Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Catholic confusion

I’ll comment on this:


Let's deal with a few of Triablogue’s question begging approaches to the issue - Where is there evidence that Jesus’ statement was misreported? Answer: There is no evidence for that. Triablogue insinuates that Jesus’ statement was misreported, but that is not what the text says.

Well, at least Bradley's consistent. His reading comprehension for what I said is no better than his reading comprehension for what John said. Here's what I originally said:

That doesn’t necessarily mean one of the seven disciples misreported what Jesus said. Rather, that what he reported was misinterpreted.

And here's what I said in a subsequent response to Bradley.

Jesus made a statement (21:22) that gave rise to a false rumor (21:23). How did his true statement give rise to a false rumor? I can only think of two possibilities: it was misreported or it was misinterpreted.

So I specifically said the rumor isn't necessarily the result of misreporting. Rather, I offered two possible explanations. Evidently, Bradley can't count to two, which must entail all manner of inconvenience in his life.

The text says that people were basing their speculation on what Jesus said.

Since Bradley has such poor reading skills, let's break it down for him:

22 Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!”
23 So the saying spread abroad among the brothers that this disciple was not to die;
yet Jesus did not say to him that he was not to die, but, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?”

Notice how John contrasts what Jesus actually said with the rumor. John tells us the "brothers" attributed to Jesus a statement that Jesus didn't make. They attribute a prediction to Jesus.

So either the report of what he said was garbled, or else they drew a fallacious inference from the report. But even in the latter case, the misinterpretation is what circulated, as if that's what Jesus said–and meant.

First, is there evidence that the statement was misunderstood? Not necessarily.

I didn't say it was necessarily misunderstood, just as I didn't say it was necessarily misreported. Rather, I said it was one or the other.

What Jesus actually said could be answered “Yes, the Beloved Disciple will see the Second Coming” or “No, the Beloved Disciple will not see the Second Coming.”

Answered? Jesus wasn't asking a question. Rather, he was posing a hypothetical.

The error – which people to this day fall into, including Protestants with “Rapture Hysteria” and huge arguments about “pre-mill” and “post-mill” – is ascribing too much certainty to texts that are not all that certain.

If that's such a problem, why doesn't the One True Church® clear that up once and for all by teaching us the correct eschatology?

Second, would the statement have been any less misunderstood if it had been in writing between circa 33 AD and circa 90 AD? There's no evidence that it would have been.

i) If the source of the problem is a misreported statement, then a written record that preserves the actual statement solves the problem.

ii) If the source of the problem is a misinterpreted statement, then John's written correction solves the problem.

The rumor notwithstanding, Jesus made no prediction.

In fact, again, looking at Protestantism – as much as it may shock – shock! – Triablogue to do so, we see all kinds of errors of this kind even though Protestantism claims to have a definite text. Baptists, Calvinists and Lutherans damn each other to Hell based on their different positions on the Lord’s Supper and Baptism.

Ironically, Bradley is illustrating the penchant of Catholics to indulge in urban legends.

Why so much dispute if Triablogue is right that the problem arises only when there is an oral tradition?

Bradley is burning a straw man.

Third, with respect to strawmen arguments, Triablogue’s approach to oral tradition is …what’s the word…ah, yes.. “moronic.” Is Triablogue really asserting that any speculation by anyone constitutes “oral tradition”?

Notice that Bradley his imputing his own interpretation to me, then accusing me of conflating “speculation” with “oral tradition,” when he was the one, not me, who interjected “speculation” into the discussion. Bradley is completely devoid of mental discipline.

Is he claiming that Catholics teach that the magisterial teaching authority steps in immediately whenever anyone says something wrong somewhere?

He continues to veer off on a tangent. But as far as that goes, the Magisterium is more likely to step in when someone says something right, and replace the truth with Magisterial error.

If Triablogue does, then he should never read or listen to Bart Ehrman who believes that the Holy Spirit should have prevented copying errors when the scriptures were being copied.

At this point we need to call the fire department to douse Bradley's flaming straw men.

Bart Ehrman’s position is lame, but for the same reason so is Triablogue’s position.

As far as that goes, Ehrman begins with a Catholic presupposition. Both Ehrman and the church of Rome treat the canon of Scripture as an arbitrary collection of books which is held together by sheer external authority.

Fourth, his ahistorical position that the Gospel of John corrected the misinformation among those who believed that the Beloved Disciple was going to live to see the Second Coming is knee-slappingly funny in its polemical approach. How does he know this? Obviously, he cannot.

I know that because that's explicitly what John is doing in the epilogue.

Now let's compare two of Bradley's claims.

On the one hand:

Clearly, however, since the Beloved Disciple died before the Gospel of John was written – because the Gospel of John mentions the conundrum – the church had worked out the true meaning of Jesus’ accurately reported words before the Gospel of John was written.

On the other hand:

A real problem is that Triablogue is sawing the branch he’s sitting on. By arguing that oral tradition is incompetent and wrong, how do we know that the Bible is right or that we have the right Bible? Because Triablogue says so? Good luck with that. Because the Bible says so? Well, the Koran makes the same claim.
The answer is that we trust the Bible because we trust the Church that saw the Resurrected Jesus. (See Augustine, Against the Fundamental Epistle of Manichaeus 5:6 “For my part, I should not believe the gospel except as moved by the authority of the Catholic Church.”)

Bradley's argument is predicated on the assumption that John didn't write the Gospel attributed to him. Rather, that's a posthumous production, by a different hand.

But Bradley immediately turns around and assures us that we depend on ecclesiastical tradition. Yet the church fathers attribute the Fourth Gospel to the Apostle John! So Bradley's the one who's sawing off the branch he's seated on.

Clearly, however, since the Beloved Disciple died before the Gospel of John was written – because the Gospel of John mentions the conundrum – the church had worked out the true meaning of Jesus’ accurately reported words before the Gospel of John was written.

Even if we accept Bradley's theory of posthumous composition for the sake of argument, the Fourth Gospel wasn't written by "the church," but by an anonymous narrator. It's the narrator, and not "the church," who glosses the statement which it puts in Jesus' mouth. That's the alternative to Johannine authorship.

But let’s say that the Gospel of John had been written before the Beloved Disciple had died, does Triablogue really believe that the statement “if he tarries till I come what is it to you?”would never have been interpreted as possibly meaning that the Beloved Disciple was to live until the Second Coming? 

Which misses the point. What John 21 gives us is not merely a reliable record of what Jesus actually said, but the correct interpretation. Both what he said and what he meant.

Absent that, the rumored prediction would go unchecked and drive out the truth. Indeed, it's because the rumor was beginning to take hold that John felt the urgent need to scotch the rumor once and for all. If all we had was oral tradition to go by, the prediction is what would be remembered, while the truth would be long forgotten.

Christianity does not have a tradition about how the Beloved Disciple is still living to this day in hiding waiting for the parousia. Why not? Answer: because there was a teaching authority that taught rightly.

i) To begin with, there's a standing assumption that people die unless we have evidence to the contrary. That's both empirical and Biblical.

ii) Moreover, it's not as if Catholic scholars automatically credit traditions or legends about the later life and death of John.

iii) Has the Magisterium issued a death certificate for John? Is that locked away in the secret Vatican archives?

That teaching authority has to be a living teaching authority – go back to my question about what would have happened if the Gospel of John had been written before the Beloved Disciple had died.

Jn 21 answers that question. John penned the epilogue before he died, and took the occasion to set the record straight.

If Protestantism had existed at that point, what would it have said that wasn’t a “development of doctrine” or was an authoritative statement from “scripture alone.”

It's not as if Scripture was subsequent to oral transmission. For a time they occurred side by side, but Scripture was also phased in as the Apostles phased out.

Fifth, the most blindingly stunning problem in the Triablogue post is that it doesn’t seem to understand that for the first three generations of Christianity, apart from some letters of Paul, all of Christianity was Oral Tradition.

i) Which ignores the foundational role of the OT in Christian proclamation.

ii) Moreover, if a generation is about 20 years (give or take), then Bradley is saying the Gospels, Acts, and General Epistles weren't written until the 90s. That's a pretty radical dating scheme. And that disregards the testimony of the church fathers. So, once again, Bradley is sawing off the branch he's seated on. He points Protestants to ecclesiastical tradition, then summarily dismisses the traditional authorship and dating of the NT.

Christians didn’t have the Bible until the Second Century! Yet, apparently, they were sufficiently competent to pick the right books without having a written text to turn to!

That's a simpleminded, all-or-nothing argument.

A real problem is that Triablogue is sawing the branch he’s sitting on. By arguing that oral tradition is incompetent and wrong, how do we know that the Bible is right or that we have the right Bible? Because Triablogue says so? Good luck with that. Because the Bible says so? Well, the Koran makes the same claim.

I've addressed these schoolboy objections on many different occasions.

Finally, let's compare these two statements:

On the one hand:

Christianity does not have a tradition about how the Beloved Disciple is still living to this day in hiding waiting for the parousia. Why not? Answer: because there was a teaching authority that taught rightly. That teaching authority has to be a living teaching authority...

On the other hand:

The answer is that we trust the Bible because we trust the Church that saw the Resurrected Jesus. (See Augustine, Against the Fundamental Epistle of Manichaeus 5:6 “For my part, I should not believe the gospel except as moved by the authority of the Catholic Church.”)

Needless to say, "a living authority" didn't see the Risen Lord. Those who saw him died 2000 years ago–after leaving a record of what they saw. Conversely, Benedict XVI didn't see him.

Again, I recommend that you read the Bauckham book.

Bauckham is hardly one to automatically defer to tradition. He critically and painstakingly sifts tradition.

Can We Prove the Existence of God?

http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tgc/2012/04/16/can-we-prove-the-existence-of-god/

HT: Patrick Chan

Islam’s Cartoon Missionaries

http://www.nationalreview.com/articles/296202/islam-s-cartoon-missionaries-daniel-pipes

God's playmates

 



JD Walters directed me to a paper by Alan Rhoda which lays out a freewill theist model of providence:


Rhoda helpfully begins with a general definition of his position:

Open theism is a theory of divine providence according to which God has sovereignly chosen to create a world in which his creatures have significant freedom to determine the direction of events. As a consequence of God’s decision, there is no such thing as a completely settled future for him (or anyone) to know. That is to say, there is no complete and unique sequence of events subsequent to the present that is or that is going to be the actual future. Instead, there is a branching array of possible futures.

Let’s compare his definition with some other statements:

Similarly, while it is plausible that no one can thwart the Chess Master’s general goal of victory, a determined opponent could easily thwart many of the chess master’s specific goals, especially if they were announced beforehand.
[Sanders]  This means that though God’s overarching purposes for creation cannot be frustrated, his particular desires for individuals and situations can be frustrated.
A God who does exhaustive contingency planning, one who, for every possibility, has formed a conditional resolution—if this should happen, then I will respond thusly—has no need for ad hoc decision-making. The decisions have already been made. What remains to be seen is which conditional resolutions will be carried out, that is, what actions God will perform in response to his creatures...Either God is able to do exhaustive contingency planning or he is not. If he is not, then that must be because he cannot anticipate all of the possibilities. But on a theistic worldview, all possibilities ultimately derive either from God’s nature or from God’s will, and so inability to anticipate all possibilities would seem to point to a failure of self-knowledge on God’s part, a failure that in turn seems diametrically at odds with the core theistic idea that God is a perfect knower. Alternatively, if God can do exhaustive contingency planning, then why wouldn’t he? It wouldn’t take a taxing effort on God’s part to do so, and not to do so would be to court unnecessary risks that might endanger not only God’s chances of obtaining his goals for creation but also the long-term prospects of those creatures who have allied themselves to God. I submit that this would amount to inexcusable recklessness on God’s part. If God can do exhaustive contingency planning, he definitely should.

But if, due to his exhaustive contingency plans, God’s overarching goal cannot be thwarted, then in what sense do “his creatures have significant freedom to determine the direction of events”? If God always wins in the long run, because he has a back-up plan for every play we make, then we aren’t determining the direction of events. At best we can stall for time. Postpone the inevitable.

But no matter what we choose to do, Rhoda’s God will always beat us in the long run. For every move we make, he has a countermove. So Rhoda’s model of providence is essentially fatalistic. No matter what you do, God gets his way. So what you do makes no difference to the ultimate outcome. Why endow creatures with the freedom to choose between alternate timelines if every alternate timeline leads to the same place?

Indeed, as Rhoda goes on to say:

In a mutually disadvantageous situation, the player that has the ability or the resources to “hold out” longer can generally induce the other player to compromise on his or her terms. For example, in the game of Chicken, the more courageous (or, rather, foolhardy) driver will usually win because he is prepared to hold out under the threat of collision longer than the other player. Similarly, since God is generally prepared to mete out punishment longer than we are prepared to endure it, he can often induce repentance (at least for a time).

So Rhoda’s God endows his creatures with “significant freedom to determine the direction of events,” then punishes them when they exercise their God-given freedom to influence the course of events. What’s the point of having significant freedom on those terms?

Likewise, if God can always hold out longer than the human player, it’s futile to play against God. So isn’t the entire exercise a charade?

When God invites us into a loving relationship with himself, he’s looking for a win–win outcome. We win in life not by competing with God, but by cooperating with him.

What if I don’t want to have a “loving relationship” with Rhoda’s God? What if I just don’t like him? Normally we get to choose our friends.

Mind you, there’d be a strong incentive to play along with Rhoda’s God. And that’s because Rhoda’s God is a lot like Trelane (The Squire of Gothos) and Damien (The Omen). For sheer survival’s sake, it’s prudent to pretend to like him. To humor him. To keep him amused.

Indeed, with a God like that, even if you could beat him at his own game, you’d let him win every time. Make him think he’s a better player than he really is.

For when Rhoda’s God becomes bored or frustrated, he’s dangerous to be around. Has second thoughts about making the human race, so he destroys everyone except for Noah and his family. If Rhoda’s God gets tired of his playmates, you better watch out!

Consider the following passage from Jeremiah 18:7–10 (NASB):
At one moment I might speak concerning a nation or concerning a kingdom to uproot, to pull down, or to destroy it; if that nation against which I have spoken turns from its evil, I will relent concerning the calamity I planned to bring on it. Or at another moment I might speak concerning a nation or concerning a kingdom to build up or to plant it; if it does evil in My sight by not obeying My voice, then I will think better of the good with which I had promised to bless it.
This passage tells us that God will adjust his strategy from blessing to punishing (or vice-versa) in response to whether a particular nation submits to God or rebels against him.

Two problems:

i) In this passage, God doesn’t change his policy. Rather, God has a standing policy. A consistent policy. The policy doesn’t change. The policy varies with the situation, but that variation is built into the policy.

ii) This passage is entirely consonant with predestination. God has predestined that if a nation does x, he will do y, and if a nation does other than x, he will do z. Moreover, God has predestined whether a nation will do x or other than x.

Given that God has a choice in what sort of ‘Creation Game’ to play, a natural question, and a key one for understanding divine providence, is why God would choose to play the sort of Creation Game that he has rather than some other kind of game. To answer that question we have to think about the value of a game. What sorts of factors tend to make a game worth playing? I will identify several such factors and argue that they suggest that God would, all things being equal, prefer to exercise his providence along open theist lines.
Intuitively, there are at least four overlapping factors that can make a game intrinsically more worth playing, at least where human players are concerned...Another desideratum (for us) is that a game have significant and diverse outcomes in which differences in outcomes are predictably, though not necessarily inexorably, correlated with the players’ strategic choices. Thus, in the game of life in which we all find ourselves, we each have a variety of strategies to choose from. For this choice to be worth taking seriously, for the game to be worth taking seriously...

But on Rhoda’s model, we can only affect short-term outcomes, not long-term outcomes. Diversity won’t make a dime’s worth of difference over the long haul.

If that’s right, then it is reasonable to expect that God would prefer to play a Creation Game in which the stakes, both for himself, and for the other players, are non-trivial...Finally, the best games (for us) have uncertain outcomes. Of course, we wouldn’t want outcomes to be completely uncertain, otherwise there would be no predictable correlations between strategies and outcomes...The main reason why the best games have uncertain outcomes is because those that don’t are comparatively boring. That’s why so many games involve randomizing devices, like dice or shuffled cards. That’s why people don’t want to know in advance who is going to win the Super Bowl or the World Series. It eliminates the suspense. For games like chess, knowing exactly how the game was going to go would obviate any reason for actually playing it through. One could just contemplate the series of moves in one’s head. Similarly, if God knew exactly how the Creation Game was going to play out, then one wonders why he would actually initiate the game rather than simply contemplate a virtual “creation.”...Hence, it is at least somewhat unclear why God would choose to initiate a Creation Game unless it were one in which not even he could predict with certainty exactly how it would turn out.
It suggests that God would want the Creation Game to be a meaningful one, with potentially high stakes for the players involved, including God himself. And, finally, it suggests that God would rather have a Creation Game in which there is some degree of genuine risk for him, such that there is no advance guarantee that all of his specific preferences will be met. In short, these reflections suggest that God would play the very sort of Creation Game that open theists believe he is playing.

i) But on Rhoda’s model, there is no risk to God. Even if God loses a hand, he never loses a game. He may win some and lose some in the short term, but he always wins in the long-term.

ii) Moreover, losing doesn’t cost God anything, except his pride. He can’t be physically hurt.

iii) By contrast, it’s his playthings who have everything to lose. Everything to fear. When Rhoda’s God gets mad at his playmates, he becomes vindictive. An unholy terror. Rhoda’s God is like a child God. Like Damien or Trelane.

iv) Rhoda’s God creates playmates because he’s easily bored. He needs someone to play with. He needs to be entertained.

We’re his pets. He creates us for his personal amusement. Like a puppy dog or a toy soldier. But Rhoda’s God is easily frustrated. Has a short-fuse. When he gets mad at the puppy, he sets it on fire, then feels bad later on. 

From a non-open theist perspective, God’s rationale for playing any sort of creation game remains somewhat opaque. According to theological determinists like John Calvin and Jonathan Edwards, God has chosen a risk-free strategy that involves his ordaining what all of the created players will do. But if that’s so, then created players are not genuine players in the game-theoretical sense.42 Instead, they are like the pawns on the chessboard and it is as though God were playing chess with himself. Alternatively, the type of Creation Game envisaged by theological determinists is analogous to God’s playing a game of solitaire with a stacked deck. For us, playing that sort of game might be a way to “kill time,” but it would hardly be very interesting or challenging. Thus, it is unclear at best why God would choose to play such a game.

In Calvinism, God creates the elect for their own enjoyment rather than his enjoyment. God is generous. He spreads the goodness around. He doesn’t make the elect for what he gets out of it. He needs nothing. But he makes the elect to share in his beatitude.

Evidently, the notion of disinterested love is a foreign concept to Rhoda. That God would bless his creatures, expecting nothing in return, is an alien notion to Rhoda.

“The language of Chalcedon is not sacrosanct and is open to reformulation ...”

“The language of Chalcedon is not sacrosanct and is open to reformulation ...”

From Bavinck’s “Reformed Dogmatics”, chapter summary (supplied by the editors), Vol 3, pg 237.

Monday, April 16, 2012

NOMA


There are, in general, two hypotheses about how the Shroud came to be. The first is that the shroud represents the work of human ingenuity. The second is that the shroud represents an artifact of supernatural activity.
 
We'll explore the supernatural hypothesis first. In very general terms, if something is the artifact of a supernatural process, we have no particular expectations about what sort of physical evidence we should expect to accompany it. In other words, there is no scientific way to test a supernatural hypothesis. The shroud could be the artifact of a supernatural process, and there is no way that this hypothesis could be completely ruled out, because it is not as though supernatural activity would leave any tell-tale marks.


I’m not clear on what TFan means by this. On the face of it, it bears a startling similarity to methodological naturalism or Gould’s nonoverlapping magisteria. Unbelievers frequently tell us that “by definition,” supernatural events can’t be historically or scientifically confirmed. To take a few examples:

No such conflict should exist because each subject has a legitimate magisterium, or domain of teaching authority—and these magisteria do not overlap (the principle that I would like to designate as NOMA, or "nonoverlapping magisteria").
 
The net of science covers the empirical universe: what is it made of (fact) and why does it work this way (theory). The net of religion extends over questions of moral meaning and value. These two magisteria do not overlap, nor do they encompass all inquiry (consider, for starters, the magisterium of art and the meaning of beauty). To cite the arch cliches, we get the age of rocks, and religion retains the rock of ages; we study how the heavens go, and they determine how to go to heaven.
 
I believe, with all my heart, in a respectful, even loving concordat between our magisteria—the NOMA solution. NOMA represents a principled position on moral and intellectua] grounds, not a mere diplomatic stance. NOMA also cuts both ways. If religion can no longer dictate the nature of factual conclusions properly under the magisterium of science, then scientists cannot claim higher insight into moral truth from any superior knowledge of the world's empirical constitution. This mutual humility has important practical consequences in a world of such diverse passions.
 

What about the resurrection of Jesus? I’m not saying it didn’t happen; but if it did happen, it would be a miracle. The resurrection claims are claims that not only that Jesus’ body came back alive; it came back alive never to die again. That’s a violation of what naturally happens, every day, time after time, millions of times a year. What are the chances of that happening? Well, it’d be a miracle. In other words, it’d be so highly improbable that we can’t account for it by natural means. A theologian may claim that it’s true, and to argue with the theologian we’d have to argue on theological grounds because there are no historical grounds to argue on. Historians can only establish what probably happened in the past, and by definition a miracle is the least probable occurrence. And so, by the very nature of the canons of historical research, we can’t claim historically that a miracle probably happened. By definition, it probably didn’t. And history can only establish what probably did.
 
I wish we could establish miracles, but we can’t. It’s no one’s fault. It’s simply that the canons of historical research do not allow for the possibility of establishing as probable the least probable of all occurrences. For that reason, Bill’s four pieces of evidence are completely irrelevant. There cannot be historical probability for an event that defies probability, even if the event did happen. The resurrection has to be taken on faith, not on the basis of proof.
 
The evidence that Bill himself doesn’t see his explanation as historical is that he claims that his conclusion is that Jesus was raised from the dead. Well, that’s a passive – “was raised” – who raised him? Well, presumably God! This is a theological claim about something that happened to Jesus. It’s about something that God did to Jesus. But historians cannot presuppose belief or disbelief in God, when making their conclusions. Discussions about what God has done are theological in nature, they’re not historical. Historians, I’m sorry to say, have no access to God. The canons of historical research are by their very nature restricted to what happens here on this earthly plane. They do not and cannot presuppose any set beliefs about the natural realm. I’m not saying this is good or bad. It’s simply the way historical research works.


But a basic problem with NOMA or methodological naturalism is the failure to distinguish between cause and effect. If something is supernaturally caused, that doesn’t mean the effect is supernatural. The effect is natural. Mundane. Creaturely.

Moreover, it’s common for Christian philosophers to infer supernatural causes from natural effects. Consider the many versions of the cosmological and teleological arguments. Or the argument from religious experience. Or intelligent design theory. Or the argument from miracles. Or the argument from prophecy.

Is it TFan’s position that we can never infer supernatural agency from experience? What about answers to prayer? Can we never infer that God answered our prayer?

Finally, I’ll close with Craig’s response to Ehrman, which seems germane to TFan’s objection:

But that’s not all. Dr. Ehrman just assumes that the probability of the resurrection on our background knowledge [Pr(R/B)] is very low. But here, I think, he’s confused. What, after all, is the resurrection hypothesis? It’s the hypothesis that Jesus rose supernaturally from the dead. It is not the hypothesis that Jesus rose naturally from the dead. That Jesus rose naturally from the dead is fantastically improbable. But I see no reason whatsoever to think that it is improbable that God raised Jesus from the dead.
 
In order to show that that hypothesis is improbable, you’d have to show that God’s existence is improbable. But Dr. Ehrman says that the historian cannot say anything about God. Therefore, he cannot say that God’s existence is improbable. But if he can’t say that, neither can he say that the resurrection of Jesus is improbable. So Dr. Ehrman’s position is literally self-refuting.
 
Now he seems to suggest that the historian can’t make these sorts of inferences because somehow God is inaccessible. Well, I have a couple of points I’d like to make here.
 
Secondly, notice that the historian doesn’t have direct access to any of the objects of his study. As Dr. Ehrman says, the past is gone. It’s no longer there. All we have is the residue of the past, and the historian infers the existence of entities and events in the past on the basis of the evidence. And that’s exactly the move that I am making with respect to the resurrection of Jesus.
 

Parsing the Millennium

I’m going to comment on Harold Hoehner’s exposition of Rev 20: “Evidence for Revelation 20,” D. Campbell & J. Townsend, eds., A Case for Premillennialism (Moody Press 1992), chap. 13. This is part of my ongoing effort to evaluate dispensationalism by examining the arguments of its most capable exponents.

There’s a place for debunking popularizers. Figures like Hal Lindsey, Tim LaHaye, and John Hagee are fair game. Due to their influence, it’s useful to evaluate their presentations–not that their devoted followers will read these critiques.

However, if you want to disprove a position, you need to engage the most astute representatives of that position. Attack the strongest version. Test your own position against the best that the competition has to offer. It’s no great accomplishment to defeat an opponent below your weight division.

By the same token, it’s fine for dispensationalists to critique a pop apologist like Kim Riddlebarger. But if you want to disprove amillennialism, you need to train your guns on the major scholars, viz. Vern Poythress, Gregory Beale, O. Palmer Robertson.

Harold Hoehner was a topnotch NT scholar. To my knowledge, he was the first dispensationalist to break into the top tier of NT scholars, although a number of younger dispensational scholars have achieved the same distinction.

Do Pets Go to Heaven?

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2012/april/do-pets-go-to-heaven.html

Quackpots


Alright, so that’s that. To recap: Patristic and Conciliar Christology is primarily exegetically driven biblical (OT & NT) Christology, and if it looks like a Nestorian, walks like a Nestorian, and quacks like a Nestorian, then it’s a duck.


Problem with Nick’s duck test is that his own position quacks and waddles. For instance, Dale Tuggy thinks that all orthodox formulations of the Trinity are incoherent because they invariably pull in opposing directions. According to Tuggy, orthodox formulations of the Trinity either reduce to modalism or Tritheism. So Tuggy would administer the duck test Nick’s position and say, if it looks like a tritheist, waddles like a tritheist, and quacks like a tritheist, then it’s a tritheist. Conversely, if it looks like a modalist, waddles like a modalist, and quacks like a modalist, then it’s a modalist. And he’d administer the same duck test analysis to orthodox formulations of the hypostatic union, with the same results. According to Tuggy, Nick is a quackpot. Therefore, you can't simply judge a position by superficial appearances. 

Kasparov: We’re resting on our technological laurels

Former world chess champion Garry Kasparov posits, among other things, in a forthcoming book, that we do not really live in an age of unprecedented technological development; rather, we are just coasting with improvements on some of the genuine advances of yesteryear. Among other things, he says:
We feel that we literally have something new every month, but in fact it is progress that is proceeding from technological innovations and revolutionary inventions of the 1960s and 70s. For example, my iPod contains the latest technology from 1981. In medicine there nothing similar to penicillin has been invented. If we talk about the Internet, then do not forget that the whole theoretical framework has been prepared in the 1960s in America, and the first communication session was 1969. A patent for mobile communications was registered in 1962, and the first call was made in 1973. The fact that the phones are smaller, thinner, more beautiful, does not change the fact that they are basically the same technology.

An example of real innovation was the emergence of personal computers, introduced by Apple in 1977. After that, it is hard to find innovation of this level. Everything that followed were modifications that made them smaller, but the principle remains the same. Steve Jobs created the entire line of Apple's Macintosh, and it was a breakthrough because it created the basis for everything else. It has reached a new technological level, which we now master, but it is based on the work of 1950s to 70s.

Why is this happening? The main reason is probably a common desire to reduce the element of risk. For example, in the last 60 years our planes have grown more comfortable, but they now fly more slowly since the decommissioning of the Concord. It's an unusual fact: over the past 40 years the first time in human history we have begun to move slowly. This is much due to the fact that we have started to pay attention to overall comfort, to social issues and the need to reduce risk.

People have a sense that we should receive benefits from our investment, but need to reduce the uncertainty. Risk should be less, but the income should be the same. This creates a gap, because in a free society, in a market economy, there is a direct relationship between risk and return. If you want to avoid risk, but receive ten percent of of your annual income from your investment, you open the way for the so-called financial engineering. In fact this is all fake, not real income, because it is not based on real changes in the economy, because you do not create new and tangible assets. In the 1960s young boys dreamed of becoming aerospace engineers, now they want to be financial engineers, working in investment companies, which are the most attractive spheres for talent. This naturally affects the quality of the total scientific potential, because financial engineering creates nothing.

Bryan Cross Spouts Nonsense

Over at Green Baggins, in the discussions on Christology, Bryan Cross (#25) posits a faulty thesis when he asks, “if Christ suffered in His human nature, but is impassible in His divine nature, this doesn’t fit with the notion that on Good Friday, “the ancient, eternal fellowship between Father and Son was broken”…That’s because in His divine nature, Christ enjoys the perfect happiness of eternal communion with the Father and Spirit.

Bryan posits another faulty notion (#36) as he asks:
given Chalcedonian Christology, and this conception of propitiation by the exhaustion of divine punishment for sins on a substitute victim, then to whom were our sins imputed, and who bore the Father’s wrath? It has to be a who; it cannot be a mere nature. So it has to be the Logos. But this only raises further difficulties. If the sin was imputed to the Logos without qualification, then the break in communion between the Father and the Logos during the crucifixion entails that God is passible even in His divine nature, as I explained in #25. The rejoinder is that sin was imputed to the Logos only according to His human nature. But, even so, it is still the Logos, not a human nature, who becomes guilty. And therefore the wrath of the Father cannot be directed only to a human nature, but must be directed to His own Logos. So this rejoinder doesn’t resolve the problem of a breakdown in intra-Trinitarian communion, or preserve divine impassibility.

In the first place, “impassibility” as Bryan posits it requires a good deal of qualification, and his implied definition is more in line with that given by Clark Pinnock and the “neotheists”, who are “notorious for incorrectly explaining the meaning of such terms as … impassible” (see the discussion of impassibility here).

Responding to the question of “does God suffer?”, John Frame notes in his, “The Doctrine of God”:
is there any sense in which God suffers injury or loss? Certainly Jesus suffered injury and loss on the cross. And I agree with Moltmann that Christ’s sufferings are the sufferings of God. The Council of Chalcedon (451) … said that Jesus has two complete natures, divine and human, united in one person. We may say that Jesus suffered and died on the cross “according to his human nature,” but what suffered was not a “nature,” but the person of Jesus. And the person of Jesus is nothing less than the second person of the Trinity, who has taken to himself a human nature. His experiences as a man are truly his experiences, the experiences of God.

Are these the experiences of only the Son, and not of the Father? The persons of the Trinity are not divided; rather, the Son is in the Father, and the Father is in the Son (John 10:38; 14:10-11, 20; 17:21)…

However, the Father does not have exactly the same experiences of suffering and death that the Son has. Although they dwell in one another, the Father and the Son play different roles in the history of redemption. The Son was baptized by John; the Father was the voice from heaven at his baptism. The Son was crucified; the Father was not. Indeed, during the Crucifixion, the Father forsook the Son as he bore the sins of his people (Matt 27:46; see my discussion of Mark 15:33-34 below).

Was the Father, nevertheless, still “in” the Son at that moment of separation? What exactly does it mean for the Father to be “in” the Son when he addressed the Son from heaven? These are difficult questions, and I have not heard any persuasive answers to them. But we must do justice to both the continuity and the discontinuity between the persons of the Trinity. Certainly the Father empathized, agonized, and grieved over the death of his Son, but he did not experience death in the same way that the Son did.

Paul, in Romans 8:32 says, “He who did not spare his own Son, but delivered him up for us all—how shall he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” Here Paul states the cost of our salvation to God the Father. Surely this is loss to the Father. We cannot imagine how much. The Father did not die, but he gave up his own Son.

But God the Son did die, and of course he rose again. So in his incarnate existence, God suffered and even died—yet his death did not leave us with a godless universe. Beyond that, I think we are largely ignorant, and we should admit that ignorance (pgs 613-614).


As for his thought that somehow there might be some sort of breakdown of “intra-Trinitarian communion” with, commenting on Mark 15:33-34, the authors of “Pierced For Our Transgressions” say:
As we reflect on the terrible final moments of our Lord’s earthly life, two elements of Mark’s account call for closer scrutiny: the supernatural darkness at midday, and Jesus’ cry of dereliction, a quotation from Psalm 22:1.

On numerous occasions in the Old Testament, darkness denotes God’s wrath. This imagery is used in particular with reference to the Day of the Lord; for example, in Isaiah 13:9-11:

9 See, the day of the LORD is coming
—a cruel day, with wrath and fierce anger—
to make the land desolate
and destroy the sinners within it.
10 The stars of heaven and their constellations
will not show their light.
The rising sun will be darkened
and the moon will not give its light.
11 I will punish the world for its evil,
the wicked for their sins.
I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty
and will humble the pride of the ruthless.

(see also Joel 2:31; Amos 5:18-20; Zeph. 1:14-15)

Significantly, Mark himself quotes from these verses two chapters earlier, in Mark 13:24-25. The meaning of the darkness at the cross therefore seems unambiguous. God was angry. But angry with whom? … the juxtaposition of the darkness with Jesus’ cry of abandonment suggests that [this is the primary meaning]: God’s judgment was falling on his Son as he died as a substitute, bearing the sins of his people.

So we have exegetical reason for saying that “that the Father’s wrath and complete punishment for that sin was poured out on Christ.”

In a footnote, the authors say, “Some have attempted to evade this conclusion by suggesting that Jesus’ quote from Ps. 22:1 was not intended to describe the experience of God-forsakenness; rather his intention in speaking these words was to call to mind the whole psalm, particularly its concluding note of victory. But as Stott comments, this seems ‘far-fetched. Why should Jesus have quoted from the psalm’s beginning if in reality he was alluding to its end? … Would anybody have understood his purpose?’ (Stott, Cross of Christ, p. 81. For further discussion see pp. 78-82).”

“Others object to the idea that Jesus was forsaken by his Father because they fear this might entail a sundering of the Trinity. Certainly, care is needed here, and a theologically nuanced exposition would need to avoid suggesting that God the Father was no longer ‘there’ at Calvary (even in hell God is not absent in every sense…). Rather, the language of ‘abandonment’ or ‘forsakennes’ is a metaphorical way of referring to divine judgment.” For this also see the selection from John Frame posted in my previous comment.

Continuing with the authors:
Mark presents one final piece of evidence. On the Mount of Olives just before his arrest, Jesus predicted that his disciples would shortly desert him:

“You will all fall away,” Jesus told them, “for it is written:
“‘I will strike the shepherd,
and the sheep will be scattered.’ (Mark 14:27)

The remarkable thing about the text in Zechariah 13:7 from which Jesus quotes is that God is the agent of the shepherd’s suffering. Jesus is categorical: the afflictions that lie ahead of him, in consequence of which his disciples will desert him, come from his Father’s hand.

Summary
The cup Jesus must drink, the darkness at noon, the cry of dereliction, and Jesus’ own prediction that he will be handed over to the Gentiles all testify that at the cross he suffers God’s wrath. Why is this? He dies as our substitute, paying the ransom price of his death for our life. Thus Mark’s Gospel teaches penal substitution (pgs 71-73).
Finally, Alan Strange in comment #38 affirms from the WLC the Reformed doctrine of Christology.

Bryan is questioning how “Chalcedonian Christology” is compatible with the Reformed doctrine of the Atonement. Roman Catholics are fond of pointing out “mystery”. Here is a genuine Scriptural mystery. And we are beholden to Scripture. Yes, God’s wrath is poured out on the person, Jesus Christ, on the cross. Yet the Trinity is not in any way “broken down”, as he suggests. Nor is there anything wrong with Reformed Christology. Rather, it is Bryan Cross’s nonsensical questions that need to be adjusted.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Is The Shroud Of Turin Demonic?

What's below is something I posted on TurretinFan's blog. It's applicable to contexts other than the Shroud of Turin as well. I'm responding to TurretinFan's comments to the effect that the Shroud, if supernaturally produced, could come from some supernatural source other than God:

Catholic v. Catholic

http://www.sspx.org/news/our_first_cherished.htm

Is long hair shameful?



TFan has taken issue with Jason Engwer’s miniseries on the Shroud of Turin. I myself don’t have a dog in this fight. I haven’t kept up with current developments in the ongoing debate over the authenticity of the Shroud. I don’t have an informed opinion to offer on the Shroud, one way or the other.

That said, I’ll comment on one of TFan’s objections:

Moreover, the longhaired person depicted in the shroud does not correspond well with Paul's comment about nature teaching that is a shame for men to have long hair, though it accords well with medieval European iconography.

This raises several issues:

i) It’s ironic that TFan contradicts Calvin's interpretation of 1 Cor 11:14:

Doth not even nature itself. He again sets forth nature as the mistress of decorum, and what was at that time in common use by universal consent and custom — even among the Greeks — he speaks of as being natural, for it was not always reckoned a disgrace for men to have long hair. Historical records bear, that in all countries in ancient times, that is, in the first ages, men wore long hair. Hence also the poets, in speaking of the ancients, are accustomed to apply to them the common epithet of unshorn. It was not until a late period that barbers began to be employed at Rome — about the time of Africanus the elder. And at the time when Paul wrote these things, the practice of having the hair shorn had not yet come into use in the provinces of Gaul or in Germany. Nay more, it would have been reckoned an unseemly thing for men, no less than for women, to be shorn or shaven; but as in Greece it was reckoned all unbecoming thing for a man to allow his hair to grow long, so that those who did so were remarked as effeminate, he reckons as nature a custom that had come to be confirmed.



Of course, Calvin is not infallible. His commentaries are dated. Still, in my experience it’s unusual for TFan to take issue with Calvin.

ii) Turning to recent commentaries, here's something from Thiselton's standard commentary on the Greek text of 1 Cor:

In Paul's sense of the term, "natural" need not refer to a structure inherent in creation but may include "the state of affairs surrounding a convention"...Unless we take fully into account "the ambivalence of 'natural,'" we shall find insoluble problems with such historical counterexamples as the custom of Spartan warriors wearing shoulder-length hair (844).
Depending on the context of thought Paul may use he phusis sometimes to denote the very "grain" of the created order as a whole, or at other times (as here) to denote "how things are" in more situational or societal terms (845).

On that interpretation, Paul is simply referring to the social customs or social mores of that time and place, not what's intrinsically right or wrong. A matter of social decorum.

In his commentary on 1 Cor, Fitzmyer says: 

If Paul means only custom or usual practice, he may be appealing to Roman custom, where short-cropped male hair was usual, but Greek custom was not so uniform or well established (420).

I think it highly unlikely that Paul would make Roman hair style an absolute standard for Jews. After all, Romans were pagans who subjugated the Jews. They were the enemy. The oppressor. The idolater. Hardly a model of morality or piety. 

Seems more likely that Paul's policy statement is adapted to the situation in Roman Corinth, where members of the Corinthian church need to be sensitive to the cultural sensibilities of their immediate surroundings.

iii) A more serious problem with TFan's position is that if men with long hair is inherently shameful, then that contradicts the Nazirite vocation in Num 6:5:

All the days of his vow of separation, no razor shall touch his head. Until the time is completed for which he separates himself to the Lord, he shall be holy. He shall let the locks of hair of his head grow long.
Cf. Judg 16:17; 1 Sam 1:11.

iv) Moreover, TFan implicitly makes Paul a hypocrite, for Paul himself took a Nazirite vow (Acts 18:18). In that event, his statement in 1 Cor 11:14 is self-incriminating–if we accept TFan's interpretation.

At this rate, TFan may need several gallons of turpentine to escape from the corner he's painted himself into (vis-à-vis long hair).