How is "Christian Tradition" Logically Possible?
Prof. Stephen Palmquist,
D.Phil. (Oxon)
Department of Religion and Philosophy
Hong Kong Baptist University
Then some Pharisees and
scribes came to Jesus from Jerusalem, saying, "Why do your disciples
transgress the tradition of the elders?" .... And he answered
and said to them, "And why do you yourselves transgress the commandment of
God for the sake of your tradition?" [Matthew 15:1-3]
1. The Paradox
A philosophical account of the logical possibility of "Christian
tradition" can hardly begin without some basic understanding of what is meant by the terms "Christian" and
"tradition". If our interest[1] were in the historical
possibility of Christian traditions, we could simply point to some group of
people who call themselves "Christian" and who have existed over a
period of time, and say "See, there it is; Christian tradition must be
possible!" But when our interest is philosophical, the matter is not
so simple. For, as we shall see, a paradox lies at the very basis of our
question--a paradox which must be resolved before we can clearly identify what
a tradition would look like if it were truly Christian.
In this paper I will regard a "tradition" as a set of guidelines for
living which is accepted by a community of like-minded persons and which
persists over a span of time exceeding one generation.[2] The set of
guidelines in a religious tradition will include not only theoretical
beliefs (such as dogmas) and practical actions (such as moral rules and regulations),
but also empirical or existential patterns of behavior (such as rites and
rituals). An important feature of the guidelines which compose a
tradition is that they are, in varying degrees, self-serving. That is,
they exist, in part at least, for the sake of their own (and thus, the
tradition's) self-preservation. This holds true not only for religious
traditions, but also for philosophical schools of thought, which are typically
established on the basis of one person's dynamic and courageous breakthrough
into new areas, but which before long turn into "traditions" which
are themselves eventually overthrown by just such breakthroughs.
(Consider, for example, the differences between Plato and Platonism, Kant and
Kantianism, etc.) And indeed, much the same could be said for anything
calling itself a tradition, whether it be the tradition
of a family, a society, a club, or anything else. Its function as a tradition
is to preserve the institution against the threat of nonbeing.
In this sense, the "Christian tradition" as we normally think of it began
as the first generation of believers were dying off and the remaining
Christians felt the need to preserve their movement against the threat of
nonbeing. One of the most important steps in this direction was to write
accounts of Jesus' life, death and resurrection, and of the early church, in a
form which could be passed on after the eyewitnesses were gone. (Of
course, there were also many other factors leading the writers to compose the
books of the New Testament.) Before the books of the New Testament
were written, there was, to be sure, a so-called "oral
tradition"; but in a significant sense (as we shall see) it was not
self-serving. The first generation of believers did not need such
a fixed tradition precisely because of their belief in the immanent return of
Jesus. The more that hope died away, or was significantly revised, the
more important it was for them to fix some tradition to insure the propagation
of the gospel.
Making Christianity into a tradition seems legitimate, since this would appear
to be the only way in which Christians can fulfill the Great Commission [see
Matt. 28:19-20]. Yet how can this be reconciled with the notion, held by
many Christians (including those in the early church), that Christianity is
first and foremost a religion of the cross? When the Christian
gospel incites its adherents to die to the world [Matt. 10:39; 16:25;
cf. Rom. 8:13], to take up their cross and follow Jesus [Matt. 10:38; 16:24],
does this not include dying to the all-too-human temptation towards
self-preservation? As Paul puts it so succinctly,
"For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain" [Phil. 1:21].
Although the cross is surely the central symbol of Christianity, Christians too
often accept only its application to human individuals, and fail to appreciate
its broader application, according to which it requires all human traditions
and institutions to die. The latter notion suggests that Christianity is not
to become yet another tradition among traditions, but is to serve in some way
as a force for relativizing all mere traditions, so
that "God may be all in all" [1 Cor.
15:28].
If we take seriously this necessary connection between "being a Christian"
and "dying to self", we are now faced with a logical problem as to
how any Christian "tradition" could be possible. The
paradox arises as soon as we realize that the Christian Church, as the
"body of Christ" [1 Cor. 12:12,27] is itself meant to "die to self", just as is
each individual Christian. Yet if the church were to die, how would the
Great Commission be fulfilled? The task of this
paper will be to find a solution to, or at least a way of coping with, this
logical conundrum, which can be precisely stated as follows: How can a
person whose life is centered around a symbol of self-denial (i.e., around the
"self-giving love" of the cross) depend on a time-honored set of
human guidelines, enshrined as valid in themselves? Or, put in more general
terms: How can a tradition be Christian?
2. The Christian Tradition in Perspective
To some extent we are faced here with nothing other than the familiar problem
of self-reference. If, for example, I say "all the statements made
in this paper are false", then my statement can make sense only if this
one statement is exempted from the set of "false statements in this
paper". The problem we are now facing is of the same form: if
I say "my tradition requires me to deny the ultimate validity of all
traditions", then it would seem that the tradition expressed by this one
statement must be exempted from the set of "traditions which must be
ultimately denied". But does this make sense? What could it mean
to call such a notion a "tradition"? Would it be better simply
to find another word and resolve the paradox by saying there is no
possibility of having a truly "Christian" tradition?
If we follow the requirements of traditional ("analytic") logic, then
the only consistent position would seem to be to adopt something along the
lines of the "way of negation", described so forcefully in the fifth
century by Pseudo-Dionysius. In his attempt to discover something literally
true about the "It" which holds the world together, which we
might call the "ultimate reality", he found that logic leaves us
empty handed, as long as we are unwilling to affirm a paradox:
Once more, ascending yet
higher we maintain that It is not soul or mind, or endowed with the faculty of
imagination, conjecture, reason, or understanding; nor is It any act of reason
or understanding; nor can It be described by the reason or perceived by the
understanding, since It is not number or order or greatness or littleness or
equality or inequality, and since It is not immovable nor in motion or at rest
and has no power and is not power or light and does not live and is not life;
nor is It personal essence or eternity or time; nor can it be grasped by the
understanding, since It is not knowledge or truth; nor is It kingship or
wisdom; nor is It one, nor is It unity, nor is It Godhead or Goodness...; nor
is It any other thing such as we or any other being can have knowledge of; nor
does It belong to the category of nonexistence or to that of existence; nor do
existent beings know It as it actually is, nor does It know them as they
actually are; nor can the reason attain to It to name It or to know It; nor is
It darkness, nor is It light or error or truth; nor can any affirmation or
negation apply to It..., inasmuch as It transcends all affirmation by being the
perfect and unique Cause of all things, and transcends all negation by the
preeminence of Its simple and absolute nature--free from every limitation and
beyond them all.[3]
This shows us, among other things, how analytic
logic on its own leaves us with nothing but a list of what we might call
"negative paradoxes" in our search for the ultimate ground of
religion.
By contrast, if we are willing to affirm the paradox (which is what we
do any time we affirm a symbolic meaning[4]), then we find our
hands are full of a good deal of meaningful statements. But the logical
form of their meaning can be understood only by recognizing their dependence on
what I call "synthetic logic"--i.e., the logic of
paradox. Synthetic logic is based on a special "law of
contradiction" (A=-A), which is the opposite of analytic logic's famous
"law of noncontradiction"
(A/-A). In other words, synthetic logic recognizes that an intentionally
self-contradictory statement may nevertheless have some significant meaning.[5]
With this distinction between analytic and synthetic logic in mind, we can
return to the question of the logical possibility of having a "Christian
tradition". In the first section of this paper I suggested, by
implication at least, that any attempt to solidify the Christian message
into an absolute form (whether it be through doctrine,
moral rules, rituals, etc.) is by its very nature taking a step away
from what it really means to be Christian. The problem this raises is
that throughout the past twenty centuries, nearly everyone associated with
Christianity has in fact adhered to some set of guidelines which would
fall under the foregoing description of a "tradition". Indeed,
Jesus himself, if we are to believe the gospel writers, instituted at least two
basic rituals (baptism [e.g., Mark 1:8; 16:16] and communion [e.g., Luke
22:17-20]), at least two basic moral rules (love God and man [cf. Matt.
22:36-40] and "take up [your] cross, and follow me" [e.g., Matt.
16:24]), and at least two basic doctrines ("I am the way..." [John
14:6] and "the kingdom of heaven is at hand" [e.g., Matt.3:2]).
Was he not by this very fact giving birth to a new tradition?
Before answering this question, it may be helpful to respond to a possible
objection to this whole line of reasoning. Perhaps the very assumption
that Jesus intended to shatter old traditions is incorrect. For Jesus does claim in the Sermon on the Mount that he came not to
abolish the law (which was the basis for the Jewish tradition),
but to fulfill it [Matt. 5:17]. The question this raises
is: Just what does it mean to "fulfill" a
tradition? I believe Jesus did not intend his comment to give the Jewish
tradition a kind of rubber stamp of approval, as some Christians have
assumed. For Jesus himself on at least several occasions broke the rules
which were to function as this traditional "law" [e.g., Matt. 12:1-2;
15:1-3]. Nor is he shrugging it off as merely a worthless mistake.
Rather, he is putting the tradition in its proper perspective by claiming that
the Christian Way will be the way of fulfilling traditions by bringing
them to their rightful end, or goal, and thereby putting an end
to them.
How is this task accomplished? First of all, Jesus reverses the order in
which human beings traditionally place themselves in relation to their
tradition: "[tradition] was made for man, and not man for
[tradition]" [cf. Mark 2:27]. Secondly, he cuts his followers loose
from bondage to anyone who would claim to be a "teacher",
"father", or "leader" [Matt. 23:8-10; 1 John 2:27]--that
is, anyone whose position in life encourages them to have a vested interest in
preserving the tradition for its own sake. But most of all, Jesus
accomplishes the Christian task by dying, which for his followers means
dying to the whole idea that adherence to a tradition can be the source of
one's salvation. This insight is the basis for Jesus' claim that
"unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees,
you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven" [Matt. 5:20]. Jesus is
not telling his disciples they must follow the tradition better than those who
guard the tradition; rather, he is telling them they must do more than simply
follow a tradition, and proceeds to give numerous examples [see Matt. 5:21-48],
which show that the way of the cross shatters the notion that a tradition as
such can be "Christian".
This means that if Jesus was indeed intending to give birth to a tradition, it
was surely to be a kind of "non-traditional tradition".
In other words, it was to be a self-transcending, or even self-negating,
tradition--a tradition which would break all the rules of what it means to be a
tradition, so that the pain and division caused by conflicting traditions could
be overcome. And this, clearly, can be understood only in terms of
synthetic logic. Indeed, we have now reached the first significant step
in answering our original question. "Christian tradition" is
logically possible only if we are willing to interpret it in terms of synthetic
logic.
Once we recognize this, all of the above-mentioned examples of traditions
instituted by Jesus can be seen to be designed explicitly to avoid the
temptation of turning Christianity into a typical, self-serving tradition.
Baptism symbolizes a believer's choice to die to all the world's
traditions in order to be raised up to the freedom of a life unfettered by
traditional distinctions [see e.g., Gal. 3:28]. Communion symbolizes the church's
willingness to do the same thing: to participate as a community in the broken
body and shed blood of a self-denying savior. Love, Christian
love that is, is the act of giving up the rights which are due a person in
virtue of his or her membership in a certain tradition, and giving oneself
instead to someone outside that tradition (i.e., to God, and so also, to the
unlovely).[6] The cross, as we
have seen, is a rich symbol of self-denial for the sake of a higher goal.
Jesus could affirm himself as the Christ (i.e., as "the way, and the
truth, and the life") because his own life, death, and resurrection fully
realize the meaning of this symbol. And the kingdom of heaven, the
context for virtually all of Jesus' teaching, is itself the vision of a
non-political politics, the only context in which a non-traditional religious
tradition (i.e., Christianity) could flourish.[7]
3. The Non-Traditional Tradition
The recognition that Christianity is in its very essence a non-traditional
tradition can help us to understand why the Jewish authorities felt so
threatened by Jesus' gospel. Nothing he did or said challenged the
validity of the content of their tradition. Such challenges were
never part of Jesus' proclamation, since he was neither a philosopher nor a
theologian! Rather, they were irritated by the gospel because it struck
the very root of the human situation and revealed the Jewish leaders to be
engaged in the age-old, self-serving game of pleasing themselves through the
propagation of their tradition, rather than being engaged in serving God, as
they claimed to be doing.[8]
One lesson to be learned from this, as far as we Christian scholars are
concerned, is that we must beware of assuming we are serving God when we use
our intellectual acumen to support and embellish the content of the
particular form of Christian tradition with which we associate ourselves.
Such service, the "analysis" of the tradition as it already stands,
does, no doubt, have its proper place. But we must be aware of the fact
that we are serving the tradition, and thus serving man whenever
we engage in it. Such a noble mission will be no more Christian
than the Pharisees' "mint and dill and cumin" if we "neglect the
weightier provisions" [Matt. 13:23] of our vocation, which require us to
break through old thought-forms and seek to establish reconciliation between
opposing points of view (i.e., opposing traditions). All too
often, by ignoring this "synthetic" task, we are the very ones
who, just like the "blind guides" Jesus
criticized so harshly, "strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!"
[23:24].
A good example of how it is not the content of our tradition, but our attitude
towards it, which determines the extent to which we are justified in calling
our tradition "Christian" can be given by comparing the Catholic and
Protestant branches of what we have become accustomed to calling the
"Christian tradition". (This can also serve as a good example
of how we can break through old traditions by adopting a synthetic point of
view.) The Catholic church was certainly right to think of the gospel as
"universal" (from the Greek, katholou);
but at an early stage it failed to recognize that the universal element lies
not in a particular tradition, but in the protest against the universal
validity of any tradition. The Protestant church, of course, eventually
called attention to this problem. Unfortunately, because protestants
generally fail to recognize that a Christian tradition requires universal
protest, their tradition has divided into innumerable discrete, mostly
self-perpetuating, religious traditions. As long as the basic schism
between Catholic and Protestant exists, we can hardly call either of these two
traditions, as such, the "Christian" tradition, inasmuch as
each tends to be self-serving to the extent that it excludes the other. A
truly Christian tradition would be a catholic protestantism and/or a protestant catholicism.
Paul Tillich follows a similar line of reasoning in
determining how creeds and confessions should be constructed in a religious
tradition. After arguing in his book, Dynamics of Faith, that
doubt is a necessary element in faith, Tillich poses
the problem created by the fact that a "community of faith" normally
"needs creedal expressions of the concrete elements of its ultimate
concern."[9] When creeds are
taken to provide "infallible statements" which allow for no doubt, as
is so often assumed, they paradoxically stifle the faith they are meant to
support. The only way out, Tillich claims, is
"that creedal expressions of the ultimate concern of the community must
include their own criticism. It must become obvious in all of them...that
they are not ultimate. Rather, their function is to point to the ultimate
which is beyond them all."[10] He refers to this
requirement as the "Protestant principle", and adds:
"Criticism and doubt show that the community of faith stands 'under the
cross'...".[11]
Tillich makes a similar point in an early essay on
"The Basic Principles of Religious Socialism".[12] At one point he
explains that "the exclusiveness of confessionalism"
can best be avoided
not by criticism of confessionalism in general, but, rather, by a deepening of
the confession to the point where it negates itself before the
Unconditional.... The more it negates itself from the point of view of
the Unconditional, the more justified [is] a claim to absoluteness by a
confession or a church...[13]
And the same is true, we might add, for a tradition,
or any aspect of a tradition. Indeed, as Tillich
rightly says: "Religion is truer the more it cancels itself out as
religion..."[14]
A good example of how the creedal core of a religious tradition can be
"self-negating" is found in the Ten Commandments. For the first
commandment, properly understood, negates the absolute validity of the other
nine by requiring that nothing, not even the other nine commandments,
must come before God in one's life. Keeping this in mind, we can surmise
that when Moses breaks the original tablets (after seeing God's people
worshipping an idol [cf. Ex. 32:1-9 and Deut. 9:17]), he may be expressing more
than just his anger at the people's impatience and obstinacy. For if this were the only problem, he would have reacted not by breaking
the tablets but by hurrying to enforce them as the proper object of
worship. Instead, his reaction may also have resulted from his
realization that even these words from God were destined to be worshipped in
God's place. If so, the fact that God does not punish Moses for breaking
the tablets, but invites him back to receive a second set [Deut. 10:1-5] can be
regarded as a symbol of the resurrection which follows the cross. In this
case, it would suggest that the only proper attitude towards any such creed or
confession is to regard it as having a broken character (as opposed to
one which is "absolute"). My use of synthetic logic in this
paper is intended to provide a guideline for how words can be used in such a
way as to accomplish just such a task.
One way to insure that a non-traditional tradition will be self-negating
towards its particular contents will be to base it not on a creed (or any other
fixed content, such as a scripture), but upon a person. The
New Testament itself clearly supports this way of understanding the Christian
tradition, not only by its ubiquitous emphasis on Christ as the beginning, the
end, and the focus of all aspects of Christianity [see e.g., John 1:1; Gal.
2:20; Rev. 22:13], but also by its description of the proper attitude towards
more peripheral aspects of one's Christian tradition, such as scriptures.
This point could hardly be made more forcefully than it is in John 5:39, where
Jesus first criticizes those who "search the Scriptures, because you think
that in them you have eternal life"--that is, those who regard the
scriptures as the source of an absolute, self-serving tradition. But he
then immediately explains that their mistake is in the failure to see that
"it is these [scriptures] that bear witness to Me".
Paul makes essentially the same point in 2 Corinthians 3:1-6 when he says the
way which leads "through Christ toward God" is "not of the
letter, but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives
life."
Ignoring these and many similar scriptures, or glossing over their implications,
leads inevitably to a conception of "Christian tradition" which loses
its paradoxical character. This happens whenever Christians exempt the
Bible from the set of traditions which Christian tradition relativizes,
on the grounds that the biblical text is holy and absolute because it conveys
to us the absolute content of the Christian tradition. In spite of the
popularity of this attitude towards the Bible, I believe this viewpoint does
not provide us with a philosophically sound basis for a truly Christian
tradition. For "Christian tradition" in that case will refer to
the spread and propagation of "the guidelines found in the Bible", so
that Christianity is no longer the religion of the cross, the tradition
centered around a self-denying person and his call to follow his Way, but the
religion of the book, a tradition existing primarily for the sake of its
own self-preservation. Properly speaking, we should refer to such a
viewpoint as perpetuating not Christian tradition, but biblical
tradition, for it focuses more on the letter than on the spirit of the
Bible. Yet paradoxically, as we have just seen, the Bible itself is
self-negating when it comes to any claim to constituting in itself an
absolutely valid tradition.
Putting aside such aberrations of the paradoxical concept of a "Christian
tradition", perhaps we should return for a moment to the nagging problem
of self-reference. Can we turn the idea of a non-traditional religious
tradition back in upon itself and say that the truly Christian tradition is
possible only if its proponent dies to the traditional idea that "dying to
self" is the true basis of the Christian tradition? The rather
surprising answer I would like to suggest is "yes!" For even the correct idea of a Christian tradition can be perverted
if we come to see it as an end in itself.
If I am right in claiming that the only legitimate Christian tradition is one
which breaks through the boundaries of every human tradition, then this means
that any tradition could potentially qualify as a Christian
tradition, provided its proponents are prepared to die to themselves and to
their tradition--i.e., provided their tradition is
"self-negating". This, perhaps surprisingly, disqualifies many
traditions--even some which would claim to be Christian because they are based
on "belief in Christ" as the source of man's salvation--for it
attaches "Christian" not so much to the content of a person's
religious belief, as to the way in which the person holds to (or lets go
of) his or her own tradition. In this sense, there may be some grounds
for suggesting that Nietzsche's philosophy is written more in the form of a
Christian tradition than that of, say, Thomas Aquinas. In any case, a
self-negating tradition does not require its proponents actually to give
up the whole content of their tradition, but rather that they see it in a new
light, not as a self-serving means to salvation, but as one way of pointing to
the One who saves. Only in this way can any tradition be
Christ-serving.
4. Philosophy and Christian Tradition
At this point it might be helpful to ask why Jesus instituted a
religious faith which by its very nature cannot be institutionalized, a
tradition which denies the absolute validity of all traditions. One
reason might be to point out the limitations of all human endeavors,
including the intellectual endeavors of philosophers and theologians. But
if this is the case, then how is philosophy relevant to truly Christian
tradition? Our answer must be twofold. On the one hand, philosophy
is harmful to Christian tradition whenever it is used merely to perpetuate
one self-serving aspect of a particular tradition. But on the other hand,
it is good for Christian tradition whenever it provides a way of self-denial,
or encourages the shattering of traditions, in a way which is compatible with
Jesus' original vision of the Christian "tradition" of the cross.
Now the intimate connection between Christianity and the cross does not require
us to conclude that traditions as such are bad or evil. On the contrary,
traditions are in themselves potentially good vessels for expressing what
philosophers might call "universal truth" or what theologians might
call "God's will". What Jesus rejects both in his teaching and in his
life is the notion that the guidelines composing any tradition are ends in
themselves, self-serving values. A tradition becomes evil only when it
loses sight of the super-traditional values to which it points and begins
instead to point to itself. This is why a basic task of philosophers and
theologians should be to bring to light the dangers of regarding any tradition
as if it were good in itself. In so doing, regardless of the type of
tradition we are examining, we will be promoting, at least indirectly, the
paradox of Christian tradition.
Interestingly, we today are actually, whether we know it or not, in the same
situation as the first generation of Christian believers: the extent to
which our tradition is Christian will be directly proportional to the
extent to which we believe the immanent return of Christ fulfills, and thus
puts an end to, whatever tradition we associate ourselves with.
This does not mean we should all burn our books and give up our research
projects in order to stand on the shore of Lake Michigan waiting to meet Jesus
in the clouds! On the contrary, I am suggesting we need to have a
realistic understanding of the way in which our tradition can and will be
ultimately fulfilled only when the kingdom of God is as fully established on
earth as it is, or can be, in our hearts. For the constant expectation
of the fulfillment (i.e., the coming to an end) of our
tradition--whatever it may be--is the attitude which will prevent us from
viewing that tradition as absolute in itself. And that expectation can be
as real and as effective today as it was for the first generation of Christ's
followers.
I would like to suggest that one of the best ways of promoting this attitude is
to adhere to the Socratic vision of the philosophic task, by stressing the recognition
of ignorance as the starting point of all philosophy. For only when
we have distinguished clearly between what we can and cannot know will we be
adequately prepared to engage in the second most important philosophical
task: the understanding of words. By using analytic logic to
describe what we can know and synthetic logic to describe what we cannot know,
we can avoid innumerable errors, many of which encourage an improper attitude
towards one's tradition. On their own, these two theoretical tasks
describe only half of the philosopher's vocation, for theory must always be
relevant to, or balanced by, practice. Without going into any detail at
this point, let me simply suggest that the two basic practical tasks for
the philosopher ought to be to learn how to enhance man's love of wisdom
and to leave room for the experience of the wonder of silence, which
alone can enable us to cope with our ignorance.
My treatment in this paper of the paradox of the possibility of a Christian
tradition has itself exemplified the theoretical side of the philosophic
task. Accordingly, I have encouraged both a recognition
of our inability to resolve the problem and an explanation of the
meaning of the problem in terms of synthetic logic. I will now
conclude by encouraging us to allow these logical considerations to lead us
directly into the second half of the philosophic quest, by means of a
corresponding practical question: How is "Christian
Tradition" Practically Possible? This can be answered only by
examining the traditions we are holding onto in such a way that we are
preventing ourselves from realizing in practical ways what it means to be a
Christian. Of course, no philosopher can give a universal answer to this
question, for each of us must answer it for ourselves. And yet only if it
encourages us to answer this question would the foregoing inquiry
deserve to be regarded as part of a truly Christian philosophical
tradition. For our ability to answer this practical question will
determine the extent to which we can accept our own tradition, while at the
same time learning to love the wisdom which transcends and relativizes
it. And our answer will also determine the extent to which we will be
willing to wait in silent expectation for the fulfillment of all traditions.
Notes to:
"How Is 'Christian Tradition' Logically Possible?"
[1]. This paper was
originally written for and presented at a conference on "The Significance
of Christian Tradition for Contemporary Philosophy", held at Valparaiso
University, June 12-15, 1991.
[2]. The American
Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, ed. P. Davies (New York:
Dell Publishing Co., 1969), p.732, defines "tradition" as:
"1. The passing down of elements of a culture
from generation to generation... 2.a. A cultural custom
or usage. b. A set of such customs and usages viewed as a coherent body
of precedents. 3. Any time-honored set of
practices."
[3]. Quoted in W.H. Capps
and W.M. Wright (eds.), Silent Fire: An
Invitation to Western Mysticism (San Francisco: Harper & Row,
Publishers, 1978), p.40.
[4]. Tillich
gives a good account of the nature of symbols in Dynamics of Faith (New
York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1957), pp.41-43. He mentions
six characteristics: (1) A symbol is a phenomenal object or word which
points beyond itself to some hidden meaning; (2) it participates in the
reality to which it points; (3) it opens up new perspectives on reality; (4) it
opens up new perspectives on ourselves; (5) it cannot be produced, but grows
like an organism; and (6) it dies when it no longer produces a response in a
community.
[5]. See my unpublished
manuscript on The Geometry of Logic, and my article "Analysis and
Synthesis in the Geometry of Logic", Indian Philosophical Journal
(January, 1992).
[6]. Christian love (i.e., agape)
is self-denying in the sense that it is always directed towards the
unlovely--the person who, from the perspective of ordinary human love, would
be unlovable. Most religious traditions unfortunately encourage love
only towards those who are lovely, those who are within one's own
tradition. But the Christian gospel, surely proclaims, if nothing else,
that even the outsiders (those who are of the "world") are
encompassed by God's universal love [John 3:16]. Thus, Jesus' "love your
enemies" [Matt. 5:44] is a paradoxical denial of all traditional notions
of love. The other side of this paradox is that we are to "hate [our]
own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, even
[our] own life" [Luke 14:26]--i.e., anything that threatens to keep us
attached to our own tradition. It is no accident that the latter verse is
followed by the warning: "Whoever does not carry his own cross and
come after me cannot be my disciple" [14:27].
[7]. I discuss the notion
of a "non-political political system" and its implications in great
detail in Theocracy: A Vision of the Biblical
Foundations for a Christian Political Philosophy (forthcoming).
[8]. Jesus' criticism
reaches its climax in Matthew 23, where his language gets so thick, and the air
so thin, as to be almost unbearable, even to our modern ears! For
example, in Matthew 23:15,33 he exclaims:
"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, because you travel about
on sea and land to make one proselyte; and when he becomes one, you make him
twice as much a son of hell as yourselves.... You serpents, you brood of
vipers, how shall you escape the sentence of hell?"
[9]. Paul Tillich, Dynamics of Faith, p.28.
[10]. Ibid.,
p.29.
[11]. Ibid.
[12]. Paul Tillich, Political Expectation, ed. J.L. Adams (New
York: University Press of America, 1971), pp.58-88.
[13]. Ibid.,
p.65. Along these lines, Jacques Ellul argues in The
Presence of the Kingdom (New York: The Seabury
Press, 1967) that "there are no such things as 'Christian
principles'", since "the Person of Christ...is the principle of
everything" [52]. "The Christian situation is essentially
revolutionary" [57], so the closest we can come to a "Christian
principle" would be to say, with Ellul, that it
is the Christian's "absolute duty to be revolutionary" [59].
[14]. Tillich,
Political Expectation, p.65.
This etext is based on a prepublication draft of the published
version of this essay.
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