God of obedience or God of Recognition?

Hi Devadatta —

I genuinely hate leaving behind any harsh feelings, so I’m glad you’ve taken this in stride.
The feeling is mutual.

But returning to the idea of different perspectives – not wanting to beat the “woods” analogy into the ground! – I think again that it’s a question of negotiation, of finding fruitful ways for different perspectives to interact. When one legitimate perspective simply tries to dominate another – or is perceived to be doing so – then we have the kind of discordance and consequent noise you’ve referred to.
Agreed. If I have misread your intention, I apologise ... your post was a long way from some of the 'Christianity is a pile of crap" posts I have read in my time.

Now, in the present case my perspective is basically the history of the “cult of obedience” in the Western tradition
OK. The only point I wished to offer was that such obedience is not 'blind', as much as it might appear so.

There is something of a major shift in Catholic theological expression, since Vatican II, which might not be obvious to all (the 'speed' at which we move has become the stuff of legend).

It used to be that the Decalogue, for example, was delivered in rather Charlton Heston terms, with Moses standing before a mountain, roiled in smoke, pulsing in aflame, riven by lightning, his voice against a rolling backdrop of thunder ... "These are the rules, and if you break them, then so help me ... "

Today we try and view it differently ... quietly ... simply ... "If you want to be with Me, then this is what I require of you ... " No threats, just an open offer, an invitation. A price, perhaps, but a small price, in the scheme of things — "I will walk among you, and will be your God: and you shall be my people" (Leviticus 26:12).

... first, because it’s not part of my faith; second, because I’m not specifically addressing Thomistic or even Christian theology, but the larger historical context of their evolution. By definition, this is an outside perspective which is not going to find the resolutions in Thomistic theology that you may very well find, from your inside perspective. So quite legitimately you can explain your perspective with the equipment of Thomistic theology, but a theological debate in these circumstances doesn’t make a lot of sense.
That's from your perspective.

But from mine it is different, and if you will allow me to quote the Common and Angelic Doctor, it's only because he puts it in a nutshell:
"Whether sacred doctrine is a matter of argument?

I answer that ... , As other sciences do not argue in proof of their principles, but argue from their principles to demonstrate other truths in these sciences: so this doctrine does not argue in proof of its principles, which are the articles of faith, but from them it goes on to prove something else; as the Apostle from the resurrection of Christ argues in proof of the general resurrection (1 Corinthians 15). However, it is to be borne in mind, in regard to the philosophical sciences, that the inferior sciences neither prove their principles nor dispute with those who deny them, but leave this to a higher science; whereas the highest of them, viz. metaphysics, can dispute with one who denies its principles, if only the opponent will make some concession; but if he concede nothing, it can have no dispute with him, though it can answer his objections. Hence Sacred Scripture, since it has no science above itself, can dispute with one who denies its principles only if the opponent admits some at least of the truths obtained through divine revelation; thus we can argue with heretics from texts in Holy Writ, and against those who deny one article of faith, we can argue from another. If our opponent believes nothing of divine revelation, there is no longer any means of proving the articles of faith by reasoning, but only of answering his objections — if he has any — against faith. Since faith rests upon infallible truth, and since the contrary of a truth can never be demonstrated, it is clear that the arguments brought against faith cannot be demonstrations, but are difficulties that can be answered."
ST I-I, q1, a8 (emphasis mine)

Similarly, from my perspective, I can offer a kind of narrative that touches on Christianity and some of its players, based on less esoteric common knowledge and history, all of which will carry with it presuppositions, critique and no doubt some error, but it would hardly make sense for me to debate either Christian theology as such or especially how Christians should respond to the facts, theories or opinions I present.
Understood.

In that spirit, I offer a concluding rehash of my perspective, in more or less point form, just to save some time and space:
OK.

That an emblematic cult of obedience was worked out in the earliest civilizations of the Middle East ...
I can agree, as long as you allow that God for the Jews is not "an idealized, moralized, spiritualized" abstraction of the idea of kingship.

As has been well argued, because A is a myth, and B shares common traits with A, that does not thereby mean B is also a myth.

but that the language and conceptual order of the cult of obedience was retained and remained a troublesome if necessary? theme in Torah/Tanakh; that Jesus and no doubt other radical Jewish preachers offered transformation of this rhetorical/conceptual frame, discernable in the Gospels despite later orthodox/Pauline redactors;
I don't see how Jesus offers the transformation which you observe. in the case of Jesus, the rule became much, much tougher. I remember one Sufi commentator observing that in reality Christianity is far too austere for volitive man, and that it was better suited to a form of extreme ascesis within the confines of orthodox Judaism, had the latter allowed it, something like the Essenes.

that Paul rebooted the cult of obedience by identifying it with faith, and with his coercive doctrine of original sin;
Sorry my friend, but this is where, from my perspective, my first response would be, 'you haven't got Paul at all, have you' — unfairly, as many make the same assumption.

From this side of the fence, Divine Love is foremost, and frames everything ... including St Paul, as his impassioned outcry to the Church in Corinth tesifies and is, perhaps, one of the most famous texts in the whole of Scripture. This idea of Divine Love, that saturates the New Testament, is the lens through which the texts should be read, and interpreted, and if not, then I can fully understand how one might assume a doctrine of subservience. Love is the hermeneutic key, it is the foundation of Christian epistemology.

that Paul’s work led to a new stage of a more dynamic ideology in the creeds and finally in the imperial religion of Constantine;
Oh dear ... would that it was so! It remains a fact that the idea of an 'imperial religion' is, at tghis stage of its history, little more than a hope.

That Christianity was a contagion that swept the world, as it was understood, like wildfire, was the reason why Constantine rode to power, clinging to its tail. But within a short time, dissent and dispute sundered the order that the emperor sought. The attempt at Nicea (325) to establish one, single, universal profession of Faith failed to silence the Arian threat ... Arius and his oppenent Athanasius were in and out (the latter no less than 5 times) as emperors came and went.

From then on emperors sought to manouvre the Councils towards their own pragmatic ends, and for the most part failed. There is more evidence of councils ignoring the will of the emperor than following it — at least in the Latin West. A good example is Chalcedon — two attempts by emperors to unite the disputing parties were thoroughly thrown out by the Bishops and theologians. The outcome of Chalcedon was a schism between the Church and what became the Oriental Orthodox in Egypt (the followers of Nestorius had already fallen away). Something the emperor did not want, but could not alter, nor heal. Egypt was the breadbasket of the Byzantine empire, and the schism began its loss, and contributed to the collapse of the Holy Roman Empire. The Greek East did later succumb to this imperial policy of integralism, by simply declaring certain issues were not to be discussed at all — and the light of the east, that pushed the boundaries of theological knowledge for some 700 years, was extinguished.

that during the Middle Ages ... an outsider might ask: how relevant does the cult of obedience remain? Is it truly intrinsic to the faith? Alternatively, what place should it have in future Christianities? And how do Christians negotiate this problem?
Phew, that was some ride! Nicely done, by the way ...

How? By getting back to the basics ... what we call ressourcement, the return to the sources of Faith.

God bless,

Thomas
 
The Church was in existence, as a Liturgical and Sacramental institution, before the Gospels were written.
But we were dealing with Genesis.

To study Scripture without Tradition results in the sola scriptura of today ... where anyone can claim Christ to be anything they assume.
Where does one access Tradition? (We have established that Cathechism is essentialy Bible study.)
 
But we were dealing with Genesis.
Which was produced some thousands of years after the events it portrays. So Genesis belongs to the Mosaic Tradition, or the Deuteronomic Tradition. In fact scholars say there are two traditions ... the Jahwist and the Elohist ...

Where does one access Tradition? (We have established that Cathechism is essentialy Bible study.)
By living in the Church ...

As a famous author once said, in the mouth of one of his characters, a Mother Superior to a novice, "Remember my child, it is not the rule that keeps us, it is we who keep the rule."

Tradition is keeping the spirit alive ... and life in the Spirit.

Thomas
 
By living in the Church ...

As a famous author once said, in the mouth of one of his characters, a Mother Superior to a novice, "Remember my child, it is not the rule that keeps us, it is we who keep the rule."

Tradition is keeping the spirit alive ... and life in the Spirit.

Thomas
Wouldn't that make tradition the practice, as contrasted with the theory?
 
Here I am, neither Franciscan nor Dominican, wrestling with a
Thomist, hoping to avoid putting my thigh bone out of joint.

Hi Thomas.

"Whether sacred doctrine is a matter of argument?
I answer that..., As other sciences do not argue in proof of
their principles, but argue from their principles to demonstrate
other truths in these sciences: so this doctrine does not argue
in proof of its principles, which are the articles of faith, but
from them it goes on to prove something else; as the Apostle
from the resurrection of Christ argues in proof of the general
resurrection (1 Corinthians 15). However, it is to be borne in
mind, in regard to the philosophical sciences, that the inferior
sciences neither prove their principles nor dispute with those
who deny them, but leave this to a higher science; whereas the
highest of them, viz. metaphysics, can dispute with one who
denies its principles, if only the opponent will make some
concession; but if he concede nothing, it can have no dispute
with him, though it can answer his objections. Hence Sacred
Scripture, since it has no science above itself, can dispute
with one who denies its principles only if the opponent admits
some at least of the truths obtained through divine revelation;
thus we can argue with heretics from texts in Holy Writ, and
against those who deny one article of faith, we can argue from
another. If our opponent believes nothing of divine revelation,
there is no longer any means of proving the articles of faith by
reasoning, but only of answering his objections — if he has any
— against faith. Since faith rests upon infallible truth, and
since the contrary of a truth can never be demonstrated, it is
clear that the arguments brought against faith cannot be
demonstrations, but are difficulties that can be answered."
ST I-I, q1, a8 (emphasis mine)


If I understand the Doc correctly I don’t know that he
substantially diverges from what I’m saying, though he’s way
more clever.

I read him this way: that the axioms of any science (line of
thought) can only be properly disputed from the standpoint of a
superior (meta-) science. Christian theology is the highest
science of all; therefore its axioms (dogmas) for Christians are
beyond dispute. On the other hand, disputes or debates with
opponents are possible to a limited degree so long as those
opponents recognize at least some portion of those axioms. And
finally there’s his trickiest move of all: one can’t argue with
an opponent but only answer his objections. Why? Because the
opponent is incapable of forming an argument against faith. Why?
Because he lacks a science higher than theology he logically
cannot dispute its axioms! It all circles back to the
fundamental claim that the axioms of Christian theology are
beyond dispute because Christians say they are. And why and how
do they say they are? Faith.

So no, I don’t think a theological discussion between us would
have any useful outcome since no I don’t accept Christian dogmas
in any literal sense, while again I fully accept that you can
find and offer your own resolutions to whatever questions are
raised from within your theology.

I would only offer this other wrinkle: I do accept Christian
doctrine in the figurative sense, as I accept the figurative
language of other traditions to the extent they express, as
figurative language should, what’s most real and important about
our experience – something literalism, in my view, can’t do.

So in that sense I’m not the kind of opponent, as you’ve
noticed, that says the Christian dogma is all a lot of hot air,
and simply dangerous. I recognize that metaphors express truth:
God the Father, the Mother aren’t abstractions, but metaphors
expressive of certain realities; even the “cult of obedience”
expresses more than the ideology of its genesis(!); it’s also
about the existential reality that we are tiny creatures utterly
dependent on our environment and set in a vast universe.

So when I bring in the figurative language of other traditions,
it’s only to point out the commonalities of these different
lines of metaphor, which after all do find common referents in
human experience. In that sense I guess the aim of all
comparative religion is an implied if not explicit mutual
critique that encourages each to better employ the resources of
its own language.

It used to be that the Decalogue, for example, was delivered in
rather Charlton Heston terms, with Moses standing before a
mountain, roiled in smoke, pulsing in aflame, riven by
lightning, his voice against a rolling backdrop of thunder ...
"These are the rules, and if you break them, then so help me ...
"

Of course, you’ll always have some of your folks who prefer
Moses as Mr. Heston! So I understand it’s not a simple matter to
negotiate.

I can agree, as long as you allow that God for the Jews is not
"an idealized, moralized, spiritualised" abstraction of the idea
of kingship.

Well, I can agree as well, if you allow me some further
complication. After all, speculating on what really goes on in
the Jewish mind on these matters, especially in remote days, is
a hazardous venture, as I’m sure BB will affirm. As for me, I
need to step back for a moment and try to imagine the context.
These are misty times, as you know. Tradition holds certain
views; outside scholarship doesn’t necessarily agree. Were
Elohim and Yahveh one or two tribal Gods? The DH boys I think
would say two; tradition says one.

I can only look at this in the broadest way. What I see is a
tribal God, which I agree initially would be mainly taken in a
literal sense, but a tribal God elaborated over a considerable
period against the backdrop/pressures of more or less imperial
but nevertheless sophisticated religious cultures. Consider that
if Moses dates to 1200 BCE, roughly 2,000 years have already
passed since the emergence of reputedly the first civilizations
in Egypt and Mesopotamia – roughly 1,000 years have already
passed since the building of the great pyramids. It’s not just a
question of the direct historical experience of the Jews under
various empires, it’s also that the whole of what we call the
Middle East and beyond was linked together by trade, by the
transmission of ideas and by dynastic rivalry. It was within
this rich, interconnected multi-cultural milieu that the Hebrews
lived, moved and had their being (sorry!). In short, I think one
explanation for the special quality of the bible is that its
scribes conceal a great deal of contemporary sophistication
beneath its rustic surface.

So I should think that Hebrew/Jewish conceptualizing of God was
likely complex and diverse from very early days, so that while I
agree they wouldn’t have seen God as a bloodless abstraction,
they wouldn’t necessarily have confined themselves to a strictly
literalist view either – if that’s your implication. The ambient
sophistication I’ve noted, along with the intrinsic
sophistication of the bible itself suggest to me the existence
of multiple ways of envisaging God. We know the diversity of
later Judaism. Throughout recorded history the Jews have never
been of one mind. Why would they have been so in the dim and
complex beginnings?

As has been well argued, because A is a myth, and B shares
common traits with A, that does not thereby mean B is also a
myth.

Impeccable logic, my good man! But where did I use the word
“myth”?

Seriously, I can understand how you came to that reading. I made
a distinction between the Mesopotamian gods and the Abrahamic
God in favour of the latter, but the distinction I drew was
relative rather than absolute. Also, my use of “moralized,
spiritualised”, etc., gave the impression that the Hebrew God
was simply an extension of the Babylonian, and just another
instance of Euhemerism, the idea that all gods were once human
heroes or kings.

But I’m fairly certain that the difference between my writing
and your reading arises first of all from our differing views of
“myth”; it would appear that for you, a “myth” is simply
something untrue; for me, a myth has a dual nature: it’s both
factually “untrue” and figuratively expressive of or connective
to some other truth. Now that other truth may be trivial or
profound, created maliciously, politically, compassionately,
surreptitiously, unconsciously, transparently, with
self-interest or with good intent, or with any other motive. I
don’t want to belabour this. I’m sure you’re familiar with this
perspective.

But the bottom line for me is not whether a myth is true or
false but what and how much it means and how it’s used.

Now take the Mesopotamian gods. I said they were part of an
ideological system, a cult of obedience, that they were
interchangeable with earthly rulers and in that sense you could
say they were myths, in the sense of simply being untrue,
instruments of false consciousness, idols.

But the myth these gods serve, the framing myth of the “cult of
obedience” is expressive of a profound truth, as I suggested
above, the utter dependence of human beings on something
greater, and the experience of this truth, as you have
repeatedly maintained, and as thousands of years of Christian
practioners have attested, brings one closer to God.

And one can imagine a pious subject of the cult of obedience in
the city of Uruk deriving similar benefits. In this sense, the
Mesopotamian rulers and priests may have had the worst motives
in the world (or not, we don’t know), but the ideological
structures of belief they set up might still bring some
spiritual benefits to their subjects.

So when I say the Hebrews transformed the cult of obedience and
– to be more nuanced than I was in the beginning – integrated it
with their developing expressions of God, they took on not just
false but also authentic consciousness, and authentic
consciousness pertains, in this context, to God. They took on
true myth as well as false.

Now, you might follow me to some degree up to this point, but as
you know we do part decisively at my assertion that this is all
figurative language, that “God” too is metaphor, that he/she/it
is a phenomenon of consciousness and experience. So when I say
“idealize, moralize, spiritualize” I’m not explaining away
spiritual experience but citing instances of its operation.

So for me the revolutionary impact of the Hebrew God – which has
been relocated and repeated many times since – is precisely this
spiritualizing of the material basis of these ancient Gods; the
smashing of the idols is that moment of glory for the
revolution. Of course, this moment has been hideously parodied
by outbursts of “iconoclasm” on numerous occasions by various
Christians and Muslims, destroying what they don’t understand.
And I certainly can’t vouch for whether the Hebrews themselves
always kept to the high road; the witness of the bible is
troubling indeed, and beyond my pay scale. But the point is that
at the core of this tradition is this impulse to permanent
revolution in the service of ever more perfect expressions of
God.

Yet, as I’ve mentioned, revolution tends always to be followed
by counter-revolution and the re-imposition of another form of
oppression. When it comes to metaphors of God, it’s the process
of reification, of taking spiritual experience and projecting it
as some quasi-material entity, “out there”. This reification can
be skilful means to enhance spiritual experience; God as father,
mother, friend, lover, as we find in traditions all over the
world. Or this reification can harden into mere coercion, and be
assimilated to a system of authority and obedience, whose
ultimate interests are hardly spiritual at all.

(continued below)
 
(continued from above)

I don't see how Jesus offers the transformation which you
observe. in the case of Jesus, the rule became much, much
tougher. I remember one Sufi commentator observing that in
reality Christianity is far too austere for volitive man, and
that it was better suited to a form of extreme ascesis within
the confines of orthodox Judaism, had the latter allowed it,
something like the Essenes.

Well, here I feel it truly is a matter of half empty/half full.
The Jesus of the synoptics makes it easy on one hand, hard on
the other, depending on how you read him. He simplifies the Law
in the gospel of love; he creates a core of rigorous discipline
for his close disciples. I mean isn’t this the two-tiered
structure of renunciates/laity that was already centuries old
among Buddhists, and became the norm for the Church? Also,
there’s the question of how you read his parables. When is he
being literal and when is he pointing to a higher or mystical
truth? I wouldn’t attempt to argue one side or the other. I
respect your interpretation. I’m only pointing out that the
question of what Jesus asks his followers to do has had and will
have many answers.

Also, from my perspective, Jesus is a radical Jewish preacher,
and in a way a provocateur. In that sense, his role was not to
lay down a program – that was for the ideologues who came after
- but to spur his followers to action – and part of that spur
was to ask the impossible. So to pickup on my general view
above: Jesus was the revolutionary moment, the smashing of the
idols; Paul and others who followed were the beginnings of
reification and another round of oppression.

Sorry my friend, but this is where, from my perspective, my
first response would be, 'you haven't got Paul at all, have you'
— unfairly, as many make the same assumption.
From this side of the fence, Divine Love is foremost, and frames
everything ... including St Paul, as his impassioned outcry to
the Church in Corinth tesifies and is, perhaps, one of the most
famous texts in the whole of Scripture. This idea of Divine
Love, that saturates the New Testament, is the lens through
which the texts should be read, and interpreted, and if not,
then I can fully understand how one might assume a doctrine of
subservience. Love is the hermeneutic key, it is the foundation
of Christian epistemology.

Well, I agree that love is the hermeneutic key, but I don’t
agree that Paul was a reliable locksmith. Look, you know that
Paul has always been a love ‘em or hate ‘em kind of guy and many
Christians have spent more time arguing about Paul than thinking
about Jesus. And you know that with Paul it’s a matter of
character as much as doctrine, and assessment of character is
very individual, isn’t it? What to me is a snake oil salesman to
you may be a model of sincerity. But if you’ve read though this
whole thread, you’ve already noted my slanders and (mis)readings
of Paul, so there’s no point in my ranting on very much more
here. Besides, it wears on my nerves to say bad things about
anyone, and if people who love Paul find him a useful means to
God, I wish them well.

But can you dismiss me as just not “getting it”? In a way, you
certainly can, as a practicing Christian you naturally have that
street cred. On the other hand, my bottom line here is hardly
idiosyncratic. It’s a pretty common view that what Paul adds to
the gospel of love proclaimed by Jesus in the synoptics is
troubling: the hideous doctrine of original sin, the
problematic, unique to Christianity, of the division of flesh
and spirit, and thus hatred of the body, a bullying and
manipulative form of reasoning and rhetoric, beloved of legions
of evangelists, submitted to by many Christians, and detested by
nearly everyone else...

Oops, I did rant on a little... I blame it on Paul!

Oh dear ... would that it was so! It remains a fact that the
idea of an 'imperial religion' is, at tghis stage of its
history, little more than a hope.
That Christianity was a contagion that swept the world, as it
was understood, like wildfire, was the reason why Constantine
rode to power, clinging to its tail. But within a short time,
dissent and dispute sundered the order that the emperor sought.
The attempt at Nicea (325) to establish one, single, universal
profession of Faith failed to silence the Arian threat ... Arius
and his oppenent Athanasius were in and out (the latter no less
than 5 times) as emperors came and went.
From then on emperors sought to manouvre the Councils towards
their own pragmatic ends, and for the most part failed. There is
more evidence of councils ignoring the will of the emperor than
following it — at least in the Latin West. A good example is
Chalcedon — two attempts by emperors to unite the disputing
parties were thoroughly thrown out by the Bishops and
theologians. The outcome of Chalcedon was a schism between the
Church and what became the Oriental Orthodox in Egypt (the
followers of Nestorius had already fallen away). Something the
emperor did not want, but could not alter, nor heal. Egypt was
the breadbasket of the Byzantine empire, and the schism began
its loss, and contributed to the collapse of the Holy Roman
Empire. The Greek East did later succumb to this imperial policy
of integralism, by simply declaring certain issues were not to
be discussed at all — and the light of the east, that pushed the
boundaries of theological knowledge for some 700 years, was
extinguished.

Ah hah! I’m not the only one guilty of potted history! But you
seem to be taking my “imperial religion” literally, as an entity
that succeeds in single-handedly ruling the world. But an
imperial religion is one that simply aspires to empire
–spiritual, temporal, or both – and surely Christianity, once it
perfected its innovative notions of creeds and heresy, of the
one way of Jesus Christ, was an imperial religion, and a fairly
unique and unprecedented one at that. Constantine only made its
aspirations official. Wasn’t one of the first moves of the
established Church to use state power against its enemies?
Augustine against the Donatists, for example?

Nearly all traditional civilizations everywhere have been run by
collusion between priest and ruler, with all the tensions and
conflict that entails. But at the end of the day, in the usual
case, power grows out of the barrel of a gun, as Mao said, and
we know who the senior partner is. Christianity’s development of
ideology in its more modern sense, especially in the sense of
the intimate policing of thought, opinion and emotion, gave it a
unique power, made itself into a unique institution, and helped
create the unique civilization of Christendom. As you suggest
regarding Constantine, the energy of Christian ideology was so
powerful that many times throughout its long and complicated
struggles with secular power, it was hard to say who was ruling
whom.

But what’s interesting about your response here is the evident
identification you have with the grand history of the Catholic
Church, while here’s me being Mr. Sourpuss with all my ideology
claptrap! That’s cool. I think when you step back at look at any
great and longstanding institution or empire you’re looking at
inescapable historical fact. It’s there. It’s huge. And its
influences are not going away any time soon, genetrix of a
thousand evils and thousand goods. In fact, the pre-reformation
Church and the Middle Ages it helped govern holds a definite
charm for me, as it has had for many people who aren’t
necessarily Catholic.

So I salute you, sir, and your tradition, and wish you well. And
now it’s time for a nap.

Cheers, Shanti, etc.
 
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