Constantine and Christianity

Constantine and ChristianityConstantine and Christianity.

For some time, I’ve been fascinated by the idea that it was Constantine, Emperor of Rome (306 CE-337), who transformed Christianity from a persecuted religious sect into a world religion.  Some say he supported Christianity as part of a cynical strategy to promote his rule.  Others say he had a genuine religious conversion.  It seems it was a bit of both, and more besides.

I approach Constantine by way of The Triumph of Christianity: How a Forbidden Religion Swept the World, by Bart Ehrman, whose study of the history of religion led him to lose his faith.  He cites the fact that of over 5,000 manuscripts of the New Testament, no two are alike.  This realization led Ehrman to become an agnostic.  If God inspired the scriptures, which one?  Fifteen years later his personal struggles with the existence of evil and suffering led Ehrman to become an atheist.  He remains fascinated with Christianity, and often appreciative.

To serve the poor, the sick, and the other

Ehrman argues that the very idea that society should serve the poor, the sick, and the marginalized became a distinctively Christian concern.  I wonder if the way he puts it is right.

Without the conquest of Christianity, we may well never have had institutionalized welfare for the poor or organized health care for the sick. Billions of people may never have embraced the idea that society should serve the marginalized or be concerned with the well-being of the needy, values that most of us in the West have simply assumed are “human” values. (p 6)

Is it so simple?  Consider Marxism.  Some have argued that Marxism is but a this-worldly version of Christianity, heaven brought down to earth.  But one could make this claim about any teaching that cared about the poor.  What Ehrman means is that in making Christianity a matter of state, Constantine made its concerns a matter of state.  Perhaps, but it is interesting to consider that today the happiest states, according to their own citizens, are among the least Christian: Denmark and the Nordic States.  Finland is number one, Norway is number two.*

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The Sermon on the Mount is not a sermon

The Sermon on the Mount is not a sermon.

One of the most well-known passages in the New Testament, The Sermon on the Mount, is not a sermon.  Jesus speaks to four disciples, Peter, Andrew, James, and John, while a crowd of people seem to be listening in (Matthew 5:1).  The painting accompanying this post is a little misleading in this regard. In any case, both the content of the sermon and especially the ending reveal that it is intended for all who hear (Matthew 7:28-29).  Jesus often pretends that his teachings are restricted to disciples, which makes little sense, especially since they are not the sharpest knives in the drawer (Mark 4:10-12).

It would be a good idea to read Matthew’s version, chapters 5-7.  Luke has a condensed version, sometimes called the Sermon on the Plain (6:17-49).  I’m going to stick to Matthew.  Remember that the Sermon contains both the beatitudes (blessings) as well as the Lord’s Prayer.  Some people think it is the clearest and most concise statement of Christianity, so much so that it could stand alone.

It’s important to remember that Jesus is not a Christian talking to other Christians.  He is a Jew talking to other Jews.  Christianity wouldn’t be around for another thirty years.  One thing this means is that the Sermon on the Mount is not Jesus talking.  It’s Matthew, writing about 50 years after the death of Jesus.  And Matthew has an agenda: to show that Jesus comes to fulfill Torah, not to sweep it away.  Or at least this is the diplomatic message of Matthew.  What he actually says is different.

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The parable of the workers in the vineyard as politics and economics

The parable of the workers in the vineyard as politics and economics

In an earlier post I wrote about the parables of Jesus in general, and about the parable of the workers in the vineyard in particular (Matthew 20: 1-16).  In this post I go into more detail about how the parable works, and what it might mean.  Recall the parable.

Some workers come to work early in the morning, others are chosen around noon, the rest late in the day, working only an hour or two.  Yet all are paid the same wage at the end of the day, a denarius, hardly a generous wage, barely enough to live on.

Most readers have assumed that the vineyard owner is God, and that the message is that whenever people come to believe in the kingdom of God, all will receive the same reward, all will be saved.  Some equate the workers hired early in the morning with the Jews, those late in the day the gentiles, but all will be equal in the kingdom of God (Herzog, p 101).

Fundamentally unfair?

Still, there seems something fundamentally unfair about the arrangement.  As one of the workers hired early puts it to the vineyard owner, “‘these who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’” (20:12)  However, once the vineyard owner is equated with God, the unfairness disappears.  In the face of eternity, what difference do a few hours make?

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What the Lord’s Prayer Really Means

What the Lord’s Prayer really means.

It’s an odd thing about the Lord’s Prayer.  Almost any religion could endorse it, or so it seems at first.

  • let heaven be the ideal for earthly governance
                      • let there be enough food for all, and let all be free of crippling debt
                      • forgive each other and God will forgive you
                      • spare us from the temptation of evil.

It was first spoken by a Jew to a Jewish audience, but it has become a Christian prayer, though there is nothing particularly Christian about it.  It became a Christian prayer because it is attributed to Jesus.

The Lord’s Prayer

Our father in heaven, hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come.  Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.  And forgive us our debts, as we have forgiven our debtors.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. (Matthew 6:9-13)

The good householder

The Greek word used for father is abba (αββα), and while it is sometimes seen as equivalent to “daddy,” this is misleading, for there are other Greek diminutives for daddy, such as pappas (παππας).  The term abba is best interpreted as the head of the Jewish household.  God is the head of household earth, just as the father is the head of the family in the world Jesus was addressing.

The roles enacted by God as head of the earthly household correspond to those of the head of the family household: To help create life; to protect the members of the household; and to equitably provide for the household.

What horrifies the biblical conscience in all those cases is the inequality that destroys the integrity of the household and therefore dishonors the Householder.  In what sort of household are some members exploited by others? (Crossan, p 43)

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Why do theologians write so much?

Why do theologians write so much?  I’m going to take the case of Rudolf Bultmann because the problem is particularly acute with him, but it applies to most, including Karl Barth.  Barth’s Church Dogmatics alone is over six million words.  Together they are the most influential Protestant theologians of the 20th century.

They write so much because they are writing about what cannot be spoken, or written.  The kerygma (κήρυγμα), which means message or proclamation, refers in general to the gospels, and in Bultmann’s work to the decision to follow the message of Advent, that Christ is risen and we must choose to believe and act accordingly.

Trouble is, the kerygma is prelinguistic.

As counterintuitive as it may initially appear, the logical conclusion is that the kerygma is essentially prelinguistic. (Congdon, p 74) 

This doesn’t make words irrelevant, but it sets their limit.  If “the purpose of theology is to bring to speech the actual event in which one encounters the living God,” then Bultmann’s project is impossible.

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God and the meaning of life, part 1 of 2 parts

God and the meaning of life, part 1 of 2 parts.

This is the first of a two-part post.  This first part criticizes  a book by Tom May, A Significant Life.  Much of the book concerns why God can’t be part of the answer.  The second part is a list of things that contribute to a meaningful life.  It follows this part.

Todd May can’t imagine that God can be part of the answer to a meaningful life because God only provides objective meaning, which doesn’t exist.  His is a common error about God and the meaning of life, but it takes a philosopher to really make it confusing.  May is a philosopher.

May’s idea is that an objective answer to the meaning of life can only come from the outside, given to humans by God.  A subjective answer, on the other hand, is one which humans come up with themselves.  The distinction doesn’t work.  In fact, the whole distinction between objective and subjective meaning doesn’t work.

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The meaning of life, part 2. A list.

The meaning of life, part 2.  A list.

This is the second of a two-part post on a meaningful life.  The first post addresses the role of God in a meaningful life.  This post is more eclectic, considering a range of activities that may make life meaningful given the limits we face and the needs we have.  I write in this way because people so often talk about a meaningful life, and so seldom specify what that means.

I assume that we find meaning in activity, though there is no reason this must be the case.  A contemplative or meditative life may be deeply meaningful, but whether it is an activity I’m not sure.  In any case, it’s not included.  I also assume that meaningful activities are difficult, just as chess is more meaningful than checkers, and checkers more meaningful than tic-tac-toe (noughts and crosses).  Meaningful activities need not be impossibly difficult, however, and some difficulties, like the work required in establishing and maintaining a good sex life with one’s partner, can be fun.

One of the activities listed below would not be enough to sustain a meaningful life over the years, and some activities change so much over the years they are hardly the same thing.  Raising a child is different from the task of maintaining a loving relationship with the thirty-year-old child.  Everything I’ve said needs qualification.  Common-sense is required.  Being an excellent chess player, for example, can spoil a meaningful life if one sacrifices too much for it.

I think that a serious relationship with God is an important part of a meaningful life, but it is not required.  Atheists and agnostics may live meaningful lives, and the religious fail, particularly if religion becomes just ritual.

Good lives fail not only because we fail to pursue them properly, diligently, and within limits.  They may fail because of events beyond our control.  Aristotle thought that a good man could be made less fulfilled (eudaimon) by events beyond one’s control, but that a good man will never be completely miserable (N. Ethics 1100a34-1101a20).  I’m not sure if that’s true.  Certainly, it’s wrong in the short run.

Depression, or PTSD, make a meaningful life more difficult, but not always impossible.  Many famous writers suffered from depression (just google “writers and depression”).  But writing is not identical with a meaningful life.

Some activities that make life meaningful, not necessarily in this order.  

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But Jesus never said that

But Jesus never said that. 

In my last post on Jürgen Moltmann, I pointed out that the passage he relies on so heavily, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani) appears in only two of the four gospels.  In Luke, Jesus seems calm and in control of his own death.  The same applies in John, where Jesus says that the power to crucify him comes from God, not man (19:11).  The conclusion I draw is that one cannot rest an entire argument on a single verse from the Bible, especially if (as in this case) different gospels quote Jesus quite differently.

The problem arises because the gospels were written forty to sixty years after Christ’s death.  They rely primarily on second generation oral tradition, a source called Q   and Mark.  The first to write about Jesus was Paul, who wrote the letter to the Corinthians about    53-54 CE, a little over twenty years after Christ’s death.  But Paul, who was concerned with missionary matters, never wrote about Christ’s crucifixion.

The problem runs deeper than this.  It’s not just a question of which gospel, but which of the hundreds of copies of the book in question are we going to rely on, each a little different, and sometimes a lot, from the other.  We possess no autograph copies, as originals are called.  We possess only copies of copies of copies of copies.  The first copies of Mark (the first gospel) that we possess are fragmentary, and were written around 200 CE.  Others come later.

How many differences?

In the early eighteenth-century, the theologian John Mill published a version of the New Testament with notes indicating about 30,000 variations in about 100 different manuscript copies he had drawn upon.   Recently, Bart Ehrman, in Misquoting Jesus, estimates there are between 200,000 to 400,000 variants, based on 5,700 Greek manuscripts, and 10,000 Latin manuscripts, and other ancient translations (pp 87-89).  Other estimates run higher, though it’s important to note that most of the variations are minor, and do not change the meaning of the text.  But some do.

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