By Cynthia R. Nielsen
As we know from Augustine’s Confessions, what proved to be a particularly important breakthrough for Augustine was Ambrose’s explanation of the “spiritual” interpretation of Scripture. Commenting on Ambrose’s hermeneutic, Augustine writes,
I delighted to hear Ambrose often asserting in his sermons to the people, as a principle on which he must insist emphatically, The letter is death-dealing, but the spirit gives life [2 Cor 3:6]. This he would tell them as he drew aside the veil of mystery and opened to them the spiritual meaning of passages which, when taken literally, would seem to mislead (Confessions, p. 140).
Louis Mackey, in his fascinating chapter on Augustine entitled, “From Autobiography to Theology,”[1] adds a creative variation on the spirit vs. the letter theme.
Materialism, the violence of the letter that kills the soul, is countered by the violence with which God chastises Augustine’s carnal affections in order to save his life in the spirit. The spirit gives life by doing violence to the letter in order to counteract the violence of the letter (”From Autobiography to Theology,” p. 23).
Mackey goes on to say that once Augustine embraced Ambrose’s spiritual orientation to Scripture, Augustine not only views the Catholic demand for faith as sane and salubrious, but he also “sees that it is precisely the Manichaeans’ rationalism, materialism, and dualism which are diseased. The pride of reason must be cured, and faith is the remedy [cf. Confessions VI.5.7] (”From Autobiography to Theology,” p. 23).
[1] The quotes from Mackey are taken from his book,
Peregrinations of the Word: Essays in Medieval Philosophy (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000).
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
According to Hegel, we abstract the notions of finitude and infinitude and tend to set these up as opposite notions. However, according to Hegel, if you analyze the notion of absolute infinity, the infinite must include the finite or else it is itself finite. A consequence of this reasoning results in Hegel’s claim that God must create.
Contrast this with Scotus’ definition of the infinite: “What I call ‘infinite’ is what excels any actual or possible finite being to a degree beyond any determinate measure you take or could take.”[1] Scotus recognizes that the notion of infinity as a perfection is not self-evident. For example, in Greek philosophy infinity was a sign of imperfection-of that which lacked form. That which was infinite lacked form and consequently was dominated by matter or potentiality. Interestingly, the transformation of this concept took place largely via Christians. Given the dominant Greek understanding of infinity, Scotus’ first move is to present the infinite as perfect rather than imperfect. Second, Scotus had to move beyond the notion of the infinite understood mathematically-i.e., in extensive terms where 10 is greater 9 and so on ad infinitum. This is to understand the infinite in a strictly quantitative sense. Third, Scotus develops an understanding of the infinite in an intensive sense.
If you consider a number sequence in which you can always add an additional number (the idea of 1, 2, 3., n+1…), this sequence is dominated by potentiality. Scotus then engages in a thought experiment in which this infinite sequence is understood in act. In other words, he asks us to imagine the sequence being finished. If we can think of the sequence as finished, we have an infinite quantity in actuality. If we grant Scotus’ thought experience, then we have an (actual) quantitative infinite.
Scotus then moves away from mathematical examples and speaks of entities. That is, he moves from quantity actualized to entity in terms of degrees of perfection. Here one has to accept that it is intelligible say that one being is more complete or better than another (a human e.g., is better than a dog). If we have the sequence A is less than B is less than C etc. and I = Infinite Being (God)-even if creatures were not created, God would persist in undiminished being and goodness. However, it does not follow from that that creatures are nothing, but it will appear that way if you approach the sequence (A, B, C=various creatures) as additive. In contrast, consider Aristotle’s god, who is the “best part” of the whole. For Aristotle, it would unintelligible to say that there is god and nothing else. Hence, the fact that this notion of the infinite applied to entity takes place in Christian philosophy is not accidental.
For Scotus, being is a perfection which is open to degrees of perfection; it is open to finite perfection which involves a large sequence of degrees, but with the infinite the difference is only one-and it is an infinite difference.*
*The reflections on Scotus are based largely on lectures given by Dr. W.A. Frank at the University of Dallas.
[1] Wolter and Frank.
Duns Scotus Metaphysician, p. 59. [As found in
Reportatio IA in the "reply to the third question"].
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Thomas Williams argues in his article, “A Most Methodical Lover? On Scotus’ Arbitrary Creator,” that the affectio iustitiae implies a kind of imperfection or lack and thus cannot be applied to God. According to Scotus, both humans and angels possess wills that have two affections or inclinations: (1) the affectio commodi and (2) the affectio iustitiae. The affectio commodi or affection for the advantageous is an inclination toward the agent’s own perfection, which in the case of a rational agent is happiness. The affectio iustitiae or affection for justice allows the agent to transcend its own telos and to seek the intrinsic goodness of things for their own sake (not simply for the advantage of the agent). In addition, the affectio iustitiae serves as a check on the affectio commodi which can love immoderately. For Scotus, contra Anselm these two affections are intrinsic to the will and neither are superadded grace gifts. In fact, with the affectio iustitiae, Scotus claims that the will would not be free because it would simply act for the agents’ own advantage in a way similar to the operation of a the appetite of a non-rational animal acts to perfect its nature. In other words, the affectio commodi would reduce to a natural appetite of an intellectual nature and would be determined, not free. Wolters seems to want to argue that the affectio iustitae is a pure perfection (perfectio simpliciter), that is, that it is a perfection with no limitations or defects-something that in all cases it would be better to possess than not possess (e.g., wisdom). Since God possesses all pure perfections, God would therefore possess an affection for justice. Williams, however, disagrees, pointing out that (1) God does not have an appetite for happiness as humans do, as he is perfectly happy in himself and necessarily so. (2) God cannot love himself immoderately. (3) The possession of the affection for justice implies that the will needs to be held in check. Such a situation does not obtain in God because God does not sin. (4) Williams also argues against the interpretation that an affectio iustitiae is that which inclines an agent to love things for their own intrinsic worth. As Williams points out, God always does what he does for His own sake; hence, it seems that rather than an affection for justice, God possesses that which more akin to an affectio commodi.
Williams has significantly more to say in his lengthy article, on which I may blog in the future. At this point, I am not sure that I buy everything that Williams has to say, but he does raise a number of questions worth considering.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
The second half of the document under discussion (Women Bishops: A Response to Cardinal Kasper) falls under the broad heading, “Women Bishops: Biblical Exegesis and Theological Anthropology,” and attempts to sketch the biblical basis for the Anglican position on the ordination of women. For a more detailed, yet (popular-level rather than academic) presentation of some of the exegetical positions noted below, see N.T. Wright, “The Biblical Basis for Women’s Service in the Church,” Priscilla Papers Vol. 20, no. 4 (Autumn 2006): 5-10.
In this post, in addition to hearing thoughts from Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Roman Catholics (as well as other thoughtful contributors), I am particularly interested in hearing Roman Catholic counter arguments and alternative exegetical readings of the following passages presented below (as well as those commented on in N.T. Wright’s article above). I am not suggesting that I agree with all the conclusions or am convinced in toto by Wright’s intepretations. However, in my opinion, Wright offers a number of plausible exegetical alternatives to the commonly appealed to texts that are typically interpreted as prohibiting the ordination of women (e.g., I Corinthians 11 and 14, Ephesians 5, and I Timothy 2).
***
Everything that follows is taken directly from the official document (see bibliography below).
1. Cardinal Kasper’s reference to Junia in Romans 16:7 itself seemed to allow that there might after all be a possibility of re-opening the question; if, he seemed to imply, it could be demonstrated that Junia really was a woman (not ‘Junias’, a supposedly masculine name, as most translations have had it), then even Roman tradition might be forced to recognise the possibility that women could be apostles, and therefore presumably could hold ordained ministry in the apostolic succession. In fact, despite what the Cardinal suggested at that point in his paper, recent scholarship, drawing on excellent philology and study of ancient names, strongly suggests that the person in question was female. Junia is a well-known female name of the period, but the suggested male name Junias is not otherwise known; and, when Greek scribes began to introduce accents into their texts, they accented the name in such a way as to make it clear that it was female. That, despite what the Cardinal said, is how it appears in the most recent edition of the Nestle-Aland Greek New Testament; and the newest edition of Metzger’s commentary on textual variants indicates that those who still preferred the masculine accentuation did so simply on the grounds that they doubted whether a woman would be referred to as an ‘apostle’ – which precisely begs the methodological question.
2. This small but significant point opens the way for a consideration of the larger exegetical and theological issues which will come before Synod in July. First, and most important, we must give great weight to the fact that all four evangelists, but especially John, place the testimony of the women, and especially Mary Magdalene, in prime position in their accounts of Easter. It is to these women, and particularly to Mary, that the risen Lord entrusts the good news, not to the male apostles themselves. It cannot be overemphasized that this was hugely counterintuitive in the ancient world. Had the narratives been invented later, this would never have commended the account; had the evangelists had any doubt that women were to be regarded as primary witnesses of the resurrection, they would never have allowed such a story to remain in their texts. Yet there it is, in each gospel. If, with Paul, we regard ‘apostleship’ as primarily constituted by witness to the resurrection, Mary Magdalene is the ‘apostle to the apostles’, as indeed some Roman theologians have styled her.
3. This addresses the highly significant question of anthropology, rightly raised by various parties in the debate. The evangelists, again particularly but not exclusively John, present the resurrection of Jesus not as an isolated ‘miracle’ but as the beginning of God’s new creation, God’s renewal of the whole world. Within that, the roles of men and women are re-evaluated, not (to be sure) to make them identical or interchangeable in any and all respects, but to celebrate their complementarity, not least their complementary apostolic witness to Jesus’ resurrection. The same point is visible in Acts, where it is remarkable how women are singled out both as co-equal recipients of the outpoured Spirit and also as co-equal sufferers of persecution (Acts 9:2 etc.), a tell-tale sign that they were community leaders in their own right.
4. Witness to the resurrection on one hand, and participation in the Spirit on the other, is the gospel foundation of all sacramental life. The question of what has been called ’sacramental assurance’ is answered in the New Testament not by a theory about ministry – the NT is innocent of any explicit or developed linkage of ordained ministry and the sacraments – but by the fact that, with the resurrection of Jesus and the gift of the Spirit, the new creation has begun in which heaven and earth, and also present and future, now overlap. That is the ontological basis for sacramental assurance.
5. The biblical argument against the ordination (and, a fortiori, consecration) of women has tended to rest on a portfolio of texts often supposed to speak of ‘headship’ in a way which rules out women’s ordination. In fact these texts – in I Corinthians 11 and 14, Ephesians 5, and I Timothy 2 – are by no means as clearly opposed to female ordination as their proponents usually make out. ‘Headship’ is in fact only mentioned in I Corinthians 11 (where it has to do with headgear worn while leading in worship – hardly an argument against women’s public ministry) and Ephesians 5 (where it concerns the manner of mutual submission between husband and wife). The passage in I Corinthians 14, thought by some conservative textual critics on good manuscript evidence to be an interpolation, relates, even if original, not to ministry but to the good order of worship services in which, as in some Middle-Eastern churches today, local women might not always understand the language of public worship and might be inclined to chat amongst themselves. The famous passage in I Timothy 2 does not mention ‘headship’, and can properly be read, within a context (Ephesus) where the mainstream religion was female-only, as a warning against allowing women to usurp the proper ministry of men. In fact, the primary exhortation of I Timothy 2:11 is ‘let the women learn’ (the Greek manthano means ‘learn, especially by study’), and is qualified with a phrase which can mean ‘in silence’ but equally ‘at leisure’: in other words, women must be given the space to study for themselves, an obviously revolutionary proposal in that age as in many subsequent ones, not least because, in Paul’s world as in Jesus’, to ’study’ would not be for one’s own benefit alone, but in order to become a teacher of others. These arguments, so briefly sketched, are of course too brief to be conclusive, but should indicate that those who support the ordination of women to priestly and Episcopal ministry cannot be dismissed as treating scripture in a cavalier fashion, or as indulging in a fancy, exercising fancy hermeneutical footwork to imply that the text is now unimportant.
6. A second strand relates to the foundation of the theology of orders in Christology, rather than in the examination of the practice of the early church. The ordained ministry of the Church does not simply fulfil useful functions of oversight, leadership and service, such as are variously described in the Epistles: rather the ordained ministry focuses in those ministers the diaconal and priestly call of all God’s people, a call that is founded in their baptism. They become what Austin Farrer called ‘walking sacraments.’ In speaking of our baptism, Paul is clear (Galatians 3:27,28) there can be no division between male and female: both have put on Christ. Which of the baptised then can represent Christ in the ministerial orders of the church, can stand in the imago Christi? Can it be only men, or would that be to confuse the universal Christ with the Jesus of history? There is a strong argument to say that only a ministry open to both men and women can properly represent Christ, who became, in the words of the Nicene Creed, anthropos (human), not aner (male).
7. A third strand develops the theology of creation and the new creation. The old dispensation has God creating human kind, male and female in his image and likeness (Genesis 1:27). Men and women have an equal dignity, and male and female are seen as complementary. Thus far we travel together. But if complementarity means differentiation of the two sexes by function, as is clearly expressed in Cardinal Kasper’s paper, what does this have to say about how men and women are together made in the image and likeness of God? The true complementarity of the new creation surely envisages men and women working together, representing the unity of the divine image together, in a way that makes the kind of complementarity that Cardinal Kasper speaks of look more like a kind of Modalism. Certainly the place of the Virgin Mary in the theology of the Victorines is more robust than the traditionally passive one. When Hugh of St Victor describes Mary’s part in the birth of the Saviour in De Sacramentis, he says
‘Nor is the Holy Spirit himself to be called the father of Christ because his love operated the conception of the virgin, since He did not contribute the seed to the foetus of His own essence to the virgin but provided substance to the Virgin herself from her own flesh through his love and virtue.’
8. A further strand acknowledges the ‘dynamic nature of tradition’, and develops the notion of apostolicity in an eschatological direction, where it becomes more important to consider the church’s apostolic witness not just in terms of historical perspective but as a sign of a redeemed creation. If there is ‘an apostolic procession to the end of time’, then women and men have an equally significant contribution to make to the apostolic mission of the church now, in the apostolic order.
The Faith as the Church of England has Received it
The faith that the Church of England has received is, as already indicated, the apostolic faith uniquely revealed in holy scripture, set forth in the catholic creeds, and witnessed by our historic formularies, including the Ordinal. It focuses on Jesus himself, and his unveiling of the Father through his kingdom-announcement and his death and resurrection, and on the sending of the Spirit through whom his followers are enabled to bear witness to him throughout the world. Announcing the Son in the power of the Spirit is the foundation of all Christian, new-covenant ministry. There is ample evidence in the earliest Christianity known to us that this ministry was shared by women. Nothing in holy scripture, the catholic creeds, or our historic formularies makes it necessary to go against this primal witness.
How we move forward in these matters is a question of appropriate and careful strategy, granted our calling to guard the unity of the church. That we may, and indeed must, move forward is a conviction that can be reached, not on the basis of a casual or sloppy attitude to scripture and theology, nor in disregard for our ecumenical partners, but out of a deep conviction rooted in the gospel itself. It may be that the prophetic witness in this matter to which the Church of England is, we believe, called is a greater contribution to the unity of the whole people of God for which our Lord prayed so deeply.
*Women Bishops: A Response to Cardinal Kasper by Tom Wright, Bishop of Durham and David Stancliffe, Bishop of Salisbury. A background article written for the discussions at General Synod, York, July 2006.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
The following passages are excerpts from a document called Women Bishops: A Response to Cardinal Kasper (a background article written for the discussions at General Synod, York, July 2006) by Tom Wright, Bishop of Durham and David Stancliffe, Bishop of Salisbury. I bring this to your attention as the result of the very fruitful discussion centered on the question “What is Anglicanism.” I do not offer any commentary on the text below, and have decided to highlight the following paragraphs for discussion because they relate to our previous discussion on Anglicanism and present the following: (1) an Anglican understanding of unity, (2) a discussion of women’s ordination in a non-polemical tone and free of the common rhetoric, and (3) the Anglican view of the relation between Scripture and tradition.
I am particularly interested in hearing from Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Roman Catholics (as well as other thoughtful contributors) on anything that directly relates to (1)-(3) as set out in paragraphs 7-10 below. Critical, explanatory, or other constructive comments are welcomed; however, I do plan to moderate the comments (as usual) and will despotically delete any that are in my opinion lacking substance and are simply rhetorically charged (from either side).
In part II, I will post excerpts from the second half of the document, which attempts to sketch some of the exegetical reasons for the Anglican position on the ordination of women.
***
Excerpts from “Women Bishops: A Response to Cardinal Kasper”
[7] The question of Cardinal Kasper bringing a distinctively Roman perspective to Anglican affairs is also revealed in his remarks about unity, and about the role of the ordained ministry, and particularly of bishops, in engendering communion within that. The Anglican tradition takes its role as a ‘bridge’ seriously, and we too believe that we must work for, discern and enhance that unity for which Jesus prayed. But we do not believe that eucharistic unity (’communion’ in that sense) is only attainable when there is full recognition of ministries, and all are in communion with the see of Rome. In Anglican theology, unity is achieved by our saying yes to God’s gracious invitation to his table. It is because we are one with God through being caught up in Christ’s one perfect self-offering to the Father that we have unity with one another, rather than communion with God being a consequence of our union with one another. We, in other words, are inclined to see eucharistic sharing not as the goal at the end of the ecumenical pilgrimage where God is waiting for us, but as the path of that pilgrimage itself, along which he accompanies us on the way. We would base our theology of union within the Godhead on a dynamic incorporation into the divine life of the Holy Trinity, rather more than on a sacramental theology based on the validity of the sacrament confected by one who has the authority to do so; and we would prefer to see debates about orders within the frame of mutual eucharistic hospitality, rather than the other way around. In this regard, we would look to Galatians 2, with its clear teaching that all who believe in Jesus Christ belong at the same table, no matter what their cultural background.
[8] There also needs to be further discussion on the nature of Catholicity. What was distinctive of the Church of the New Testament and the early centuries was that, unlike many other religious movements of the time, it was not based on race or profession. It broke through social but also natural divisions such as age and gender. It did this above all in its foundational, Eucharistic life, as we learn from I Corinthians 11, and from that basis its total life was formed. The Church today in its local existence must continue to embrace people of a wide variety of different types and kinds, including people with diverse opinions. This is, indeed, what is constitutive of the Church’s Catholicity, as has amply been demonstrated by the Greek Orthodox theologian, John Zizioulas,[1] who writes “the eucharistic community was in its composition a catholic community in the sense that it transcended not only social but also natural divisions, just as it will happen in the Kingdom of God of which this community was a revelation and a real sign”. The Augustinian understanding of Catholicity as universal overtook the more ancient Pauline and Ignatian understanding of Catholicity as inclusive. Wholeness is of the very essence of Church and without it the Church is not what she is called to be.
[9] In discussing the source of the Church’s authority, the Cardinal comes close at times to saying that it is only through the lens of the Church’s tradition that scripture can be read. That has never been the Anglican position on the balance between scripture and tradition. Our formulation, carefully balanced, is that the faith we profess is a faith ‘uniquely revealed in the Holy Scriptures, set forth in the Catholic creeds, and to which the historic formularies of the Church of England bear witness.’ Our formularies continue with this historically based mission imperative: ‘the Church…led by the Holy Spirit…has borne witness to Christian truth in its historic formularies, the Thirty-nine Articles of Religion, The Book of Common Prayer and the Ordering of Bishops, Priests and Deacons, …and is called upon to proclaim [this faith] afresh in each generation.’ This commitment to proclaim the faith afresh is a challenge to pursue those developments in the Church’s life which are consonant with scripture and are found to be life-giving. In the end, the arbiter is the sensus fidei, the entire body of the faithful, as was pointed out to Pius IX in 1848 by the Eastern Patriarchs in their Encyclical: “the protector of religion is the very body of the Church, even the people themselves”. The faithful are the ultimate guardians of Tradition and the faith.
[10] Thus, while the Cardinal declares that the Roman Catholic Church is convinced that she has no authority for ordaining women, the Anglican church would characteristically say that if this undoubted innovation can be shown to follow from, or be contained in, scripture, then that is sufficient authority whether or not the subsequent tradition of the church has allowed it. This is not to be cavalier with tradition, to which we give a very high regard; merely to insist that (since, as Aquinas himself insisted, ‘tradition’ is the deposit of what the church has said as it has read scripture) it must always take second place to scripture – the whole of the scriptural revelation and not just a selection of ‘proof texts’ – itself. This is the method which Anglicans have classically embraced, and which we attempt to follow as a fundamental theological method.
Notes
[1] John Zizioulas:
Being as Communion, SVSP, NY, 1985,p. 152 and more generally pp.149-154. See also
John Zizioulas: The ecclesiological presuppositions of the Holy Eucharist (Nicolaus 10, 1982). ‘This Pauline ecclesiology which identifies Church and Eucharist so closely is developed further by St Ignatius of Antioch. What characterises Ignatius in particular is that the Eucharist does not simply make the local catholic community into the Church, but that it makes it the catholic Church (katholike ecclesia), that is, the full and integral body of Christ. It would not be an exaggeration to say that for Ignatius the catholicity of the Church derives from the celebration of the Eucharist. And this allows Ignatius to apply the term ‘catholic Church’ to the local community. Each local eucharistic community presided over by the bishop surrounded by the college of presbyters and assisted by the deacons, in the presence of the multitude (
plethos), the people, constitutes the ‘catholic Church’ precisely because in it the total Christ is found in the form of the Eucharist.After Ignatius the preoccupation of the Church with the danger of Gnosticism and other heresies forced her to emphasise orthodoxy as the fundamental and decisive ingredient of ecclesiology. Thus, the relation between Church and Eucharist seems to be weakened to some extent in the writers of the second century, though it is not absent from their thought. The situation is exemplified by St Irenaeus who regards orthodoxy as fundamental to ecclesiology while making the Eucharist the criterion of catholicity: ‘Our faith (belief: gnome) is in accordance with the Eucharist and the Eucharist confirms our faith’ (Adv Haereses 4.8,5). It is mainly for this reason that in all ancient writers before St Augustine each local Church is called catholic, the full and integral body of Christ.With St Augustine something seems to change in this respect. Striving with the provincialism of the Donatists, for the first time the term ‘catholic Church’ acquires the meaning, not of the local Church, but of the Church universal. This gives catholicity the meaning of universality, and with it a quantitative and geographical content instead of the original qualitative one.’
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Wolters notes that Scotus (in his initial questions on book IX of the Metaphysics) clarifies a number of ambiguities with regard to act and potency. As Wolter points out, concerning potency, Scotus makes the important distinction between “potency as principle and potency as a mode of being” (Wolter: 167). Here Scotus takes principle as a sort of cause-viz., an efficient or material cause-or originative source. Passive potency is correlated with matter broadly speaking, and active potency with some kind of efficiency. With a number of other scholastics, Scotus expands the “notion of an active potency or principle beyond that of an agent that imparts motion to include that which gives being or existence as such to its effect” (Ibid., p. 167). Though Scotus makes further distinctions (he is the subtle doctor after all), for our purposes the following rough sketch suffices to describe an active potency, viz., that which gives existence to something (Ibid., p. 168). Wolter then adds that describing an active potency in this way has the added bonus of
stressing that cause is cotemporal with its effect, and that the causal action is a continuous creative and sustaining productivity, as opposed to the Humean notion that views all causality as a necessary temporal relationship between an antecedent and a subsequent event. Scotus needs this type of relationship if he is to clarify how the will as an active potency can create or elicit an action of volition or nolition, or how it can not only initiate but sustain a voluntary action such as singing or walking (p. 168).
Here I take Wolter to be pointing out the insufficiency of a mechanistic or external view of causality with regard to free will as understood by Scotus. For Scotus the will is self-determined (not externally determined) and at every instant (hence,Wolter’s stress on causal action as “continous creative and sustaining productivity”) has a potency to do its opposite and can refrain from acting. However, with regard to Hume’s view, my understanding is that since he considers causality, necessity etc. to be supplied by the mind via habit or custom, free will is in a sense guaranteed because we as free agents are not part of the (supposed) causal nexus. If I understand Hume correctly, then am I correct to see Wolter’s main point to be contrasting a mechanistic view of causality with Scotus’ understanding of the will as self-determined (and hence, by definition not externally caused)-if so, what am I missing with regard to Hume’s view to make everything that I have said above harmonize?
*A. Wolter, “Duns Scotus on the Will as Rational Potency,” as found in The Philosophical Theology of John Duns Scotus. (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1990), pp. 163-180.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
A friend of mine recently directed me to the following article in First Things entitled, “What is Anglicanism?” by Archbishop Orombi. If any of you have read it–particularly those who are Anglican/Episcopalian, but others are also welcome to join in, so long as the discussion stays engaged with the article and is constructive, which doesn’t mean un-critical–I would be interested in hearing your thoughts.
I am particularly interested in what you think of Archbishop Orombi’s description of Anglicanism and whether you see it as harmonizing (or not) with the historical, ecclesiological self-understanding of Anglicanism as a communion of common worship (Eucharist, BCP) whose identity is found in its continuity with the catholic and apostolic Church as mediated via the Church of England? In other words, do you see a different orientation or set of emphases in Orombi’s description, and if so, are these emphases compatible with the traditional understanding or is a new center being established? Any thoughts that are direclty related to the article and my questions are most welcome. (I am being deliberately vague in a number of places above, as I want to hear your thoughts).
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
In writing an email to a friend, the following thought occurred to me that seems worthy of further engagement, viz., might there be a number of interesting parallels between the increasing attempt to logically arrange the major theological loci into a comprehensive systematic whole [e.g., the movement from Lombard's Sentences to St. Thomas' ST and beyond] and the increased sophistication in musical notation which had the effect of diminishing the practice of improvisation and creating an image of improvisation as intellectually substandard, as well as producing sharp dichotomies (at least in the Western way of thinking about music) between our ideas of (1) improvisation and composition, (2) the composer and the performer, and (3) the musical score and the (one correct) interpretation of that score.
According to Jeremy Begbie in Theology, Music, and Time the majority of academic writings on music have been commentaries on written scores. Though this is understandable given the difficulty of reconstructing music that is not written out prior to the invention of recording devices, it has nonetheless produced an extremely one-sided view of the history of musical practices.[1] To cite one well-known example, many music scholars have brought to our attention that even following the development of music notation, we find composers such as J.S. Bach, Handel, and Mozart highly skilled in the art of improvisation and expecting those who performed their pieces to possess this skill as well. Tracing some of the possible reasons why improvisation’s high reputation and regard began to wane, Begbie points to the increasing sophistication of notation, as concerts in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries gained in notoriety. Even the improvised solos sections purposely crafted by composers to display the talent of highly gifted soloists were with time significantly diminished by written solos.[2] Although this increase in notation severely diminished opportunities for improvising in classical music, the improvisatory elements even in meticulously notated music cannot be totally removed so long as human beings are the performers. Avid music listeners can attest that whether speaking of an individual soloist or a orchestral unit, the personalities, stylistic particularities, and interpretative nuances manifest in the actual performance a musical work all contribute a degree of creative liberty that falls within the sphere of improvisation broadly construed. With Begbie, I tend to agree that
All this suggests that the customary picture of improvisation as a discrete and relatively frivolous activity on the fringes of music-making might need to be replaced by one which accords it a more serious and central place. Instead of regarding thoroughly notated and planned music as the norm and improvisation as an unfortunate epiphenomenon or even aberration, it might be wiser to recall the pervasiveness of improvisation and ask whether it might be able to reveal fundamental aspects of musical creativity easily forgotten in traditions bound predominantly to extensive notation and rehearsal.[3]
[1] Ibid., p. 181.
[2] Ibid., pp. 182-83.
[3] Ibid., p. 182.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
A short essay of mine entitled “What makes music beautiful” has just been posted on The Church and Postmodern Culture Blog (hosted by Baker Academic and coordinated by Geoff Holsclaw and Jamie Smith). If you are interested, please join the conversation.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Scotus understands the will as an active power in distinction from natures as active powers involving (natural) necessity. According to Scotus, there are two properties of the will: (1) spontaneity and (2) contingency. With regard to (1), the idea is that the will as an active power is an interior source essential to the self that allows for self-determination. With regard to (2), the idea is that things change-in other words, that which is, though existing now, did not have to be. Thus, the theory of the will as articulated by Scotus seems to have a kind of causality that does not involve strict necessity. Stated slightly differently, we might say that Scotus’ theory of the will attempts to make sense of spontaneous, contingent existence-something that many philosophers find incomprehensible or simply a contradictory notion. In light of what I have said above, it is interesting to note that the concept of the will was not found in the ancient philosophical tradition, but was something discovered much later. As Hannah Arendt argues, the concept of will did not simply appear but was discovered. According to Arendt, the concept was first clearly articulated by St. Paul, further expanded upon by St. Augustine, and then explicated in an exceptionally lucid manner by John Duns Scotus. Though I haven’t read Arendt’s work on this topic, I find her suggestion extremely plausible. Why? The main reason is that I do not find it coincidental that the concept of the will as articulated above comes from a Christian philosopher/theologian who affirms a God who freely creates (contra any form of necessitarianism). In other words, I do not think that Scotus would have (or could have) formulated his theory of the will had he been a non-Christian philosopher and not held a particular view (birthed from reflection on divine revelation) of the Christian God who freely creates out of love, not necessity.
N.b. I am a novice when it comes to Scotus, but I am taking a course this semester at the University of Dallas called ”Scotus on the will and morality.” Consequently, I plan to post fairly regularly on Scotus and the will.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
In the midst of all the theological in-house fighting these days, I often wonder where is love, where is Christ, where are those who are so consumed with the love of Christ that no matter what happens the love of Christ is evident. In asking these questions, I see my own lack and my own proclivity to form factions. However, there is at least one clear example that comes to mind of one who lived in and out of the love of Christ, viz., Karol Józef Wojtyła, better known as the late Pope John Paul II. Wojtyla’s life was extremely fruitful, full of creativity, vibrant friendships, and service to others. E.g., Wojtyla was a playwright, poet, scholar, pastor, and a peacemaker who played a crucial role in the collapse of European communism. Having lived through Nazi occupations in his own hometown of Wadowice and the evils of Second World War, Wojtyla was no stranger to suffering. In fact, he personally witnessed the deportations and deaths of some of his Jewish friends. As Pope, Wojtyla himself was the target of a violent shooting act and was hospitalized. How did Wojtyla respond to the unjust suffering that not only his friends but he himself experienced? He responded with love-love that this world knows not, and that comes from deep abiding in Christ. In the case of the Pope’s own attacker, Mehmet Ali Agaca, who shot John Paul II four times (twice in the stomach, once in his right arm and once in his left hand), the Pope sought out Agca in prison in order to personally forgive him.
The Pope met a horrible act of violence and hatred with the love and forgiveness of Christ. He spoke to his attacker face to face, embraced him, and pardoned him. This, more than any philosophical argument, apologetic method, or biblical hermeneutical approach, grips my whole being with the truth of Christianity, and it seems to have deeply touched Agca as well. When the Pope was hospitalized in 2005 with the flu, Agca sent a handwritten letter to John Paul II wishing him a “speedy recovery.”
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
In chapter 3, “Certainty as the Way to Nihilism,” of his book Proper Confidence, Newbigin discusses a number of dualisms that come to the fore in Modernity, and which can (at least on a traditional read) be trace to Descartes. The first is the dualism between the res cogitans and the res extensa. The second and third dualisms consist of a sharp division between objective and subjective, and a dichotomizing view of theoria and praxis. With regard to the second dualism, Newbigin brings Polanyi’s insights of “personal knowledge” into the conversation. Polanyi, a Hungarian scientist turned philosopher, argued that “the objective-subjective dualism is false and that all knowing of reality involves the personal commitment of the knower as a whole person” (p. 39). One might perhaps see Polanyi’s ability to break through the rather ossified enlightenment-inspired tradition that had come to reign among scientists in terms of approaching the issues of knowledge from a new set of questions. Rather than ask, “how are truth claims to be justified,” Polanyi asks, “how do we come to know, and how are discoveries made?” (p. 40). Discoveries are not typically made as a result of following a set of rigidly defined rules, as discoveries are hitherto unknown and often involve bending the rules. As he explored these epistemological issues, Polanyi came up with the following as possible answers to the question of how discoveries in science occur.
First, one must be apprenticed to a tradition of knowledge. Second, one must “indwell” this tradition. As Newbigin explains,
The assumptions, the assured findings of the past, and the methods of science become part of their own equipment on which they [scientists] rely. All this functions like the lenses of our spectacles. While we are wearing our usual spectacles and exploring the world around us, we do not attend to the lenses; we attend through them to the things we are examining. They function as an extension of the lenses in our own eyes, and we indwell them just as we indwell our own eyes. Likewise when we have come to use a language freely, we indwell the language. We don not look at the language as an object over against us; we think through the language. By indwelling it we are able to make contact with the world around us. We are subsidiarily aware of the words we use, but we focus on the things to which they refer. In the same way, scientists are subsidiarily aware of the tradition to which they are apprenticed, while, at the same time, they are focally attending to the object of their research. If their work is to make progress, they have to trust this tradition, just as we have to trust the lenses in our eyes or in our spectacles. This trust is a precondition for our exploration of the world (pp. 40-41).
Hence, according to Polanyi, the scientific tradition itself serves a kind of “fiduciary framework” in which the scientist must trust so as to make progress in knowledge (p. 41).
Third, in order to further scientific knowledge, one must recognize a problem and attempt to find a solution. Here Polanyi introduces his idea of recognition as a kind of intuition that there is some kind of “pattern or harmony waiting to be found” amongst what hitherto seems to be merely chaotic empirical reality. Such intuitions of course can turn out to be illusory, and in those cases, they would simply be abandoned or redirected. Not only does scientific discovery involve intuition, but it also requires imagination and a kind of prudence that co-exists with risk taking. To this, Newbigin adds,
[a]t every point along this course, there is need of personal judgment in deciding whether a pattern is significant or merely random. None of these things can be covered by formal rules. They all involve the personal commitment of the scientist, and it is absurd to pretend that the findings of science can be understood without taking into account all these subjective factors (p. 41).
Fourth, the scientist’s work involves what Polanyi calls “tacit knowledge.” In other words, much of what we know, which influences our thinking, we are not able to explicitly express (p. 42). Fifth, contrary to the idea promulgated in the 19th century, science will not one day be able to predict and control all events. Such a notion fails to take into consideration the hierarchical structure of the physical world. Here the idea is that one cannot limit the laws governing one field to that of another (e.g., the laws of chemistry cannot be limited to the laws of physics, nor can those of biology be reduced to physics). “The exhaustive examination of the physical, chemical, and mechanical structure of the machine will not enable us to discover the purpose for which the machine was constructed. We have to be informed either by the designer of the machine or by someone who is accustomed to using it for its proper purpose” (p. 42).
Lastly, though it is the case that all knowledge claims involve personal commitment, the scientist makes these “with universal intent” (p. 43). In addition, “a valid truth claim will lead to new discovery” (p. 43). Newbigin adds, for Polanyi, truth claims made by scientists are not “irreformable and indubitable claims to possess the truth; rather, they are claims to be on the way to the fullness of truth. There is thus no absolute dichotomy, such as Descartes has bequeathed to us, between knowing and believing” (p. 43). Newbigin ends the chapter by citing one of Polanyi’s most concise statements of his position. After affirming, “the personal participation of the knower in all acts of understanding,” Polanyi says
[b]ut this does not make our understanding subjective. Comprehension is neither an arbitrary act nor a passive experience, but a responsible act claiming universal validity. Such knowledge is indeed objective in the sense of establishing contact with a hidden reality, contact that is defined as the condition for anticipating an indeterminate range of as yet unknown (and perhaps yet inconceivable) true implications. It seems reasonable to describe this fusion of the personal and the objective as personal knowledge. (Polanyi, Personal Knowledge, pp. vii-viii).[1]
[1] As cited in
Proper Confidence, p. 44.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Reggie Kidd, professor of New Testament at Reformed Theological Seminary, blogs on the PCA’s need to discern our true enemies, unite with those who are within the camp, and allow for greater diversity within our tradition. Click here to read the post in its entirety.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Summarizing his findings with regard to art and human beings in the final chapter of his book, Redeeming Beauty: Soundings in Sacral Aesthetics, Aidan Nichols says the following:
Art has been a feature of human society since prehistoric times. [...] Art discloses what we think our society is like, or what it is not like but ought to be like. As the main expression (other than childbirth) of human creativity it can be said to take further the original creation by bringing into being new realities of intrinsic worth. Above all, it is or can be a pointer to transcendence in three main ways. The first [...] by making us go beyond interpretations of this or that thing or event toward an overall reading of the world. The second was to see the world as having as its own precondition a fundamental meaningfulness beyond itself. The third (after we had noted the possible moral effects of art in making us go beyond the limits of our present character) was that art might be regarded as a kind of epiphany of divine presence, divine light. [...] The arts reveal the human world, either as it actually is or as it ideally is. They express the creativity of man when the artist adds to the things of intrinsic worth in the world, or the art-appreciating public makes the artist’s vision of what he has made live again. The arts point to transcendence, not just the way the world as a whole is wonderful and presupposes a meaning greater than itself, but also by enacting divine presence sustaining the special density of meaning that art, literature, music can contain (pp. 145-146).
Nichols then relates his findings to three aspects of the person and work of Jesus Christ. First of all, Christ makes manifest or reveals what humanity is. “As the true Adam, he shows us the reality of what the human species should be like and on the Cross discloses the range and power of the evil which inhibits our being as the first Adam was meant to be, in God’s image and likeness” (p. 148). So Christ reveals what the postlapsarian world is like and (thankfully) what it ought to be like. Second, Christ’s redemptive work transcends nature “by bringing into being a further dimension of reality,” viz., salvation and “new resources of grace and life” (p. 148). In other words, just as art advances and elevates creation, so too does the work of Christ. Third, in Christ the meaning of the world as a whole is revealed and points to the “Father’s wonderful plan to bring about the nuptials of heaven and earth, the uncreated and the created, in the sacrificial joy of the Kingdom. He points to the source of the world in a pre-existing divine truth, [...] Moreover, he enacts that truth-the truth which is the Holy Trinity-in his own person” (p. 148). Though only the Son took on flesh, the Son is eternally “co-defined by the Father and the Holy Spirit.” Hence, “Jesus is always the Trinitarian Son, essentially related to the Father and the Spirit in his work on earth” (p. 148). In fact, the whole redeemed creation shall one day enter into the eternal dance of the Trinity, as captured in Rublev’s famous icon of the Trinity (p. 148).
The risen and ascended God-man is the true predestined goal of all creation. Here the capacity of artwork to be the vehicle of divine presence in the material form of words or sounds or shapes and colours is super-filled. Christ is, then the perfect art work in the sense of that reality in whom is realized those goals that all artistic making has as its explicit or implicit ends. Because he is infinite meaning, life and being perfectly synthesized with finite form, the cave-painters at Lascaux, or Hesiod penning his hymns, or Beethoven working on his last quartets, were all gesturing towards him through they realized it not (p. 148).
