keats: modernity unravels the rainbow. Whereas all other disciplines are re-appropriated scientifically within the project of modernity, are remains other. It is the lone exception among the disciplines. As such, art becomes inherently salvific.

Wolterstorff rejects this inherent soteriology that Romanticism accepts for the arts. Speaking more specifically on the issue of justice, he acknowledges that art can very well energize us to seek justice; however, there is nothing inherent within art itself that is just. He offers here examples of art as exploitation, voyeurism, and even deception.

Finally, Wolterstorff offers three roles that art can play in energizing the plight of justice:

(1) It may call us to compassion – art may provide a vivid presentation of injustice that stirs us to compassion. This sort of energizing is in some ways similar to face-to-face encounters with those who are treated unjust. Wolterstorff gives autobiographical accounts of first hand encounters with apartheid and Palestine as an example. In coming face-to-face with injustice, one finds oneself moved to compassion and called by God to work for justice. Of course, artistic renderings are not face-to-face. Nevertheless, they sometimes stir us to a similar compassion.

(2) It helps us remember – most works of art are in some way memorial, Wolterstorff argues. We create art in memory of others, we dedicate art to the memory of others, etc. Although Wolterstorff acknowledges that he seems to be the only one making this point, he believes that art as memorial is the most important and pervasive use. He speaks here of the holocaust poetry of Micheal O’Siadhail. In The Gossamer Wall, O’Siadhail attempts to memorialize those who suffered without exploiting them. In so doing, he remembers injustice in a way may energize others towards justice.

(3) Liturgical Art – The last way that art may energize one towards justice is the role that the liturgy plays in forming a people who love justice. When we speak, sing, pray the psalms, we are appropriating words that we co-opt as our own. Much like Paul appropriates scripture and changes it to create something new, we appropriate the words of scripture and the tradition within the liturgy to create something new that forms us to be lovers of justice. For Waltersdorf, it is important to note that we are not “reciting” the liturgy, we are “appropriating” it in a way that energizes us toward justice.

Wolterstorff ended the lecture returning to the concept of Scarry’s book, beauty and justice. He claims that it is not enough for us to equate justice with food, clothing and shelter. Justice must also include a certain aesthetic because it is certainly unjust to leave some impoverished people living in “aesthetic squalor”. To be human is more than to be a consumer of food, a wearer of clothing or a dweller of a home.

Wolterstorff’s lecture was generally a positive starting point for the series and the future of the lectureship. He was followed by Marcia McFee, whose lecture I did not attend.

It seems to me that the one point where Wolterstorff may be pressed to further clarify his point is on the issue of the liturgy. The liturgy includes both the act of memory and a call to compassion. In so far as this third point appropriates the other two within itself, is it categorically different? Superior? What would it mean to suggest that the liturgy is a morally superior art? Especially in light of the fact that many liturgies appear to be just plain bad art.