Showing posts with label Dave Armstrong. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dave Armstrong. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Sunday, November 09, 2014
Lydia McGrew wallops Dave Armstrong
Lydia McGrew said...
Thanks, Dave, for your response.
Part of the difficulty here, which is almost certainly going to preclude agreement, is the very fact that I am not definitely saying that prayers to the dead saints are idolatrous. This may seem ironic, but my point is it that it is the very "fuzziness" and hence relative mildness of my critique that makes it both difficult for you to refute it decisively and also difficult for me to convince you of its justice. If I were saying that speaking to dead saints is intrinsically, by its very nature, idolatrous, then I could be refuted, and we'd be done. I could write that refutation myself, in fact. It is because I am using terms like "uncomfortably" or "too much like" and so forth that it is difficult to find common ground for disagreement–because there is an ineliminable element of subjectivism in these evaluations. When is a practice, for us human beings as we really are, dangerously psychologically too much like praying to God to be theologically wise? When does that practice, for us human beings as we really are, create the wrong kind of "space" between ourselves and God himself, replacing the closeness to and confident and frequent intercourse we should have with God with greater closeness to other Invisible Personages treated as intermediaries? When does this practice encourage too much of a psychological sense that we are not important enough to God?
I could talk about the very analogies used. Look at your own analogy of levels of bosses and asking an intermediate-level boss to get a raise for us. Is that how we should think of God and our relationship to him? In all honesty, I'm a little shocked by that analogy. Jesus definitely told the disciples, in the very context of prayer, that "the Father himself loveth you" (John 16:27). And the author of Hebrews (Hebrews 4:16) tells us to come boldly to the throne of grace and emphasizes throughout the book that, the old covenant being at an end, we need no human intermediary other than the Lord Jesus himself. These verses and others (the Lord's prayer itself, for example) encourage believers to strive for a directness and intimacy in their relationship with God that is, to my mind, miles away from the analogy of asking one boss to get a raise for you from a higher-up boss or asking a guy's mother (who has Influence with him) to make your request for you.
When I say "intimacy" I do not mean at all to preclude awe or to encourage casualness and flippancy in our relationship with God. But I do mean intimacy, as a loving son has with his father with whom he has a respectful but close relationship. I think that the father would be rightly hurt if a son said that he asked his brother to make a request on his behalf because he thought the brother a favorite and wanted the brother to help him by "getting it for him."
But again, you are likely simply to say that you do not agree that the analogies used or the practice as you engage in it or as your friends engage in it encourages a wrong kind of distance from God or a replacement of intimacy and closeness with God with intimacy with the saints who seem nearer to ourselves. And that statement is hard to refute from my side. Indeed, at that point it would not be clear whether we disagree about what degree of intimacy one _should_ have with God or whether we disagree instead about whether prayers to the saints endanger that degree of intimacy!
So in some ways you are likely to feel that you are responding to a frustratingly subjective target, and that is just in the nature of the case, given the type of criticism I am making.
I can say this much, because this lies within my own personal experience: During the times when I have been most sympathetic to prayers to the saints, I have found that sympathy and inclination *actually to be* a distraction from what I now regard as my proper personal relationship with God.
More later.
Part of the difficulty here, which is almost certainly going to preclude agreement, is the very fact that I am not definitely saying that prayers to the dead saints are idolatrous. This may seem ironic, but my point is it that it is the very "fuzziness" and hence relative mildness of my critique that makes it both difficult for you to refute it decisively and also difficult for me to convince you of its justice. If I were saying that speaking to dead saints is intrinsically, by its very nature, idolatrous, then I could be refuted, and we'd be done. I could write that refutation myself, in fact. It is because I am using terms like "uncomfortably" or "too much like" and so forth that it is difficult to find common ground for disagreement–because there is an ineliminable element of subjectivism in these evaluations. When is a practice, for us human beings as we really are, dangerously psychologically too much like praying to God to be theologically wise? When does that practice, for us human beings as we really are, create the wrong kind of "space" between ourselves and God himself, replacing the closeness to and confident and frequent intercourse we should have with God with greater closeness to other Invisible Personages treated as intermediaries? When does this practice encourage too much of a psychological sense that we are not important enough to God?
I could talk about the very analogies used. Look at your own analogy of levels of bosses and asking an intermediate-level boss to get a raise for us. Is that how we should think of God and our relationship to him? In all honesty, I'm a little shocked by that analogy. Jesus definitely told the disciples, in the very context of prayer, that "the Father himself loveth you" (John 16:27). And the author of Hebrews (Hebrews 4:16) tells us to come boldly to the throne of grace and emphasizes throughout the book that, the old covenant being at an end, we need no human intermediary other than the Lord Jesus himself. These verses and others (the Lord's prayer itself, for example) encourage believers to strive for a directness and intimacy in their relationship with God that is, to my mind, miles away from the analogy of asking one boss to get a raise for you from a higher-up boss or asking a guy's mother (who has Influence with him) to make your request for you.
When I say "intimacy" I do not mean at all to preclude awe or to encourage casualness and flippancy in our relationship with God. But I do mean intimacy, as a loving son has with his father with whom he has a respectful but close relationship. I think that the father would be rightly hurt if a son said that he asked his brother to make a request on his behalf because he thought the brother a favorite and wanted the brother to help him by "getting it for him."
But again, you are likely simply to say that you do not agree that the analogies used or the practice as you engage in it or as your friends engage in it encourages a wrong kind of distance from God or a replacement of intimacy and closeness with God with intimacy with the saints who seem nearer to ourselves. And that statement is hard to refute from my side. Indeed, at that point it would not be clear whether we disagree about what degree of intimacy one _should_ have with God or whether we disagree instead about whether prayers to the saints endanger that degree of intimacy!
So in some ways you are likely to feel that you are responding to a frustratingly subjective target, and that is just in the nature of the case, given the type of criticism I am making.
I can say this much, because this lies within my own personal experience: During the times when I have been most sympathetic to prayers to the saints, I have found that sympathy and inclination *actually to be* a distraction from what I now regard as my proper personal relationship with God.
More later.
Lydia McGrew said...
Perhaps it will be helpful for me to add: If I asked a dear, godly friend here on earth to pray for me about something, first, I would _always_ also pray for it myself. That isn't the case in the analogy of the boss or of asking the guy's mother to act as a go-between. The whole point of the request to the intermediary in those analogies is that that person is asking _for_ you, _instead_ of your asking yourself. That, to my mind, is part of the danger of the analogies. Second, if I asked a dear, godly, living friend to pray,and what I asked for came to pass, I would _never_ say to that person, "Hey, you prayed for x for me, and you got it for me." I would regard that as theologically very misguided and indeed verging on superstition. I would, hopefully, remember to _thank_ the person for praying (if I knew he had prayed) and give him an update on what happened, but it would seem to me disrespectful to everyone involved--both to the friend and to God--to high-five the friend and say, "Hey, you got it for me!" The whole attitude one would have to the intermediate-level boss after getting the raise would be inappropriate to have toward a friend who prayed for you--as though one could "wangle" God into doing something by sending him the right person to ask!
Interestingly, I doubt that most Catholics would talk that way to or about an earthly friend, either, even one they respected greatly and asked to pray for them. But after a person dies and is declared a saint, suddenly these analogies of intermediate bosses and the like and "helping you by getting it for you" seem appropriate in a way that they didn't for even extremely godly living people.
Of course, I could be wrong about that last paragraph. Maybe some Catholics _do_ talk that way about living people they regard as saintly. But I think they shouldn't.
Interestingly, I doubt that most Catholics would talk that way to or about an earthly friend, either, even one they respected greatly and asked to pray for them. But after a person dies and is declared a saint, suddenly these analogies of intermediate bosses and the like and "helping you by getting it for you" seem appropriate in a way that they didn't for even extremely godly living people.
Of course, I could be wrong about that last paragraph. Maybe some Catholics _do_ talk that way about living people they regard as saintly. But I think they shouldn't.
Lydia McGrew said...
Here is another example of one of those problems of subjectivism that will bedevil this discussion: You insist that every reference in standard Catholic prayers to the saints to their helping us and our flying to them for refuge or going to them for help (and these do not only occur in prayers to Mary, by the way) must be interpreted as merely a request for their prayers. But, to my mind, it gives _far_ too demigod-like a status to any human beings to speak of them as supernaturally helping us in the terms that are used for the saints, and it *simply does not at all sound like* asking for their prayers alone. Not even remotely. You dismiss this by saying that it is merely "not pausing every two seconds" to state that one is asking for help by way of prayer. Rhetorically speaking, I think this is _far_ too dismissive. It isn't *at all* like asking for prayer. It's like asking for supernatural, individual, personal help.
Look: If a human being literally pulls you out of a burning car, there is a sense in which he is helping you within the order of grace, doing so by the power God has given by creating his arms and so forth. There is a sense in which nothing is done strictly _apart from_ God. But we also quite naturally say that he helped you. To my ear, the vast majority of the language used in prayers to the saints sounds much more like asking someone to pull you out of a burning car than like asking him to pray for you. And I think it is theologically inappropriate to speak of someone's _prayers_ with this kind of language, whether the person happens to be living or dead.
Let me explain a little more what I mean by "quasi-omniscience." Perhaps a numerical analogy will help: Consider saying, "Infinitely great" and saying, "Indefinitely great." These two are not the same, it is true. However, *in practice*, if any number one can choose is contained in the latter set, then saying that the latter set is not infinitely large may make very little difference to practical applications.
So, here. One can say that the saints are not considered omniscient in Catholic theology. I accept that. However, for any particular problem I might have, if I'm Catholic or very high Anglican, I'm supposed to consider that I can talk to a saint about it, and he'll know the situation. For any words I might speak in my head, intended as reaching out to a saint and asking for his "help" (which you gloss as merely asking him to pray for me), he will know that I am saying them–he will hear me. For any problem of world politics, or whatever it might be, I'm supposed to be able to take it as a given that the saints know about it, know that I'm calling out to them about it (even silently), and can pray intelligently to God about it.
That is what I mean by quasi-omniscience. Within human life, we have an idea of the _limits_ of the knowledge of other people. We have some idea of whether our friend Jeff knows or doesn't know about some problem or issue. And we _certainly_ don't expect to be able to communicate with him whenever we feel like it by thinking in his direction! _Those_ powers–of knowing all about anything we might need or want to ask for help for from God and hearing our thoughts or our words spoken in private–are otherwise ascribed only to God. Yet in the normal practice of prayers to the saints, we are supposed to ascribe them to the saints as well. That is what I am calling "quasi-omniscience." It is knowledge of at least human affairs, problems, thoughts, and words without functional upper bound.
It is, of course, quite plausible that you will say, "So what?" and that again we will be up against the ineliminable element of what is theologically "too much" like God to be theologically appropriate to assume without _very_ strong evidence. But that is at least a further explanation of what I have in mind.
Look: If a human being literally pulls you out of a burning car, there is a sense in which he is helping you within the order of grace, doing so by the power God has given by creating his arms and so forth. There is a sense in which nothing is done strictly _apart from_ God. But we also quite naturally say that he helped you. To my ear, the vast majority of the language used in prayers to the saints sounds much more like asking someone to pull you out of a burning car than like asking him to pray for you. And I think it is theologically inappropriate to speak of someone's _prayers_ with this kind of language, whether the person happens to be living or dead.
Let me explain a little more what I mean by "quasi-omniscience." Perhaps a numerical analogy will help: Consider saying, "Infinitely great" and saying, "Indefinitely great." These two are not the same, it is true. However, *in practice*, if any number one can choose is contained in the latter set, then saying that the latter set is not infinitely large may make very little difference to practical applications.
So, here. One can say that the saints are not considered omniscient in Catholic theology. I accept that. However, for any particular problem I might have, if I'm Catholic or very high Anglican, I'm supposed to consider that I can talk to a saint about it, and he'll know the situation. For any words I might speak in my head, intended as reaching out to a saint and asking for his "help" (which you gloss as merely asking him to pray for me), he will know that I am saying them–he will hear me. For any problem of world politics, or whatever it might be, I'm supposed to be able to take it as a given that the saints know about it, know that I'm calling out to them about it (even silently), and can pray intelligently to God about it.
That is what I mean by quasi-omniscience. Within human life, we have an idea of the _limits_ of the knowledge of other people. We have some idea of whether our friend Jeff knows or doesn't know about some problem or issue. And we _certainly_ don't expect to be able to communicate with him whenever we feel like it by thinking in his direction! _Those_ powers–of knowing all about anything we might need or want to ask for help for from God and hearing our thoughts or our words spoken in private–are otherwise ascribed only to God. Yet in the normal practice of prayers to the saints, we are supposed to ascribe them to the saints as well. That is what I am calling "quasi-omniscience." It is knowledge of at least human affairs, problems, thoughts, and words without functional upper bound.
It is, of course, quite plausible that you will say, "So what?" and that again we will be up against the ineliminable element of what is theologically "too much" like God to be theologically appropriate to assume without _very_ strong evidence. But that is at least a further explanation of what I have in mind.
Lydia McGrew said...
My previous explanation of what I meant by "quasi-omniscience" will also help to explain why I don't consider the biblical support that you bring to be at all sufficient. The position in question concerning the saints' knowledge is an _extremely_ strong one. If it were not that strong, anyone asking for the saints' help/prayers would have to wonder every time, "Hmm, I wonder if St. Joseph can hear me this time" or "I wonder if St. Agnes has clue #1 what I'm even talking about. Do I need to give her way more backstory?"
Considering the strongness of the degree of knowledge being attributed to the saints, I think that the scriptural supports you allege are far too weak to uphold it. Believe me, for many years, perhaps a decade or more, I used the verse in Hebrews about the great cloud of witnesses in exactly that way. I think it's the best biblical argument. But can so brief and inexplicit a reference, partly to witnesses to the existence of God (as you note) and possibly also to spectators at a sporting event, support _that_ level of ascription of knowledge, including knowledge of our private prayers? I have come to conclude that that evidence is far too weak for that strong of a conclusion. Even if I were convinced beyond all shadow of a doubt that the author of Hebrews meant the analogy to spectators at a sporting event, I would not consider that verse sufficient to support that strong of a conclusion and a practice that I consider theologically dangerous for a variety of reasons.
To the other verses: The argument that if we shall judge angels, we should take it that those in the afterlife probably have knowledge akin to that of the angels seems to me rather weak. At what point they or we will judge angels, which angels will be judged, what knowledge will be given us or them for that purpose, we are nowhere told. I simply consider it a non sequitur that right now, the blessed dead probably have the knowledge that the blessed angels have because at some point they will judge (at least some) angels. The "rejoicing in heaven" verse may apply to angels alone or it may mean that God informs the blessed dead when a sinner repents for a special "shoutin' time" (to name a wonderful gospel song based on that verse). To use it to support a _general_ knowledge by the blessed dead of the events on earth, our struggles, and our attempted prayers to them, seems to me, again, simply to stretch the verse much farther than it will go.
I agree with you that Rev. 6:9ff is an imprecatory prayer. Yet in your later argument you say that it portrays the martyrs "praying for us in heaven." Well, no, it just doesn't. Rev. 6:9ff portrays them as praying against the wicked, for God's judgement to fall on them, to avenge the blood of those very saints who are praying! No doubt, if God slays the wicked, that may or will help many good people on earth. (Of course, if God wipes out a city or something, that might slay a lot of good people at the same time, so the inference is only approximate!) But this verse does not picture anything *even remotely* like praying for us and our problems, much less hearing us and praying because we asked them to. If one insists on taking this verse with strict literalness, it sounds like almost a rather "selfish" prayer–it portrays these particular martyrs as knowing that their deaths have not yet been avenged on the ungodly that dwell on the earth and asking God to get on with it! The most that one can say is that this shows them as having *some* (negative) knowledge of events on the earth, but that's the most it shows.
Considering the strongness of the degree of knowledge being attributed to the saints, I think that the scriptural supports you allege are far too weak to uphold it. Believe me, for many years, perhaps a decade or more, I used the verse in Hebrews about the great cloud of witnesses in exactly that way. I think it's the best biblical argument. But can so brief and inexplicit a reference, partly to witnesses to the existence of God (as you note) and possibly also to spectators at a sporting event, support _that_ level of ascription of knowledge, including knowledge of our private prayers? I have come to conclude that that evidence is far too weak for that strong of a conclusion. Even if I were convinced beyond all shadow of a doubt that the author of Hebrews meant the analogy to spectators at a sporting event, I would not consider that verse sufficient to support that strong of a conclusion and a practice that I consider theologically dangerous for a variety of reasons.
To the other verses: The argument that if we shall judge angels, we should take it that those in the afterlife probably have knowledge akin to that of the angels seems to me rather weak. At what point they or we will judge angels, which angels will be judged, what knowledge will be given us or them for that purpose, we are nowhere told. I simply consider it a non sequitur that right now, the blessed dead probably have the knowledge that the blessed angels have because at some point they will judge (at least some) angels. The "rejoicing in heaven" verse may apply to angels alone or it may mean that God informs the blessed dead when a sinner repents for a special "shoutin' time" (to name a wonderful gospel song based on that verse). To use it to support a _general_ knowledge by the blessed dead of the events on earth, our struggles, and our attempted prayers to them, seems to me, again, simply to stretch the verse much farther than it will go.
I agree with you that Rev. 6:9ff is an imprecatory prayer. Yet in your later argument you say that it portrays the martyrs "praying for us in heaven." Well, no, it just doesn't. Rev. 6:9ff portrays them as praying against the wicked, for God's judgement to fall on them, to avenge the blood of those very saints who are praying! No doubt, if God slays the wicked, that may or will help many good people on earth. (Of course, if God wipes out a city or something, that might slay a lot of good people at the same time, so the inference is only approximate!) But this verse does not picture anything *even remotely* like praying for us and our problems, much less hearing us and praying because we asked them to. If one insists on taking this verse with strict literalness, it sounds like almost a rather "selfish" prayer–it portrays these particular martyrs as knowing that their deaths have not yet been avenged on the ungodly that dwell on the earth and asking God to get on with it! The most that one can say is that this shows them as having *some* (negative) knowledge of events on the earth, but that's the most it shows.
Lydia McGrew said...
You mention two verses in Revelation that mention the prayers of the saints as being contained in something (vials of odours, Rev. 5:8) or rising as incense out of an angel's hands (Rev. 8:4). I am puzzled as to exactly what the argument is supposed to be that this supports prayers to the saints of the high Anglican or Catholic kind. The word for saints is "hagion" in both of these places and means "holy ones." There are holy ones both on earth and in heaven. There is no reason whatsoever to think of "the prayers of the saints" in these verses to have any _special_ reference to the holy ones in heaven. To think so would be to commit a specifically Catholic or Anglo-Catholic type of anachronism–hearing the phrase "the saints" in the specialized sense it has taken on. If one gets rid of that specialized sense, then these are "the prayers of the holy ones." Some holy ones. Perhaps _all_ of the holy ones, both on earth and in heaven. Well and good. But why think that the prayers of the holy ones in heaven concern specific and on-going knowledge of our current affairs, requested by us on an on-going basis? These verses tell us only that holy ones *do pray*, which we never doubted, and that God values their prayers. It may well include the holy ones in heaven as well as on earth. I am not trying to exclude them from the set of "holy ones" referred to. But these verses simply don't support the idea that the saints know of and pray for our on-going struggles.
As you know from my post, I consider it possible and even plausible that those who have actually known us and loved us (who will usually be humble dead people who were never canonized) may indeed pray for us after death! I find that a wonderful and good thought. But that is, I'm afraid, quite different from our being able to talk to them and their being able to watch a kind of heavenly livestream and pray to God at our request for what is happening to us right now.
I used to spend quite a bit of time searching for biblical evidence for the regular practice of prayers to the saints. You have brought up some verses that I had not previously heard used to support that practice, but I simply don't think that the argument succeeds, largely because the claim to be supported is so strong.
As you know from my post, I consider it possible and even plausible that those who have actually known us and loved us (who will usually be humble dead people who were never canonized) may indeed pray for us after death! I find that a wonderful and good thought. But that is, I'm afraid, quite different from our being able to talk to them and their being able to watch a kind of heavenly livestream and pray to God at our request for what is happening to us right now.
I used to spend quite a bit of time searching for biblical evidence for the regular practice of prayers to the saints. You have brought up some verses that I had not previously heard used to support that practice, but I simply don't think that the argument succeeds, largely because the claim to be supported is so strong.
Sun Nov 09, 10:32:00 PM EST
Lydia McGrew said...
One point that occurs to me is that if idolatry creeps into a Christian group or into the life of a Christian (or Jew, for that matter), it will do so in some way that _can_ be explained away. In fact, in the very nature of the case, idolatry is the kind of thing that comes in degrees. We do admire people, so it's a question of when admiration "turns into" idolatry, and this will have fuzzy lines.
Also, if one is theologically clever, one can explain away almost anything. If I knelt down in front of a picture of Ronald Reagan every day and called him "Lord," or even used the word "God" in addressing him, I could construct an explanation that I am praying to "God as manifested in his servant" or something like that.
And I certainly could pray, "Oh, holy Ronald, help us and protect us in all our dangers. We are yours. Lead us and guide us," and be doing nothing more than what can be found in Catholic prayers to and references to the saints.
So when is a line crossed?
I think it is theologically healthy to recognize a category of "closeness" to idolatry rather than simply exercising ingenuity to justify a practice by explaining away the various appearances that seem problematic.
Also, if one is theologically clever, one can explain away almost anything. If I knelt down in front of a picture of Ronald Reagan every day and called him "Lord," or even used the word "God" in addressing him, I could construct an explanation that I am praying to "God as manifested in his servant" or something like that.
And I certainly could pray, "Oh, holy Ronald, help us and protect us in all our dangers. We are yours. Lead us and guide us," and be doing nothing more than what can be found in Catholic prayers to and references to the saints.
So when is a line crossed?
I think it is theologically healthy to recognize a category of "closeness" to idolatry rather than simply exercising ingenuity to justify a practice by explaining away the various appearances that seem problematic.
Mon Nov 10, 09:44:00 AM EST
Lydia McGrew said...
Hmmm, I'm surprised that you think you have documented your position "massively" in Scripture. Isn't that a rather strong statement, considering the strength of the position? Massively?
For example, consider the verses in James. I'm rather intrigued by the fact that you seem to think that those verses do teach that we should go to those intermediaries (e.g., the elders of the church) *rather than* praying on our own behalf. I would call this a type of biting the bullet.
Biting the bullet is always interesting. I would say that this demonstrates that our disagreement comes at the level of what degree of intimacy *should* obtain between Christians and God. (You'll recall that I speculated above that it might be hard to tell if we disagree there or elsewhere.) Now, I would instead say that the verses in James of course mean something, and that they do mean that we should ask other people to pray for us, and that they do attribute some degree of special effectiveness to the prayer of a righteous man, but that they *absolutely do not mean* that we should ask the righteous man to pray for us *instead of* praying for ourselves. In fact, when James says that "the prayer of faith will heal the sick," it is very natural to read that to mean, inter alia, the sick man's own prayer. Not _only_ the prayer of the elders who come.
Or consider your additional verses. Why in the world would anyone take the knowledge in those verses to mean or even to include knowledge of events going on on earth, knowledge of people's trying to talk to you by ESP, and so forth? I cannot imagine. The verses are quite explicitly and clearly talking about *theological* knowledge--knowledge of the character of God, the love of God, etc. It's almost downgrading the almost mystical and high-level theological knowledge in question there by turning it into a knowledge about events concerning people alive on earth.
Consider: In the verses from Ephesians, Paul *clearly* isn't talking about his or the Ephesians' knowledge of mundane events. He is clearly not saying that Christians here on earth obtain ESP about events hundreds of miles away and/or the ability to communicate with each other by long-distance mind-meld. So why think, using those verses, that that is what it amounts to when someone dies? Or that that is even part of what a person obtains when he dies?
I mean, that's just not anything like massive biblical support. Massive biblical support is like what we have for the deity of Jesus Christ or the wrongness of homosexuality. This isn't even close.
For example, consider the verses in James. I'm rather intrigued by the fact that you seem to think that those verses do teach that we should go to those intermediaries (e.g., the elders of the church) *rather than* praying on our own behalf. I would call this a type of biting the bullet.
Biting the bullet is always interesting. I would say that this demonstrates that our disagreement comes at the level of what degree of intimacy *should* obtain between Christians and God. (You'll recall that I speculated above that it might be hard to tell if we disagree there or elsewhere.) Now, I would instead say that the verses in James of course mean something, and that they do mean that we should ask other people to pray for us, and that they do attribute some degree of special effectiveness to the prayer of a righteous man, but that they *absolutely do not mean* that we should ask the righteous man to pray for us *instead of* praying for ourselves. In fact, when James says that "the prayer of faith will heal the sick," it is very natural to read that to mean, inter alia, the sick man's own prayer. Not _only_ the prayer of the elders who come.
Or consider your additional verses. Why in the world would anyone take the knowledge in those verses to mean or even to include knowledge of events going on on earth, knowledge of people's trying to talk to you by ESP, and so forth? I cannot imagine. The verses are quite explicitly and clearly talking about *theological* knowledge--knowledge of the character of God, the love of God, etc. It's almost downgrading the almost mystical and high-level theological knowledge in question there by turning it into a knowledge about events concerning people alive on earth.
Consider: In the verses from Ephesians, Paul *clearly* isn't talking about his or the Ephesians' knowledge of mundane events. He is clearly not saying that Christians here on earth obtain ESP about events hundreds of miles away and/or the ability to communicate with each other by long-distance mind-meld. So why think, using those verses, that that is what it amounts to when someone dies? Or that that is even part of what a person obtains when he dies?
I mean, that's just not anything like massive biblical support. Massive biblical support is like what we have for the deity of Jesus Christ or the wrongness of homosexuality. This isn't even close.
Lydia McGrew said...
For the record, I do _comprehend_ what you are saying about its all being "one big thing" and there being "no dichotomy" between seeking the intercession of the saints and praying to God directly. I just flatly disagree that there is no distinction. And yes, it makes a big difference as to whether we are talking about our communication with God or God's communication with us, so I think your attempt to reverse the process and say that prophetic utterances don't really count as "the word of the Lord" is a poor one. We are not God. It makes a big difference *to us* whether we are talking directly to God or not, or what kind or how many intermediaries we have. That is precisely why the author of Hebrews makes such a big deal about Jesus as the only intermediary. (Paul in I Timothy as well.) And that is why Jesus encourages the disciples to pray to the Father directly because "the Father himself loves you." God knows how our human psyche works, and he knows how it changes things for us to be talking to him directly vs. sending a message through someone else. I watch Catholics, educated Catholics, brilliant Catholics, well-catechized Catholics. I have among my Internet friends probably some of the most knowledgeable Catholics around. And, I'm sorry to have to come out and say this, but in my opinion the piety connected with the saints and the attempt to say that it's "all just one big thing" to talk to the saints as opposed to talking directly to God has a bad effect upon the concept of the relationship with God even of the best-educated Catholic.
I think this is illustrated in your own case in your actually biting the bullet and suggesting that we are _gaining_ something spiritually if we sometimes or often _refrain_ from talking to God directly and "talk to God" only through an intermediary instead. You will say as a throwaway line, "Of course you can go to God any time you want to directly," but several of your more recent comments actually clearly encourage not doing so. You even bit the bullet on my father-son analogy, suggesting that there would be nothing problematic in the less-favorite son asking the more-favorite son to go to the father in his stead.
Wow. I mean, to my mind that's really mistaken theology. No Christian should be thinking that another Christian is a favorite with God and for that reason _refraining_ from praying to God directly himself, asking the favorite to go instead. It's massively unconvincing to argue for that practice and then to say, "Hey, this is really all the same. It's all one big thing. It's really the same as talking to God directly."
Well, no, it isn't. There are clearly different propositional beliefs involved--such as, for example, that it's in some cases actually *better* to go to God through the intermediary saint than to go oneself.
I think this is illustrated in your own case in your actually biting the bullet and suggesting that we are _gaining_ something spiritually if we sometimes or often _refrain_ from talking to God directly and "talk to God" only through an intermediary instead. You will say as a throwaway line, "Of course you can go to God any time you want to directly," but several of your more recent comments actually clearly encourage not doing so. You even bit the bullet on my father-son analogy, suggesting that there would be nothing problematic in the less-favorite son asking the more-favorite son to go to the father in his stead.
Wow. I mean, to my mind that's really mistaken theology. No Christian should be thinking that another Christian is a favorite with God and for that reason _refraining_ from praying to God directly himself, asking the favorite to go instead. It's massively unconvincing to argue for that practice and then to say, "Hey, this is really all the same. It's all one big thing. It's really the same as talking to God directly."
Well, no, it isn't. There are clearly different propositional beliefs involved--such as, for example, that it's in some cases actually *better* to go to God through the intermediary saint than to go oneself.
Lydia McGrew said...
"Your most recent comment is based on the premise that merit and differential holiness and grace either don't exist or are insignificant factors."
No, I just don't think that they have _this_ significance--namely, that it is ever "better" (in your words, which I will quote at more length below) to go to someone more holy and ask him to act as intermediary for me than to pray directly to God.
Nor do I think that differences in holiness have generally the significance that dead people should be presumed to be able to hear our requests, know our state, and pray for us on that basis. Why think a thing like that? A person can be far, far more holy than I am and be enjoying the beatific vision, there can be differences in blessedness in the ultimate state in heaven, all kinds of implications of differences among Christians, without that implying anything about the prayers of the saints. Differences in holiness and grace probably should influence my seeking out living companions and advisers here on earth. There are lots of implications, but prayers to the saints just aren't automatically included.
Now, you seem to be saying that I misunderstood you concerning praying to the saints in some cases instead of praying oneself. I'm sorry if I misunderstood you, but I took it from this. First, I gave the father/son analogy. Here's me:
"I think that the father would be rightly hurt if a son said that he asked his brother to make a request on his behalf because he thought the brother a favorite and wanted the brother to help him by 'getting it for him.'"
That was a follow-up to your boss-higher boss analogy. You responded:
"Then you have not understood differential grace and merit in Scripture and tradition. This is not surprising, since most Protestants are taught to deny both (quite biblical) things. You also have to deny the bald fact of passages such as the one I already gave you:
James 5:14 Is any among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord;
So now God would be offended because He spoke an inspired word in His revelation through James, that it is better to ask a Church elder to pray for a sickness than to go "direct to Him"?"
You see how that lends itself to that interpretation? You appear to be saying that God is telling us, and that you believe, that it is at least sometimes _better_ to go to an intermediary than to go directly to God.
No, I just don't think that they have _this_ significance--namely, that it is ever "better" (in your words, which I will quote at more length below) to go to someone more holy and ask him to act as intermediary for me than to pray directly to God.
Nor do I think that differences in holiness have generally the significance that dead people should be presumed to be able to hear our requests, know our state, and pray for us on that basis. Why think a thing like that? A person can be far, far more holy than I am and be enjoying the beatific vision, there can be differences in blessedness in the ultimate state in heaven, all kinds of implications of differences among Christians, without that implying anything about the prayers of the saints. Differences in holiness and grace probably should influence my seeking out living companions and advisers here on earth. There are lots of implications, but prayers to the saints just aren't automatically included.
Now, you seem to be saying that I misunderstood you concerning praying to the saints in some cases instead of praying oneself. I'm sorry if I misunderstood you, but I took it from this. First, I gave the father/son analogy. Here's me:
"I think that the father would be rightly hurt if a son said that he asked his brother to make a request on his behalf because he thought the brother a favorite and wanted the brother to help him by 'getting it for him.'"
That was a follow-up to your boss-higher boss analogy. You responded:
"Then you have not understood differential grace and merit in Scripture and tradition. This is not surprising, since most Protestants are taught to deny both (quite biblical) things. You also have to deny the bald fact of passages such as the one I already gave you:
James 5:14 Is any among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord;
So now God would be offended because He spoke an inspired word in His revelation through James, that it is better to ask a Church elder to pray for a sickness than to go "direct to Him"?"
You see how that lends itself to that interpretation? You appear to be saying that God is telling us, and that you believe, that it is at least sometimes _better_ to go to an intermediary than to go directly to God.
Lydia McGrew said...
Similarly, here. I pointed out that, when we ask someone else to intercede for us, we usually do this _instead_ of making the request directly, not in addition to it. You seemed to concede that point:
"In one sense he is, in another (I say, the more essential aspect) he isn't. If I ask something of someone through an intermediary, it doesn't cease to be (ultimately or essentially a request from me. It's still my request and only secondarily the intermediary's request, as a go-between, or messenger between myself and the ultimate goal (in the analogy, God)."
So rather than saying, "Oh, no, no, I think you should _also_ pray yourself and just ask the saints to supplement your prayers by their intercession," you said, consistent with your take on the James passage, that yes indeed, you might very well _just_ ask the saints to intercede _instead_ of praying directly, but that this is no problem whatsoever because it's all one big thing, so the distinction really doesn't matter. In fact, your comment on the James passage implied that doing it in this indirect way might be better! And indeed the analogy on which you bit the bullet--the son asking the more favored son to go to the father--would seem to support this as your approach.
Now, I'm sorry if I've misunderstood you, but to me what you said earlier is indeed an illustration of that wrongful distance that I believe prayers for the saints can set up between the individual believer and God: "So-and-so is more holy than I am, so I'll send so-and-so to pray for me about this instead of praying about it directly myself." I really stand on what I said about the father and the son. There are other Scripture verses that do address this--for example, Paul's statement that we do not have the spirit of fear but of adoption and that we cry out "Abba, Father" to God (an Aramaic term like "Daddy.") (Romans 8:15) Nothing could be farther from asking your brother to go talk to your father instead of talking to him yourself. You might ask your brother to talk to your father in addition to doing it yourself, but that concept of sonship definitely means that you should go yourself. It's clear that Jesus taught this as well, both in the verse I already cited ("The father himself loveth you") and even in the Lord's prayer.
"In one sense he is, in another (I say, the more essential aspect) he isn't. If I ask something of someone through an intermediary, it doesn't cease to be (ultimately or essentially a request from me. It's still my request and only secondarily the intermediary's request, as a go-between, or messenger between myself and the ultimate goal (in the analogy, God)."
So rather than saying, "Oh, no, no, I think you should _also_ pray yourself and just ask the saints to supplement your prayers by their intercession," you said, consistent with your take on the James passage, that yes indeed, you might very well _just_ ask the saints to intercede _instead_ of praying directly, but that this is no problem whatsoever because it's all one big thing, so the distinction really doesn't matter. In fact, your comment on the James passage implied that doing it in this indirect way might be better! And indeed the analogy on which you bit the bullet--the son asking the more favored son to go to the father--would seem to support this as your approach.
Now, I'm sorry if I've misunderstood you, but to me what you said earlier is indeed an illustration of that wrongful distance that I believe prayers for the saints can set up between the individual believer and God: "So-and-so is more holy than I am, so I'll send so-and-so to pray for me about this instead of praying about it directly myself." I really stand on what I said about the father and the son. There are other Scripture verses that do address this--for example, Paul's statement that we do not have the spirit of fear but of adoption and that we cry out "Abba, Father" to God (an Aramaic term like "Daddy.") (Romans 8:15) Nothing could be farther from asking your brother to go talk to your father instead of talking to him yourself. You might ask your brother to talk to your father in addition to doing it yourself, but that concept of sonship definitely means that you should go yourself. It's clear that Jesus taught this as well, both in the verse I already cited ("The father himself loveth you") and even in the Lord's prayer.
Lydia McGrew said...
"Prayers for the saints" in the immediately previous comment was a typo for "prayers to the saints." I believe I've done that a couple of times--apologies.
Mon Nov 10, 04:10:00 PM EST
Lydia McGrew said...
I was reflecting on these comments of yours: "Precisely! This is what I am saying. Because (in your theological premises before you even get to the practice) you create a false dichotomy between the saints and God, as if two different things are involved instead of one, you felt like that. But the Catholic who regards all of it as one thing: approaches to God: directly or indirectly: all glory to Him; all things in His providence, we feel no such "competition" between a saint and God. We think in "both/and" terms, and all always goes back to God."
I wonder if you realize that such comments do nothing to allay Protestant concerns about blurring the distinction between the creature and the creator. In fact, they really exacerbate them. All the more so coming from someone obviously well-catechized, well-informed, and highly motivated to instruct.
What you are saying here is that the Protestant is theologically *wrong* to make a distinction (you call it a dichotomy) between the act of asking another human being to pray for him and praying to God directly himself! You are saying that we should deliberately collapse that distinction and regard trying to send a message to God through a purely and solely human intermediary (not God the Son, Jesus Christ, but some other human being) as being "one thing" with praying to God ourselves directly.
Surely you can see that that involves a substantive theological position on whether these two things can be regarded as one and the same or not. And surely you can see that someone might strongly disagree with that substantive theological decision. And I would _think_ that you could see that the disagreement could reasonably take the form of considering that substantive disagreement to verge on, if not actually cross the line of, failing to distinguish the creature from the creator properly, by failing to distinguish our relationship with the creature properly from our relationship with the creator.
I wonder if you realize that such comments do nothing to allay Protestant concerns about blurring the distinction between the creature and the creator. In fact, they really exacerbate them. All the more so coming from someone obviously well-catechized, well-informed, and highly motivated to instruct.
What you are saying here is that the Protestant is theologically *wrong* to make a distinction (you call it a dichotomy) between the act of asking another human being to pray for him and praying to God directly himself! You are saying that we should deliberately collapse that distinction and regard trying to send a message to God through a purely and solely human intermediary (not God the Son, Jesus Christ, but some other human being) as being "one thing" with praying to God ourselves directly.
Surely you can see that that involves a substantive theological position on whether these two things can be regarded as one and the same or not. And surely you can see that someone might strongly disagree with that substantive theological decision. And I would _think_ that you could see that the disagreement could reasonably take the form of considering that substantive disagreement to verge on, if not actually cross the line of, failing to distinguish the creature from the creator properly, by failing to distinguish our relationship with the creature properly from our relationship with the creator.
Lydia McGrew said...
And it is interesting, too, that in human relationships we would never say that sending a message through an intermediary is the same thing as talking directly. For one thing, the messenger might decide not to take the message! When I ask a friend to pray for me here on earth, he might silently think my request misguided or foolish and not pray for it. If he does pray, he may have his own comments or requests to add to God, related to it, which I would not add. Moreover, I word my conversation with him differently from the way I would word my conversation with God. I just *am not* talking to God when I am talking to him.
If it's "all one thing," indeed, one wonders why it is even all that important for Christians to talk to God directly at all! It should be evident why a substitution could happen here. After all, it's just a Protestant error to think that there is even any relevant distinction between the two activities!
If it's "all one thing," indeed, one wonders why it is even all that important for Christians to talk to God directly at all! It should be evident why a substitution could happen here. After all, it's just a Protestant error to think that there is even any relevant distinction between the two activities!
Lydia McGrew said...
Well, no, to be honest, I thought initially that your approach to these problems was more like mine. For ex., you were doing an interesting thing of trying to, as it were, beat the Protestants at their own game by bringing in Scriptures to support your position. That's good, and I addressed that on its own terms, discussing whether I think the Scriptures you adduced support the conclusion in question. My understanding initially was that it was not supposed to be necessary to bring in, e.g., the magisterium, but that you were saying that those Scriptures really do uphold the practice in question. In fact, though I don't resent it in the slightest (it's my own style as well), you hammered rather hard on the James verses, saying, "That must mean something! What can it mean in your theology?" (words to that effect). I consider this a legitimate approach and tried to answer that challenge on its own terms.
So I'm actually a little surprised at your more recent comments concerning faith and philosophy, because they are, in a sense, backing off and saying that I just don't grok all of this because I'm too analytical.
That's of course entirely your prerogative if that is what you think and wish to say, but it is a different tack from your initial approach, which was more one of truly allaying and answering Protestant concerns in a way that would be accessible to them and that would "speak their language," as it were. In that context, I think an analytical approach makes a good deal of sense.
So I'm actually a little surprised at your more recent comments concerning faith and philosophy, because they are, in a sense, backing off and saying that I just don't grok all of this because I'm too analytical.
That's of course entirely your prerogative if that is what you think and wish to say, but it is a different tack from your initial approach, which was more one of truly allaying and answering Protestant concerns in a way that would be accessible to them and that would "speak their language," as it were. In that context, I think an analytical approach makes a good deal of sense.
Tue Nov 11, 12:42:00 PM EST
Lydia McGrew said...
Tony, I find an interesting *rhetorical* tension (though probably not a logical tension) between your analogy of various levels of bosses, on the one hand, and your later statements that going to intermediaries is a sop to our human weakness, on the other.
My problem is that I think all of those analogies to intermediate bosses are rather seriously misleading theologically. It seems to me that they teach people that God really does have favorites in an all-too-human sense and that he can be "wangled," as it were, into doing things if you just "know the right people" and have them ask him instead of asking him yourself. Now that idea, taken literally, is _badly_ wrong theologically. Jesus says to his disciples, "The Father himself loveth you" and urges them repeatedly to pray to the father themselves. The author of Hebrews urges us to come boldly to the throne of grace. St. Paul says we have not received the spirit of fear but rather the spirit of adoption whereby we cry, "Abba, Father." So this whole idea that we really do *need* to approach God only through "higher-up bosses" who "have his ear" is rather seriously unbiblical.
Hence, any practice which _fosters_ that idea rather than countering it is, to my mind, theologically wrong-headed. We should be telling people, "No way! It's entirely disrespectful both to God and to the saints to think of them as being like courtly insiders whose ear you have to get in order to wangle your requests from the Big Guy, rather than approaching him yourself. Your relationship with God isn't like that at all!"
I'm not counseling being flippant with God. But I am saying that we are supposed to have with God the rightful kind of respectful intimacy that a beloved son has with his father. Such a father would, I believe, be rightly hurt if one son said that he sent another son with his request instead of coming himself because he thought that gave him a better chance of getting what he was asking for, or because he was reluctant to come himself.
So the saints cannot _really_ be like that, and God cannot _really_ be like that. Hence, I don't think we should make a sop to those particular ways of thinking but rather should counter them in our teaching.
My problem is that I think all of those analogies to intermediate bosses are rather seriously misleading theologically. It seems to me that they teach people that God really does have favorites in an all-too-human sense and that he can be "wangled," as it were, into doing things if you just "know the right people" and have them ask him instead of asking him yourself. Now that idea, taken literally, is _badly_ wrong theologically. Jesus says to his disciples, "The Father himself loveth you" and urges them repeatedly to pray to the father themselves. The author of Hebrews urges us to come boldly to the throne of grace. St. Paul says we have not received the spirit of fear but rather the spirit of adoption whereby we cry, "Abba, Father." So this whole idea that we really do *need* to approach God only through "higher-up bosses" who "have his ear" is rather seriously unbiblical.
Hence, any practice which _fosters_ that idea rather than countering it is, to my mind, theologically wrong-headed. We should be telling people, "No way! It's entirely disrespectful both to God and to the saints to think of them as being like courtly insiders whose ear you have to get in order to wangle your requests from the Big Guy, rather than approaching him yourself. Your relationship with God isn't like that at all!"
I'm not counseling being flippant with God. But I am saying that we are supposed to have with God the rightful kind of respectful intimacy that a beloved son has with his father. Such a father would, I believe, be rightly hurt if one son said that he sent another son with his request instead of coming himself because he thought that gave him a better chance of getting what he was asking for, or because he was reluctant to come himself.
So the saints cannot _really_ be like that, and God cannot _really_ be like that. Hence, I don't think we should make a sop to those particular ways of thinking but rather should counter them in our teaching.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Platonic marriage
A friend recently drew my attention to a spat between lay Catholic pop apologist Dave Armstrong and a more prominent Catholic apologist. In case you're interested, here's some background:
I'll make a few brief comments of my own. The entire tactic is ludicrous, unscrupulous, and self-defeating:
i) Dave is trying to use the alleged position of the Protestant Reformers as a wedge issue. But even if they believed what he imputes them, a wedge splits a log in two. So which side does it prove?
Suppose the Protestant Reformers agree with Rome on this issue. If that's an argument from authority in support of Rome, then by converse logic, when they disagree with Rome, that's an argument from authority in opposition to Rome. The argument from authority cuts both ways.
ii) The people who were in a position to know firsthand (or even secondhand) whether Mary and Joseph had conjugal relations constitute a very very small circle. Calvin isn't in that circle. Luther isn't in that circle. Zwingli isn't in that circle. Aquinas isn't in that circle. Nor church fathers.
Quoting the opinion of people who have no source of knowledge concerning the claim in question is utter make-believe.
It's like a medieval map of the world. Would you consult that to find out if the Bahamas existed?
iii) It's pointless in another respect, too. It comes as no revelation that the Protestant Reformers agreed with the Latin Church and (some) church fathers on a number of issues. There's continuity as well as discontinuity. So it wouldn't be some great coup to discover points of agreement between Luther or Calvin with the Latin Church or some church fathers. That was never in dispute.
At best, this would just be one more minor point of agreement. And that's no more or less significant than all the major disagreements.
iv) Finally, there's a substantive theological issue. If Mary and Joseph never consummated their marriage, then it was never a real marriage (by Jewish standards). In that event, Jesus is not the legal stepson of Joseph, in which case he can't trace his family tree through either the Matthean or Lucan genealogies.
Thursday, March 06, 2014
Coitus interruptus
On Facebook, Dave Armstrong attempted to respond to a post of mine.
Right. This is now standard anti-Catholic boilerplate (also, often, radical Catholic reactionary talking points).
Ironically, Dave confirms my allegation in the very attempt to deflect it. Although he's a convert to Catholicism, he's at war with his adopted sect. He appoints himself the arbiter of who's a real Catholic. So he remains an outsider to his adopted sect. He's theologically purer than the priests and bishops of his chosen denomination. He stands apart and above.
The topic was Onan and why he was killed. Hays cites what he thinks is top-notch Catholic scholarship: the modernist-influenced "The New Jerome Biblical Commentary" and "New Catholic Encyclopedia." He assumed (quite conveniently and according to his standard wrongheaded polemics) that liberal Catholic scholarship is orthodox.
I don't assume it's "orthodox." Rather, it's Catholic. This represents mainstream Catholic scholarship. You know, the kind that's routinely sanctioned by the Magisterium.
I cited Fr. Brian Harrison: an actual orthodox Catholic scholar.
Notice that Dave has to distinguish true Catholics from false Catholics within the One True Church®. He's the one drawing the lines. It's not as if the papacy put The New Jerome Biblical Commentary or the New Catholic Encyclopedia on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum. No, this is Armstrong standing athwart his own denomination. A Catholic convert and layman who presumes to tell others which Catholic scholars are modernists and which are orthodox. This isn't coming down from the bishops. Armstrong doesn't trust the Magisterial accountability system.
He makes a very effective and pretty airtight biblical argument that apparently goes right over Hays' head as too complicated for him to grasp.
Let's examine Harrison's "airtight" argument, which is found here:
Now, it has been fashionable among twentieth-century exegetes to maintain that in these verses the Bible condemns Onan's coitus interruptus only insofar as it in effect violated the so-called levirate marriage custom endorsed by the law of Moses at a time when polygamy was not forbidden.7 According to this ancient oriental practice, a man - whether he was already married or not - was expected to marry his deceased brother's wife if she was still childless at her husband's death; and the first-born son of this union was then regarded as a legal descendant of the dead man. In other words, according to those exegetes who focus their attention exclusively on this custom in their reading of Genesis 38, Onan's sin is presented here as consisting only in his selfish intent to deny offspring to his brother's widow Tamar, and not even partly in the unnatural method he employed in doing so.
i) In what sense is coitus interruptus an "unnatural" method whereas the rhythm method is natural? Both are contraceptive techniques. Coitus interruptus isn't "unnatural" in the sense that using a condom is unnatural (i.e. an "artificial" barrier device made of latex). Even if you think coitus interruptus is wrong, that doesn't make it an "unnatural method." This is one of those makeshift distinctions you get in Catholic moral theology. Tendentious terminology to prejudice the analysis. Because Catholic apologists like Harrison must retroactively defend official Catholic teaching, they are forced to resort to ad hoc justifications.
ii) Perhaps he'd say it's "unnatural" in the sense that it frustrates the procreative purpose of sex. But by that logic, when an infertile married couple engage in conjugal relations, they are having unnatural (and sinful!) sexual relations.
ii) Perhaps he'd say it's "unnatural" in the sense that it frustrates the procreative purpose of sex. But by that logic, when an infertile married couple engage in conjugal relations, they are having unnatural (and sinful!) sexual relations.
But, as I hope to show, this reading of Genesis has so little to recommend it exegetically that one can only assume that its popularity in recent decades is due mainly to the modern prejudices of theologians and exegetes who see intrinsically sterile types of sexual activity as morally unobjectionable in themselves (or even as necessary at times) - and who therefore have a strong vested interest in minimizing whatever biblical evidence there may be against these practices.
As if a traditional priest and Catholic apologist has no strong vested interest in defending the status quo.
The classical Jewish commentators - who can scarcely be accused of ignorance regarding Hebrew language, customs, law, and biblical literary genres…
Actually, "classical Jewish commentators" can be utterly ignorant of ancient Near Eastern laws, customs, &c. That was long before their time. Much of that was long-forgotten.
- certainly saw in this passage of Scripture a condemnation of both unnatural intercourse and masturbation as such.8
This is silly. Masturbation and sexual intercourse are hardly equivalent–or even alike. Indeed, they are practically opposites. Having sexual intercourse with a woman is scarcely the same thing, or even similar, to self-stimulation. At best, the text could only condemn one, not both. In fact, it condemns neither.
A typical traditional Jewish commentary puts it thus: "[Onan] misused the organs God gave him for propagating the race to unnaturally satisfy his own lust, and he was therefore deserving of death."9 And this is undoubtedly in accord with the natural impression which most unprejudiced readers will draw from the text of Genesis 38.
To the contrary, the text doesn't create the impression that he did this for self-gratification. After all, coitus interruptus diminishes the physical pleasure of the sex act.
But is this first impression correct? Is the truth really more subtle? Was Onan perhaps slain merely for refusing to give offspring to his deceased brother's wife, as most contemporary exegetes maintain? In answering these questions one must take cognizance of the following significant fact: the penalty subsequently laid down in the law of Moses for a simple refusal to comply with the levirate marriage precept was only a relatively mild public humiliation in the form of a brief ceremony of indignation. The childless widow, in the presence of the town elders, was authorized to remove her uncooperative brother-in-law's sandal and spit in his face for his refusal to marry her. He was then supposed to receive an uncomplimentary nick-name - "the Unshod."10 But since he nonetheless became sole owner of his deceased brother's house and goods,11 it is evident that his offence was scarcely considered a serious or criminal one - much less one deserving of death. Death, however, is precisely what Onan deserved, according to Genesis. It follows that those who say his only offence was infringement of the levirate marriage custom need to explain why such an offence was punished by the Lord so much more drastically in the case of Onan than than it subsequently was under the Mosaic law. If anything, we would tend to expect the contrary: i.e., that after the law was formalized as part of the Deuteronomic code its violation might be chastised more severely than before, not more mildly. Indeed, while it is clear from the Genesis narrative that the practice of levirate marriage already existed in Onan's time, there is no biblical evidence that he would have been conscious of any divine precept to observe that practice.12 This problem seems to have been simply ignored, rather than confronted, by those exegetes who cannot or will not see in this passage any Scriptural foundation for the orthodox Judæo-Christian doctrine against masturbation and contraception.
Several issues:
i) Harrison's argument either proves too much or too little. If failure to honor levirate marriage is insufficient to account for Onan's demise, so is "artificial contraception." After all, tens of millions of Catholics (not to mention however many non-Catholics) practice "artificial birth control," but I don't think actuaries report a high correlation between "artificial contraception" and sudden death. Is God striking dead tens of millions of Catholics (not to mention non-Catholics) who use "artificial" conceptive methods? If so, the evidence is well disguised. You're at greater risk of death from ball-lightning than "artificial contraception."
ii) In the case of Onan, there are two aggravating factors, both related to levirate marriage. He didn't simply refuse to observe the custom. Rather, he resorted to subterfuge. He went into the tent of his widowed sister-in-law to give the outward appearance that he was observing the custom. That way he'd avoid the social stigma of refusing to honor his dead brother. In the eyes of the community, he was doing his duty. But in reality, he was subverting the custom. His private conduct was at variance with his public conduct. So his dissimulation is culpable.
iii) In addition, by evading his duty, his actions jeopardized the promised line. It's not coincidental that this text occurs in a book which accentuates the seed of promise, beginning with Gen 3:15. Threats to the blessed lineage are a recurring theme in Genesis. That figures prominently in the patriarchal narratives. Scholars like John Sailhamer and Desi Alexander have carefully documented that theological motif.
It should be remembered also that we are here dealing here with a culture which so abhorred that other form of "wasting the seed" - the homosexual act - that it prescribed the death penalty for this offense.
This assumes that sodomy is morally abhorrent because homosexual men are wasting their seed. If that's the case, then nocturnal emissions would also be a capital offense. But, once again, I don't think actuaries report a high correlation between nocturnal emission and sudden death.
Moreover, in the view of revisionist exegetes, Onan's sin is presented here as being essentially one of omission. We are asked to believe that, according to Genesis, Onan committed no sinful act; rather, that his sin was to refrain from acting appropriately toward his deceased brother because of some sort of selfish interior disposition. But why, in that case, does the text describe Onan's sin as a positive action ("he did20 a detestable thing")? Coming directly after the author has mentioned what is certainly an outward act (i.e., "spilling the seed"), these words in v. 10 plainly indicate a causal link between that sexual act as such and the wrath and punishment of God.
Actually, v9 does report his "interior disposition": But Onan knew that the offspring would not be his. So whenever he went in to his brother's wife he would waste the semen on the ground, so as not to give offspring to his brother.
Evidently, his motive was to secure the inheritance for himself by eliminating a potential rival. That, too, is culpable.
On the other hand if, as Judæo-Christian tradition has always insisted, "wasting the seed" by intrinsically sterile types of genital action violates that natural law to which all men, Jew and Gentile alike, have always had access by virtue of their very humanness, (cf. Rom. 1: 26-27; 2: 14), this will explain perfectly why Onan's sexual action in itself would be presented in Scripture as meriting a most severe divine judgment: it was a perverted act - one of life-suppressing lust. Indeed, over and above its prohibition by natural law, such deliberately sterilized pleasure-seeking could well have been discerned as a form of contravening one of the few divine precepts which already in that pre-Sinai tradition had been solemnly revealed - and repeated - in positive, verbal form: "Increase and multiply" (Gen. 1: 27-28; 9: 1).
By that logic, Catholic couples who deliberately evade the creational ordinance by engaging in "natural family planning" are morally equivalent to homosexuals.
The cumulative weight of the evidence - the structure and sexual explicitness of the text itself and the much greater severity of Onan's punishment than that prescribed for levirate marriage infringements in Deuteronomy 25: 5-6 - leads us to conclude that while Genesis 38: 9-10 very probably includes disapproval of Onan's lack of piety toward his deceased brother…
Now we have a backdoor admission that his motivations were relevant after all.
Thus, the traditional interpretation of this passage as a divinely revealed condemnation of contraceptive acts - not as a provision of mere posititve law (cultic or disciplinary) given temporarily for a specific ancient cultural context, but as a particular manifestation of that divine will for the entire human species which had been revealed through nature ever since the Creation - must be seen as supported by serious exegetical arguments.
i) Once more, the argument either proves too much or too little. If this is a "divinely revealed condemnation of contraceptive acts," then it also condemns the rhythm method.
ii) In addition, the text only refers to a male contraceptive technique. It says nothing about female contraceptives.
NB: The author acknowledges with sincere thanks the information, advice and criticism offered in the preparation of this article by Gerald C. Matatics, Professor of Sacred Scripture at Our Lady of Guadalupe Seminary, Elmhurst, Pennsylvania...
Ah, yes, Matatics–who is now a sedevacantist.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
One man's piety is another man's impiety
Poor ol’ Dave needs a crash course on lexical semantics. Let’s give him a few pointers:
1) On the one hand, the same concept can be represented by different words. On the other hand, the same word can represent different concepts.
2) Concepts aren’t necessarily reducible to dictionary definitions. For instance, looking up “Calvinism” in Webster’s is no substitute for the Westminster Confession of Faith.
3) In Biblical usage, “blasphemy” has a secular meaning, viz. slander, calumny, defamation.
4) In Biblical usage, “blasphemy” also as a religious meaning, viz. impiety, sacrilege.
To illustrate the difference, Jesus’ Jewish opponents accuse him of blasphemy (e.g. Mk 2:7; 14:64; Jn 10:33,36). But they don’t do so because he was slandering God. Rather, they do so because he was saying things about himself which are only true of God.
Conversely, John designates the imperial cult as “blasphemous” (Rev 13:1; 17:3). That’s because Caesar demands divine veneration (i.e. veneration proper to God alone).
So the secular sense of “blasphemy” isn’t synonymous with the religious sense of “blasphemy.”
5) We need to distinguish between normative and descriptive usage. Scripture often quotes speakers who don’t represent the editorial viewpoint of the inspired narrator.
Reverting to my earlier example, Jesus’ Jewish opponents accuse him of blasphemy. So that illustrates historical usage. Biblical usage.
But it’s obviously not normative usage. It’s not blasphemous for Christians to affirm the deity of Christ. In fact, it’s impious not to affirm his deity.
Likewise, Stephen is accused of “blasphemy” (Acts 6:11). But that reflects the outlook of his accusers rather than the narrator.
Likewise, Acts 19:37 uses “blasphemy” in a heathen context. But that doesn’t reflect the viewpoint of the Lukan narrator.
6) We need to distinguish between ordinary and technical usage. For instance, the old Catholic Encyclopedia has an entry on “blasphemy,” with a very specialized, Thomistic definition. But it would be anachronistic to read that technical, sectarian definition back into Biblical usage.
7) What’s blasphemous or not depends on your religious outlook. Devout Muslims think it’s sacrilegious to sleep with your feet pointing to Mecca. But that’s not a taboo from a Christian viewpoint.
Likewise, Catholics deem it impious to reject various Marian dogmas. But that’s not sacrilegious from a Protestant perspective.
Gideon desecrates the alter of Baal (Judges 6:28-32). If you’re Jewish, that’s a pious deed–but if you’re a Baal-worshiper, that’s an impious deed.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Some humorous and instructive comments from the Dave Armstrong thread
Now that Dave has closed comments in the thread, “How Anti-Catholics ‘Argue’: Example #4625: John Bugay Resurrects Luther’s Excrement Fetish in His Rush to Insult Myself and My Readers”, and following up on this post of my own, I thought I’d take a page out of Steve’s book and post some of my own comments from this thread, as well as some instructive and entertaining comments from other folks whose comments deserve to stand alone.
Paul Hoffer said...
Thursday, November 24, 2011
For Dave Armstrong’s Readers
A couple of weeks ago, I made the
mistake of mentioning Dave Armstrong’s name, in the context of the
Joe Paterno / Cardinal Bernard Law situation – I said that Dave, among
others, ought to reconsider his defense of the Roman Catholic Church, “ought to
stop now what you’re doing and demand, that Rome itself repent for the sins it
has committed, and to make restitution – real restitution – for the evil that
its own laws and policies have perpetuated for centuries.”
Dave went apoplectic over this and
in the two weeks since, he has written four or five (or more?) blog posts about
me and my hatefulness etc. etc. The interested reader can probably start from this
point and, knowing of Dave’s characteristic thoroughness, be able to follow
his links to the posts about me all the way back to the beginning.
I made the mistake of mentioning
to Dave that I found this sort of “interaction” with him to be about as
pleasant as stepping in dog poop, and he, of course, went
apoplectic over that. (He strikes me as an individual who has too much time
on his hands).
Over the course of the discussion,
I posted several links to my real work,
and he removed them, suggesting that they were off topic. Now that the topic is
“How
Anti-Catholics ‘Argue’”, I felt that I could legitimately post some of my
actual thoughts on the topics (and not the made-up ones that Dave attributes to
me), and have them stand as on topic. We shall see.
I reproduce those general ideas
here for Triablogue readers who may be interested. As well, I have made the
very kind offer to anyone from over there who has honest questions for me, I’d
put up a post over here, and answer any of those honest questions that they
might have. This is that post, and what follows are my comments to Dave about how
I really have come to focus on the things I focus on.
In my own life,
the most important question became, “Is the Roman Catholic Church what it says
it is?” It was a pure up-and-down decision. Yes or no? Because if it is, then
we ought to obey it, but if not, then it might freely be rejected.
After a lengthy,
prayerful, soul-searching study, I concluded that the answer was “no”. In that
case, I rejected it, although, another question presented itself: “what is it?”
And that’s the subject of my apologetic blogging these days. How did Rome get
to be what it is today, if it is not what it says it is.
The short answer
is that its longevity really is a testament to the
durability of a large bureaucracy, especially one that has the tools of
persecution and even war at its disposal. Of course, it has neither of those
things at its disposal now; its ideas must compete in the marketplace of ideas;
its doctrines must stand under the scrutiny of the light that the information
age is shedding on everything.
In an era in
which liberal Protestantism, “higher” criticism, and even atheism have not been
able to destroy, but have only shown the strength of the
foundations of Christianity and the truth-claims of Christ to be who he says he
is, it hasn’t taken much scrutiny at all to see Roman
Catholicism’s “pillars” be knocked out from under it.
The biggest
pillar, I suppose, is the papacy. Have you noticed that “the papacy” is now
referred to as “the Petrine ministry”? There really was no “early papacy”. All
of the “history” behind the papacy has pretty much been, well, not really
there. It’s been a reliance on myth and
fiction.
This state of
affairs has been described by John
P. Meier, a leading Catholic Biblical scholar: “A papacy that cannot give a
credible historical account of its own origins can hardly hope to be a catalyst
for unity among divided Christians.” So his
implication is that, until this point, the papacy has not given a “credible
historical account of its own origins.”
And that’s
largely true. In “high level” ecumenical discussions, John
Reumann, the late Lutheran biblical scholar who collaborated with Raymond
Brown in the seminal exegetical work on Peter in the New Testament, also said
this:
Biblical
and patristic studies make clear that historically
a gap occurs at the point where it has been claimed “the apostles were careful
to appoint successors in” what is called “this hierarchically constituted
society,” specifically “those who were made bishops by the apostles . . .,” an
episcopate with an “unbroken succession going back to the beginning.” For that, evidence is lacking, …. It has
been noted above how recent treatments conclude that in the New Testament no
successor for Peter is indicated.
So what Reumann
says is that there
is a gap, precisely at the point where “unbroken succession” has been claimed.
That goes for “bishops” as well as for popes. Reumann is citing an infallible Vatican II document as he makes this statement. And Meier calls Rome’s reliance
on “development” “not credible”.
Speaking to the
lack of credibility, Archbishop
Roland Minnerath, who was a
contributor to the Vatican’s 1989 Historical and Theological Symposium,
which was directed by the Vatican’s Pontifical Committee for Historical
Sciences, at the request of the then Cardinal Ratzinger’s Congregation for the
Doctrine of the Faith, on the theme: “The Primacy of the Bishop of Rome in the
First Millennium: Research and Evidence,” has made the admission that the Eastern Orthodox churches “never shared the
Petrine theology as elaborated in the West.”
Dave tried to
laugh this off, as if he had addressed Orthodoxy in detail, but really, this is
a Roman Catholic Archbishop, at the heart of Vatican studies, who says, the
East never shared the western conception of the papacy. The further implication
of that is that, in the east-west split, it is clear that Rome tried to impose Rome’s understanding on the east.
The East did not budge. Hence the split. The 1054 split is the result of Rome trying
to impose its theology of the papacy on an Eastern church that would not accept
it. And it is a Roman Archbishop who is saying this. This is the thing you
Roman Catholics, if you are serious, cannot laugh off.
So this is what
my own “apologetic” is about. One of the things I do is merely to report on the
state of the historical research into the early papacy. That kind of thing is very
helpful in coming to the understanding that “the Roman Catholic Church is not
what it says it is.”
For all of you other Roman
Catholics who think that the Roman Catholic Church is “the Church that Christ
founded” or that “the Church that Christ founded” somehow “subsists” in the Roman
Catholic Church, here is a bit more light reading for you:
Not a hateful word in the whole
bunch. Hope you all have a great weekend!
Friday, October 21, 2011
Eschatological compensation
I see Dave Armstrong recently demonstrated that the morality of an action is contingent on which hand you use. If you’re right-handed, it’s a gravely immoral–but if you’re left-handed, it’s A-okay.
This carries with it the further implication that even though northpaws are overrepresented on earth, southpaws are overrepresented in heaven. I guess that’s eschatological compensation for all the inconveniences that southpaws suffer in a world designed by and for the benefit of northpaws.
Ambidextrous men presumably go to heaven or hell at the same rates. I’m also waiting for David to do a Talmudic analysis on the odds for paraplegics.
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