The Lord's Supper (Eucharist Redux)

Thus far, we have established that, unfortunately for those who are ecumenically minded, sharing the table of the Lord seems more like a fantasy than a reality. We have established that between Catholicism and Protestantism the theology surrounding the Lord's Supper is too much for the different factions to be reconciled.
But the question ought not to be, "How do you view communion?" but rather "Who would Jesus eat with?"
Consider the following. We often talk about how Jesus went out to the poor, the despised, the sinners. We sometimes emphasize Jesus' work among the oppressed and Jesus himself says "I came not for the righteous but for the sinners."
However, when we look around our Churches, what do we see? I've talked about religiosity before, but that's not what I am going for today. How do we see the Lord's table?
Last post I mentioned the way the Roman Church treats the Eucharist. Our theology views it more of the Body of Christ, as a sacrifice. Until Vatican II our tradition was reminiscent of ancient Jewish practices, where only the priest was allowed to enter the sanctuary for the sacrifice and all the people were left in wonder and awe about what he was doing. Now, the priest faces the congregation, but we still treat the Eucharist with the same amount of sacred fear.
This, of course, is why there is so much emphasis on sanctity and holiness. In the Middle Ages, the peasantry were afraid of blaspheming by taking the Eucharist unworthily. The Church said that they needed to take it once a year, but the people were afraid of damning themselves. Thus the practice of lifting up the host became popular, as many of the common people were reluctant to partake but felt that at least seeing the host would be enough. This is also why the cup was inaccessible to people until after the Reformation. Were some of the Blood of Christ to spill on the ground, the person who spilt it would have committed a grave sin. The risk of damnation was too great.
Of course, Luther's understanding of Eucharist was very different. Luther viewed it more of communion, as the Lord's Supper. Thus, to deny people would be too exclude them, rather than to save them. Such a view of the Eucharist, I think, is more in line with Jesus' own teaching.
When Jesus gathered with his disciples for the Last Supper, consider briefly whom he did invite and whom he did not. At the table with him were Judas, his betrayer; Peter, who would deny him three times in one night; Thomas, who would not believe Jesus was resurrected until he was with his own eyes; and the two apostles who did not even recognize Jesus on the way to Emaus. Forget Levi the tax collector and the rest of the fishermen and shepherds, Jesus ate dinner with people who were not genuinely loyal to him. He did not eat with his mother, who would weep at the foot of his cross; Mary Magdalene, who would be the first to his tomb Sunday morning; Joseph of Arimathea, who would bury him; or any of the other disciples who were faithful to him when his apostles fled the garden.
Today, in the Roman Church, we tend to think of communion as a gathering of saints. When Jesus broke bread for the last time before his death, he was communing with anything but a gathering of saints. We restrict and shun and emphasize "worthy" participation. Of course, we do not limit it the same way that Mormons do, but nonetheless we do not allow outsiders to partake.
Jesus granted grace to any who had faith enough. The early Christian Church, because of their justified fears, restricted participation in the community to those who proved their loyalty (usually through a catechetical program that lasted three years). Today, we have no such fears. Today, the Christian Church is not in danger of spies or traitors, at least not from without. Perhaps Eucharist should be extended to any and all who have faith, and our scrutiny should not be to those who would sit at the table of our Lord, but those, namely the bishops and priests, who sit in the Lord's seat at the table.

Eucharist

A friend of mine and I were out a couple nights ago and at some point, as we were waiting for a movie to start, the conversation came to the topic of the Eucharist. I had pointed out to her that since she is Presbyterian, she ought not to take the Eucharist at Mass. This deeply troubled her. She felt that taking the body of Christ, as the body of Christ, was important, and that since only a few Christian traditions, Roman Catholics among them, have theologies which make the Eucharist the real presence of Christ, she should like to partake of the Eucharist at Catholic Masses.
As Easter approaches, a look at the Eucharist and what it means is, I think, appropriate.
To begin with, I think examining the historical development of Eucharistic theology is appropriate. The word "transubstantiation," used primarily to describe Roman Catholic Eucharistic theology, was invented by Martin Luther in an attempt to critique Catholic theology. Luther proposed that the "actual presence" of Christ was not present in the Eucharist, but that it was merely the representation of Christ. Because of this emphasis, Lutheranism moved from a focus on the "Body of Christ" to the "Priesthood of Believers." This distinction is an important one because it reflects the Christology of Lutheranism versus Catholicism. Luther understood the importance of the Eucharist symbolically while the Catholic Church continued to understand it actually. Luther did, however, still emphasize the importance of Communion and saw it as one of the three sacraments, the other two being baptism and confirmation, that were essential for Christian life.
John Calvin, however, took an even more skeptical view of the Eucharist. Calvin did not see any real importance to it and argued that the only sacrament was baptism. Communion was a purely symbolic act of union with the rest of the Church and none of it reflected our relation to Christ. For this reason, some Protestant Churches, following in the tradition of Calvin, do not even have Communion available every Sunday.
Thus we have sharp contrasts between main stream Christian faiths in the West. Every other Protestant denomination has Eucharistic theology that usually lies somewhere between the Catholic understanding of the actual presence, to the point where spilling the consecrated wine literally means spilling Jesus' blood on the ground, to Calvinism, where Communion is a nice gesture, but nothing more than that.
Because of the Catholic understanding of the Eucharist, the requirements for partaking in it are quite stringent. As a convert to Catholicism, I was not permitted (theologically, nobody was physically preventing me) from taking the Eucharist because I had not been properly initiated into the community. Since Catholics see themselves as the Body of Christ, and since they see the Eucharist as the actual physical presence of Christ, one may not partake of the Eucharist unless he or she is a member of the body of Christ. For those baptized into the Catholic Church (ie, baptized by a Catholic priest), the Eucharist is available, even before confirmation. For those baptized outside of the Catholic Church (ie, by another Christian minister) or not Christian (Mormons included), the Eucharist is only available after completing the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults, a sort of catechesis. I went through this program myself two years ago, which culminated in my baptism, confirmation and first Eucharist. I am currently a volunteer for the Boston College RCIA program and those who are going through the program, with the exception of one of the candidates who was already baptized Catholic, must wait until confirmation for first Eucharist.
For those not in the know, the sacraments of baptism, confirmation and first Eucharist are considered the "sacraments of initiation." Catholicism is a "sacramental religion," meaning that the sacraments, or what we refer to as the sacraments, are given high priority. St Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa, lists seven sacraments: baptism, confirmation, Eucharist, confession, last rites, priesthood and matrimony. Because priests in the Roman rite are required to be celibate most people will never receive all seven sacraments and the only ones that were ever considered necessary for salvation were the three sacraments of initiation. As a sacrament of initiation, however, partaking in the Eucharist is an act of intentional communion. First communion, then, is the final step in "becoming Catholic." It is a wonderful celebration for those participating and symbolizes a celebration of having new members in the community.
For this reason, then, issues of the Eucharist can be quite divisive. Consider, for example, the fact that some American politicians have been denied the Eucharist for their political stances concerning abortion. This is quite a "big deal" because the act of denying Eucharist is a symbolic act of denying communion or friendship in the Body of Christ.
On the other hand, since Vatican II, the Roman Church has extended a hand of communion to the Orthodox Church and to the various Middle Eastern Churches that over the years became separated from Rome due to various conflicts, both theological and political. Currently, a Greek Orthodox, or an Assyrian Catholic alike can come up for Eucharist at any Roman liturgy in the world. This extension of communion represents the Roman attempt toward reconciliation. Granted, shared Eucharist does not heal all wounds, but the act of joining together in the Body of Christ is a start.
This leads, finally, to the question of ecumenism with Protestant Churches. It is one thing for Rome to finally reconcile with Constantinople, but it will be quite another thing to be restored to Western Protestantism. As mentioned before, both Luther and Calvin had radically different views of Communion from Rome, so it will be difficult for the Roman Church to allow Christians who do not believe the host to be the actual Body of Christ to participate in the Body of Christ. The Christian Church in the West, then, is at an impasse. If Rome allows communion with Lutherans and Calvinists, it denies its Eucharistic theology and its Christology. If Rome denies communion with Lutherans and Calvinists, we remain a divided Church. And somewhere in the middle, we, the members of Christ's Church get caught. We are prevented from full communion with our brothers and sisters in Christ.

The Question of Authority Pt 2

In the previous post, I described the overall phenomenon of authority as well as the specific context of academic or scholastic authority. In this post, I would like to examine political authority as well as ecclesial (Church) authority--specifically wherein the authority lies, who acknowledges this authority, what is good or bad about it and how we ought to be aware of these things.
The state has been the subject of much philosophical thought and writing. Philosophers from as far back as Plato to even contemporary political scientists and philosophers have taken up the task of understanding political authority. Most college students are familiar with, even if they haven't read, works such as The Republic, Leviathan, Treatise on Government, The Communist Manifesto, etc. Nearly every "Civics" student has read the Declaration of Independence as well as the US Constitution and probably the Magna Carter as well. It would be pointless and futile to attempt to discuss what all of these documents state, but let it suffice that they all treat of proper governance.
All history (written history) speaks of the existence of political powers. However, what is not made clear by much history is how or why political entities exist. What is much more clear, based on histories about wars or revolutions, is that governments are subject to overthrow or replacement if occasion arises and necessitates. Such occasions are usually a matter of unjust governing, though sometimes they are mere facts of more powerful entities entering into conflict with the powers that be.
Suffice it to say, then that no single government, as history has shown us, has been unimpeachable. The revolutions in France throughout the nineteenth century as well as the rise and fall of Communism in Russia in the twentieth are two recent examples of this fact. Our own nation seems stable and solid. It is, however, important to realize first that the United States is only 235 years old (give or take) and that if there is anything to be learned by assassinations, political protests and riots, it is that we do not live in a utopia. Granted, we are not undergoing political unrest like Egypt is currently, but that is no indication of the permanence of the relative peace we have.
It should be acknowledged, then, that political authority is arbitrary authority. The fact of it is that the people ruled by the powers that be accept it as authoritative. As previously mentioned, from time to time the people reject the forces in power. When this takes place on a large enough scale, revolution is the general course of action. Political authority, then, lies, in a certain way, in the complacency of the people.
However, in the United States, unlike many other nations, national identity is of chiefest importance. The notion of "being American" is one of the most widely touted virtues of our society. The War in Iraq was a highly controversial military campaign in which anti-partiotism was a chief charge used against those who would not support the invasion. Similarly, radio, TV, and billboard ads suggest that we ought to vote, join the military, pay our taxes and do other things that connect us with the state. We don't always realize it, but this subtle psychological manipulation shapes our attitudes and our dispositions. Being "un-American" is almost the worst thing a person can be in our society. The question we ought to ask, however, is why that is the case and what exactly it means to be such.
There is also a bit of intimidation in practice. Normally when we think of political intimidation we think of tyrannical "democracies" (such as the political structure in Iran) or fascist regimes.We should also think of any case of police or military brutality. Even without the brutality, is it not true that we often obey certain laws, not because we believe they're correct or just, but merely because we fear the consequences?
The effect of the state as authoritative can be seen most clearly in American culture. As I said above, patriotism is, perhaps, the highest virtue in American popular consciousness. Because of this, certain positions taken by the state or actions done by state agencies can be justified in the name of patriotism. The "Patriot Act," for example, is an instance in which Americans allowed their privacy and freedom to be restricted in exchange for a sense (note: no guarantee) of safety. Similarly, at US airports, passengers trade their sense of decency and privacy for an imagined peace of mind. True, there are some protests, but the voices are nearly muted.
Additionally, any skilled rhetorician can appeal to patriotism with the vigor of Cicero and use it to bolster his case, however unsound or irrational it may be. Take Glenn Beck, for example. This talk show host never attempts to provide real evidence or logical arguments for his positions, yet he constantly attacks "left-wing nutjobs" as being inherently anti-American (and often with the implication that some dramatic course of action ought to be taken against the targets of his rage).
Furthermore, we can lose sight of our other virtues or values if we attend to closely to our allegiance to political authorities. Take, for example, the Cold War, wherein the entire American psyche was focused on building more armaments than our supposed enemy, the Soviet Union. How many people questioned the fact that the US and the USSR were enemies? What was the ground for the dispute? Was an economic system really a viable excuse for threatening the debilitating and dehumanizing act of war? Finally, was there any viable excuse for building enough weapons of mass destruction to destroy the entire world? Few were the voices of protest during this time, and often they were blacklisted or otherwise shunned. The rational mind SHOULD have realized that the political structures in place were a liability to not just Americans or Soviets, but to the entire human population.
The risks, then, of adhering too closely to political authority can range from a mere wrong order of virtues to the much more pernicious risk of global annihilation. Often a voice of dissent is in order. John Locke, one of the foremost thinkers on political theory suggested that should a government become a liability to the people, the people are obligated to overthrow it. On the other hand, for the time being, many governments help bring peace and order to certain regions. It is important to remember, however, as I have stated in previous posts, that anarchy itself is not necessarily an evil, though chaos, some of which exists within, and sometimes because of, political structures, is.
Much of what has been said about political authority is applicable to ecclesial authority. There are a few points to be observed, however. While history AND political theory agree that political power is subject to the agreement of the people, as far as ecclesial authority is concerned, history suggests it requires agreement while theology, canon law and ecclesiastical documents suggest otherwise.
Ecclesial authorities claim that their authority is divinely imbued. Religious figures, such as popes, prophets, caliphs, archbishops, high priests and dalai lamas all claim a privileged authoritative role granted by supernatural powers. The extent to which people follow a specific religion or at least adhere to the religious leaders of their faith shows how much they believe their specific ecclesial authorities have this divine call.
Ideally, a person will follow a specific faith because, after rational inquiry and investigation he finds that the faith provides for him whatever it is he feels he needs in his life. With his conversion, a person will also grant his religious leaders a certain amount of authority. One does not become Catholic if he thinks the pope has no credibility.
However, more often than not, people are born into a specific faith, and, because of their upbringing and the amount of indoctrination they experience, the authority of religious leaders will be a result of psychological manipulation. The unquestioning Catholic, for example, who thinks every word from the pope's mouth is the word of God, is a product of this psychological manipulation. Fortunately, many religions are increasingly emphasizing informed dissent and genuine investigation of authoritative positions. Thus, Catholics are encouraged to follow their conscience, even when it stands against official Church teaching, and are also advised to question any magisterial teaching. Unfortunately, some religions, such as Mormons and Evangelicals, believe that the leaders of the faith must be correct 100% of the time and to doubt their veracity is a grave sin.
Which leads to the use of intimidation in authoritative positions for religious leaders. While religions don't often use actual violence, especially in the last couple centuries, to reinforce authority, they do often use soteriological (salvation-oriented) intimidation. Points of faith that must be taken as undeniable or infallible for one's salvation illustrate the use of intimidation as a tool of retaining authority. The very notion that the pope can be infallible is enough to keep many Catholics from questioning magisterial teachings. No one wants to go to Hell. Some religious leaders, however, use the threat of Hell to give weight to their teachings or positions.
Of course, there are also many who are simply complacent in their faith. I've met many Jews who maintain their Jewish faith as part of their ethnic identity as well as a marker of who they personally feel that they are. Many Irish Catholics stay Catholic because of this, and many Utah Mormons also fit in this category. Family history and tradition can be a major influence on one's trust in one authority over another.
Religious authorities increasingly seek to promote rational thought and dialogue over unquestioned obedience. The Catholic Church, since Vatican II has encouraged questioning. The Dalai Lama has consistently promoted rational and informed decision making. Protestant churches, since the time of Martin Luther, have always questioned the notion of being unquestionably correct. There is nothing wrong with informed obedience. As followers of whatever faith we follow, it is our duty, as rational beings, to try to understand the tenets of our faith.
On the other hand, blind obedience can have detrimental effects. One has only to think of David Koresh, Jim Jones or the Heaven's Gate Cult to realize how blind obedience to religious authorities can have deadly effects, even today. Because of instances like this, or Imams encouraging their faithful to perform "suicide bombings," many have turned a skeptical eye towards religious authority in general, some even labeling it as wholly destructive.
It is important to understand that if we believe that God COULD have given authority to a certain person or institution, we also ought to believe that God endowed us with a spirit of discernment and rationality. If something seems to be counter-intuitive, it ought to be questioned. If something flat out rejects the precepts of reason, it ought to be rejected. If something seems right, it might be. Just like a political authority there are times when we ought to support the authority and follow it, and times when we need to realize the error of choosing such a path.

The Question of Authority Pt 1

If there is anything that most non-Catholic Christians accuse Catholicism of wrongly being, it's excessively papal. The Magisterium is, for many Protestants and Orthodox, a stumbling block and a scandal. The fact that most Catholics believe that "infallibility" means the pope is never wrong and that everything that comes out of the Vatican is the word of God only helps make this problem worse. This raises, for non-Catholics, the question of authority. Many Catholics, myself included, even question the authority of a body of old, celibate, European clerics when it comes to life in the regular world.
It is my goal to look briefly at examples of authority and attempt to make sense of what really goes into them. This post will examine both the nature of authority and discuss intellectual authority. The next post will discuss political and ecclesial authority.
There are many factors that contribute to what exactly authority is. Different disciplines would even give different definitions and different explanations for it. The political scientist would provide an explanation of power dynamics. The social Darwinist could explain strength and how different attributes, such as brute force, intelligence and charisma affect authority. We will begin our discussion, however, with a look to political philosophers.
John Locke and Thomas Hobbes place the authority of governing structures in the human necessity for protection. For Locke, the authority of a political structure only lies in its ability to successfully benefit the populace. For Hobbes, the political structure necessarily requires authoritative figures to protect us from ourselves. For Friedrich Nietzsche, authority is much more complex and is attributable to several competing factors. One such factor is brute strength and violence, an attribute he gives to the now infamous "blond beast" of ancient Europe. Another such factor is cunning and intellectual manipulation, which he attributes to the "weaker" faiths of Judaism and Christianity.
It seems to me that Nietzsche is partially right, at least when it comes to the intellectual portion. People see some agency or person as an authority because they see that person as well-versed and competent in whatever it is he or she is doing. This attribution may be due to intimidation, psychological manipulation, rational evaluation, or simply complacency.
Intimidation, or fear-based authority, is respect for a person or organization due to what one is afraid that person or agency might do. For example, I might consider the king's authority to be legitimate because he killed the previous king, and if I refuse to cooperate, he could kill me as well. Similarly, a child might be afraid of her parents' anger. This is often the authority that binds more vicious people to the law, but can also be seen in examples of harsh teachers, whom students might not respect intellectually but might fear poor marks, or some preachers, who might preach Hell and damnation for disobedience.
Psychological manipulation, it seems to me, is the most common form of authoritative respect. Buzz words to look out for in this style of authority are "brainwashing," "propaganda," "peer-pressure" and "coercion." While intimidation relies on threats and fear, psychological manipulation does better and relies on people actually believing the authority of a subject based mostly on words. The proper way to garner this trust in authority is rhetoric. Generally, a person we trust, one whose authority we already have established, shares with us her trust in another person or institution. Because we respect the judgment and the authority of the person who tells us this, we, in turn, begin to trust the authority of whatever it is she is promoting. Commonly, one hears, "Becky swears by it," or "Joe says she's a great professor," however it is not strictly limited to choosing an authority. Once we have placed our trust in an authority, the rhetoric of that authority, as long as we have no reason to doubt it, will only strengthen its authoritative power over us. This, then, is the arena that people often find patriotism, ecclesiastic loyalty, partisanship, and brand loyalty. Often the authority is not a person, but a group, thus, it holds more sway by sheer numbers.
Rational Inquiry is the most basic form of trust in authority and occurs mostly on the level of persons. As I get to know a person and his or her ideals, I begin to question whether or not he is worth my confidence. As happens sometimes, this could be prevented by my trust in other authorities, perhaps because I belong to a certain religious of philosophical school and he belongs to another, or because our political views are influenced by different political camps. This, then, is the tragedy of the psychological manipulation mentioned above. If our cultured biases interfere with our ability to rationally judge the veracity of a supposed authority, then we have failed to truly understand what authority is. Notable examples of this are Conservatives who dismiss the authority of Ecologists or atheists who dismiss Christian Ethicists. A truly rationally curious approach would examine the technique and the motivation of the authority. A talk-show host who utilizes irrational accusations, baseless claims and appeals to the Ethos is most often less trustworthy than the biologist who utilizes the scientific method and produces results open to scrutiny and replication. The problem, however, of rational inquiry is that it requires a discerning spirit as well as a hard work.
Then there are instances where people are not swayed by appeals to the Pathos, Ethos or Logos. Due to laziness, confusion or apathy, some people attribute authority to those whom they think "probably just know better." This is often the case with people like the lapsed Catholic or the discontent American. He might not agree with the Church on many issues, but because he feels a certain loyalty to it, he will follow regardless, and likely not attempt to reconcile the cognitive dissonance he feels. Similarly, he might regard the decisions and politics of the government as foolish and futile, but going to the ballot box he'll choose the candidate that he thinks will be less likely to make a mess of things. This is the trust of the pessimist. He thinks nothing good will arise, but he sees no preferable alternative.
These four sources, it seems to me, are the main ways in which we decide which authorities to listen to. They appeal, as previously mentioned, to the Pathos, the Ethos and the Logos and often struggle against other competing voices.
In the intellectual world, our trust in authority often depends on matters of psychological manipulation and rational inquiry. We trust a person or an institution as an intellectual authority usually because we have studied its tenets and found them reasonable. We distrust others because we have found them lacking, or because we have been convinced by other authorities that they are wrong.
In academia, this is most often found in the subjects of philosophy and theology. Theologians often have differing theologies, many of which are incompatible with others, but the average theologian will attempt to achieve "balance" by not decrying those of differing mindsets. However, due to the breadth of theological query, which covers two thousand years of thought and most cultures of the world, there are many times when theories compete. Philosophers, on the other hand, are less likely to gingerly talk about their opponents. Since philosophers are usually not operating under a pre-determined set of doctrines or rules, they experience much more freedom to outwardly deny other philosophies and to freely label other philosophers as fools.
Disciplines where one does not usually see competing schools of thought tend to be the hard sciences, though physicists often argue about string theory versus quantum mechanics versus special relativity. The arts and humanities, such as literature, psychology and linguistics often have differing and opposing views, but, at the end of the day their differences aren't of the same sort of soteriological (saving) or eschatological (end of the world) significance as philosophers and theologians tend to think of their differences.
Often times, when a person decides one school of intellectual thought is right for her, she normally decides so on the basis of what she is used to, what seems most rational or simple to her, or what seems to validate her experience. The mystic is less likely to embrace a purely rationalistic theology than he is an ascetically oriented one, and the existentially curious reader will be more likely to read Sartre than Jane Austen.
Of course, as mentioned before, there is also a great deal of psychological manipulation that influences our decision in intellectual matters as well. Someone raised in a staunch, conservative Baptist household is probably not going to give much credence to the radical Catholic theology of Michael Baxter. On the other hand, a student raised to value empiricism and scientific methodology is more likely to respect Thomas Watson and Albert Einstein as intellectual authorities than he is to respect Jerry Falwell or Billy Graham.

Verbosity as a tragedy

If there's one thing I cannot stand about theologians, it's how removed they often are from ordinary life. On one level, it's easy to see that the priest, who is taken care of financially by the diocese, who is not married, who spends all day studying theology and whose every move is checked and instructed by the Church, cannot truly relate to most of his parish on many levels. But this is a topic for another day and, perhaps another rant (as a theology student, it can be extremely frustrating knowing that there's no money to be made in theology, so while I put myself in debt there's no financial pay-off while people in religious orders often get tuition and living expenses covered).
What I mean to say is that often the things we talk about in theology classrooms are so far removed from both comprehensibility and practicality that it seems like we're talking for our own benefits. I've had plenty of professors who seem to just enjoy the sound of their voices. So the problem is, I think, twofold. First, I think there's a problem of actually seeing how what we're studying has any real application. Luckily, since I study at the School of Theology and MINISTRY, there are a lot of ministers in my classes who make the professors aware of this problem. Additionally, in moral theology classes, at least, the very subject matter is of such a nature that it is supposed to be directly applicable. While there is a lot of talk of theory and formulae, moral theology is really where the aetherial musings of theologians materialize. Abortion, gay marriage, suicide, euthanasia, politics, work and wages, the plight of the poor--essentially the actual happenings in the lives of the faithful--are the real topics of moral debate.
The second problem, however, is much harder to address and fix. Theologians often like to use and incorporate language that is often confusing and usually unnecessary. Then, they often use the terms as if they're obvious when, in fact, they often mean different things depending on the person.
Take, for example, objectivity and subjectivity, two terms which, I believe, were started by the ever-so-confusing German philosopher Immanuel Kant. Objectivity, in one usage, means what is actually the case. Subjectivity, on the other hand, is "just your opinion." However, another usage of objectivity is looking towards the object, in other words "your perspective" and another usage of subjectivity is looking towards oneself, in other words "introspection." However, rather than using terms that are much easier to remember and follow, theologians often opt to interchange objectivity and subjectivity in such a way that one finds himself reading the same passage multiple times to tease out the meaning only to realize at the end that the solution was simple and just confusingly worded.
One of my roommates, in her zeal to show her enthusiasm for Systematic Theology purchased a fridge magnet with one of those quotes on it, the kind that normally are supposed to either inspire, comfort or amuse. On the magnet was a quote from Bernard Lonnergan, a Jesuit theologian, and the quote said, "Objectivity is the genuine fruit of subjectivity." While I would first rather have something like a quote about teamwork posted on my fridge rather than some out of context quote that means nothing to the average person, I decided to actually ponder the meaning. It seems to me that what is meant by this quote is that objectivity, according to my first definition, is the result of subjectivity, according to the second definition. In other words, seeing the way something is happens when we practice introspection. I don't know about the other readers out there, but I would rather read something like that as an inspirational quote over "Objectivity is the genuine fruit of subjectivity" any day.
but those borrowed philosophical terms aren't even the extent of it. Within theology, especially "systematics" (already NOT a self-apparent term) there are several smaller branches whose meanings are just as cryptic or non-apparent. There's ecclesiology, or the way the Church runs, soteriology, or how we're saved, christology, or Jesus and the Trinity, apologetics, or defending the faith, eschatology, or the end times, exegesis, or interpreting Scripture, and others. Most of the terms are fanciful but unnecessary. It's almost as if theologians feel the need to come up with specific terms for anything that they might find interesting just in order to give it more credibility as a discipline. The problem, of course, comes when one tries to actually relate it to anybody who hasn't studied theology for years.
Then, of course, the terms get put into buzz-word formulas. In business meetings one might hear, "We need to actuate more synergy by cooperative endeavors" but in theology it's even more confusing. One of my professors this week made a joke about St Paul and stated, "His christology is his soteriology." Would it not be much easier to simply say, "He believed our salvation was only through Christ?" Another professor of mine gave a homily today in which he stated we need to make the subjunctive into the indicative. Not only was that a reference that only a theologian would understand, but he would also have to be grammatically familiar with a language that has both subjunctive and indicative like Latin. It occurred to me that the priest, God bless him, was trying more to impress with his knowledge of grammar and the liturgy than he was trying to give an actual lesson.
Alasdair MacIntyre, no small name in his own right, once said in a class that one should not pretend to have mastered a concept until he can explain it to his grandmother who only has a third grade education. This seems quite applicable, as I can't even understand some of what these elite professors are talking about, even with a grad student's level of understanding.
The cultured despisers of the world often criticize theists for being ignorant and uneducated. Truth be told, most of the theologians I have met have been legions more intelligent than the likes of Christopher Hitchens, Charles Dawkins, Samuel Dennet et al. How, though, is anybody in the world supposed to know this when we theologians use overinflated language and tend to confuse rather than explain. I'm not saying the content needs to be watered down or lightened, heaven forbid, but rather that rather than using bombastic terms like "objectivity" or "soteriology," why is it that we cannot actually say what we mean?

The Published Article!!

After waiting the better part of a year, my article is finally out! In December's edition of Interreligious Insights, under the title "The Mormon Godhead and the Christian Trinity" my research article was finally published.
Link to the article

Giftmas

As much as I like that we have an entire holiday season (Advent-the Christmas season) to celebrate the miraculous birth of the Word Incarnate, I can honestly say that I have always been a bit of a "Scrooge" when it comes to Christmas. It isn't because of the emphasis on the birth, and it isn't because of the family. It is only partly because of the endless Christmas music being played right after Thanksgiving, the store ads encouraging everyone to buy, the crowds at shopping centers and the high running emotions of everyone else. These things don't bother me as much as one particular thing: the gift exchange.
The reason why I always dread the gifts is simple: It's not really a system of giving. For one thing, often times we get what we expect. We ask for certain things, thereby, what we receive is not truly a gift, but rather is the fulfillment of a request. I ask friends for favors from time to time, and if a friend fulfills this, I don't really understand the fulfillment of a request to be on the level of gift, but more closely related to the level of promise fulfillment.
This leads to the second point. Gift exchange is exactly that: it's an exchange. I hope to get something good from those whom I am close to who have more resources. Likewise, I have to give according to my own resources. However, I am expected to give to those who give to me and I, in turn, expect a gift from those to whom I give presents. Furthermore, though I fully intend to spend something appropriate to my means, I feel guilty if my gift does not approximate the value of the received gift, and likewise the giver feels slighted. This can lead to the exact opposite goal of Christmas, which ought to bring people together, rather than create rifts within them. For this reason, Christmas gift exchange is even more emotionally and socially disruptive than is birthday gift exchange, in which one person receives with no expectation to provide similar gifts.
Third, the gifts almost always are expected to be some material possession. The children need to have the brand new toy advertised on cartoons. Adult friends may expect a fine wine or liquor, or perhaps jewelry. The gift's worth is measured not in the uniqueness, or the emotional worth, but rather the economic worth. A six-pack of beer that I brewed might be nice, but ONLY if my brew itself turned out well. A handmade piece of furniture, or art is only a "good" gift if it measures up to my expectation of aesthetic appeal. If I write you a poem, it better be framed, or published. Even these gifts, however, have more appeal to them than a gift of time. If I swear a few hours of my time to you to talk or fish or see a movie, this is not considered an adequate gift, though, in all reality, this gift improves the relationship much more than does a shiny new computer, car or television.
For this reason, gift giving functions more as an economy than as gift. Jacques Derrida speaks of the "economy of gift" an economy of giving and taking. However, he argues, the true gift is the one that can not be returned.
I agree with this. Gifts, as gifts, are not given as a sort of promissory note for something of equal value. They are not vouchers guaranteeing future gifts. This mindset, this "economics of giving" mentality creates for us a selfish social system. What kind of gift are we giving if we expect a return? Are we merely making an investment? And, if so, what is our purpose in giving the gift? We say we give gifts to each other on Christmas to commemorate Jesus' life. Sometimes we use the rationale of the gifts of the Magi, other times we compare our gifts to Jesus' gift of life (or death, to use Derrida's words). What did the Magi receive for their gifts? Certainly it wasn't eternal life, for that was given to all of humanity. What did Jesus receive for His gift? He received death! How can we expect gifts if we say we are celebrating the Incarnation?
Gift giving is strange in this way, especially in contemporary Western society. In some cultures, like certain Asian cultures and the ancient Greeks, gifts were given from a patron to the object of his affection. The wealthier, more established men or women would shower their disciples with gifts, with no expectation of return, for the mentor would probably pass on before he could be repaid. In certain Native American cultures, gifts were given as a sign of respect, and those who received them only accepted them if she deemed them worthy of her. While this fosters a sort of tributary system, the receiving party never expected to repay the gift, and thus it was, in ways, a true gift. In other cultures, gift exchange demonstrates who has the dominant position in a relationship. Whoever gives the greater gift is the more powerful and the other person is indebted, though will not pay the debt off with another gift.
While these three examples don't necessarily demonstrate what Derrida and I mean by gift, they do represent the purpose of gift much better than does the Western style of giving. For one thing, in these systems gifts are not expected. Thus, the gift itself comes as a surprise and is not a request, nor an expectation. Second, the gifts are not meant to be repayment or to equalize parties. This is important because the relationship develops a sort of dependence quality to it. The parties are loyal to each other because one feels indebted to the other, and the other is loyal out of respect for the loyalty received. In the Western system, we try to achieve independent equilibrium, maintaining that we owe nothing to anyone and preventing true relational bonding. Third, if a gift of a certain value is not expected, the gift does not have to take the form of something financially quantifiable. I can freely give you unique advice. You can freely take time you would otherwise not to spend time with me. He can devote his weekend to making sure things go well for her on an important occasion. We already do these things, but we don't consider them gifts because we have become caught up in the notion that gift must entail retail value.
Derrida's definition of gift, then, is something that cannot be repaid, something that cannot be expected or requested and cannot be thanked. It must either be anonymous or circumstances must make it impossible for the donor to receive recognition. It cannot be out of request, otherwise it is merely fulfillment of promise and thus functions more contractually than beneficently. It must be of some nature that the receiver cannot make restitution, otherwise it is merely purchase or trade.
Jesus tells us not to give for recognition (Matthew 6:1). Those who "blow a trumpet" or otherwise make a scene of their donation do so only to gain something. It is not a true gift. It is an exchange for fame, patronage, favorable recognition or legacy. Those who "do alms in secret," on the other hand, don't receive earthly reward. Of course, the verse states that God will reward those who do alms which sets up the problematic situation of doing alms to get in heaven (read: Indulgences), however, the moral theologian realizes that while the Scripture states that God will reward those who do "invisible alms" the truly beneficent person will do alms out of a sense of the good and not for some Karmic reward. The point is not whether we receive God's blessings openly but rather that we learn to enjoy giving without recognition.
Jesus also tells us when we have banquets to invite those who cannot ever hope to repay (the poor and the handicapped) (Luke 14:13). Once again, there is the promise of some sort of supernatural reparation, but, once again, the point here is not that we receive some great reward in Paradise. Rather, the point is that we ought to have those who can never repay us owe us. This is not to lord it over them, but rather, it is to teach us not to require the repayment of everything. We give to those who cannot repay us because it is no longer a gift if we have been repaid for it.
Jesus, as a gift Himself, represents the way in which gifts do NOT need to be financially estimable. "God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son" (John 3:16). What monetary value is the crucifixion of Jesus? How does one calculate salvation? Is there a special box on our tax forms for the gift of Grace? One cannot put a price tag on a human life, especially if that life happens to be God become man. Thus, we see that God demonstrates this gift form best of all, for no amount of money can be equivalent to the gift of Jesus.
We see in Jesus, then, the ultimate, and true, gift. In Jesus' death, He gave us something that He could receive no personal recognition for. While we now venerate and worship Jesus, we cannot personally thank Him, and even as he hung on the cross, he received not so much as an expression of gratitude. Rather, he received scorn and abuse from most, and, at best, the weeping and wailing of a few. He also gave us something we can never pay back the "gift of death." Jesus died for us, and we cannot, in turn, die for Jesus in the same way. Jesus' death provides for us. The best we can do, in turn, is to die in His name, though it does nothing personally for Him, for He is already saved and is already risen (however, in the case of the martyrs, if it comes down to dying for Him and denying Him, much theology suggests right relation with Christ requires not denying Him). Finally, as previously mentioned, there is no monetary value one can fix for the Passion, death and resurrection.
Thus, if I might leave but one thing with you for this Christmas season, and indeed, for all year around, it's that the true meaning of Christmas is not found in the manger, nor the jolly red-suited saint and especially not in the public exchange of items of equal value. Rather, the true meaning of Christmas lies in Christ's ultimate gift for us, a gift of death and life, a gift that we can never repay and a gift that we can never thank Him enough for.