Nomos, Physis, and Eco-theology

Imagine Germany, or England, or Japan, or any country. What comes to mind? What does your imagination take hold of? For most people, the first thing they think of is the culture of those countries. They think of art, music, aesthetic style, food, buildings, names, or any number of things that differentiate one country from another. They might also think of the weather, how warm or cold it is there. For others, the image is one of long historical narratives interweaving and clashing with one another, perhaps also of various cities and the attractions they offer.

In short, the images or concepts that come to mind are usually bound up in Nomos, in the human world. The concept of differentiated countries as political entities with boundaries (boundaries which, incidentally, do not exist outside of human concerns), with respective cultures and languages, makes no sense outside of Nomos. These things all take human be-ing into account, but they go no further than that. Their scope begins and ends with anthropological concerns; even thoughts of the weather are entertained only insofar as they relate to human coming and going, whether the snow will affect the train's scheduled arrival, whether summer or winter clothes are more appropriate/stylish, whether the landscape is aesthetically pleasing or not on a given day.

What people are less likely to think of are things like the character of the landscapes, conceived of independently of human involvement or concerns; what the overall weather patterns are like, what sort of creatures live there and what their behavior says about them, whether or not these creatures can be befriended and lived alongside as neighbors, whether or not the land itself wants you there at all. The world outside Nomos is Physis, a larger and more fundamental realm governed by laws that transcend the laws of Nomos. When Nomos is stripped away and there is only Physis, what do places like "Germany," "England" or "Japan" feel like? What sort of experience is it to walk the forest paths in Himmelreich without a sign of human habitation? What holy places reveal themselves then? How does the land itself speak when Nomos is hushed or humbled? What kind of spirit and personality is revealed under these conditions?

The simple truth is that most people are not concerned with such questions. They are not concerned with Physis because Nomos has become the beginning and end of their world. Tourists will no doubt  be awed by the naturally beauty of some places, but it is unlikely they will venture far, unless appreciation of nature itself was their goal to begin with. Unless someone already hears the land whispering, they will not notice it above the din of Nomos.

When a landscape is muted by Nomos, when human coming and going demands attention to human convention and not nature's conventions, when the entire Puget Sound area increasingly resembles a suburb of Seattle and not a land with the freedom to express itself independently of human habitation...then Nomos becomes everything, and anyone living in that bubble will be caught up in the delusion that nothing meaningful exists outside Nomos. The personality of the land will be unapparent, and the earth there will die a little more.

To make the point more succinctly, eco-theology is not simply a matter of being more ecologically aware or proactive. It isn't purely a matter of environmentalism and making efforts to protect local habitats. It also isn't about some radical move to abolish Nomos, which has its proper place tertiary to Physis. Eco-theology means embracing a deeper metaphysics of relationship, in which the voice of the land is not only heard, but actively listened to. It means treading softly through a living, breathing earth with a comportment of humility and awe, regarding it as an other and not a means to and end, but as an end in itself. This necessitates a worldview that perceives keenly the rights and limitations of Nomos as an individual member of a larger village. Eco-theology means making effort to see the earth through God's eyes; it means loving the earth precisely because it is a beloved of God.

Individuals as the cells of artificial intelligence; Humanity attempting to give birth to God

Jürgen Moltmann, in a piece of writing on Perichoresis, argued that modern individualism treats us like individuals and not persons.

This distinction between an individual and a person has serious implications in modern society. An individual, which, like the Greek for "atom," cannot be divided any further, has been broken down to its most isolated and basic elements. The problem is that when something can no longer be divided, it has no relationships at all. It is isolated and by itself. There is no knowing others and no knowing oneself. An individual is anonymous, without characteristics or family. It is a human being stripped of all community. An individual, so understood, is not a person. The implication is that in a society where we grow more isolated and competitive over and against one another, we are enslaved, not freed. We cease to be "Thou's."

While we have arguably become more connected with one another with the advent of the internet and social media, we have undeniably become more isolated from one another in the physical space. Cities are not communal spaces so much as they are environments for individuals to navigate as they go about their business, which ideally profits only the individual. We are not yet fully enslaved, but we are on the path to being individuals. In the eyes of the system that profits by our isolation, we aren't people so much as we are sources of precious data, by which the system may profit even more.

Complicate the picture even more by remembering that this data, extracted from billions of people, is being poured into the creation of artificial intelligences, which evolve ever faster and faster. A.I. will one day surpass human beings in complexity, just as they have already eclipsed us in terms of efficiency. Individuals become data resources in a grand project that will reshape everything. A world of isolated individuals is no longer a community of persons so much as it is a nursery. We are no longer persons in ourselves, but are broken down and converted, distilled as data, into the individual cells that will one day comprise artificial intelligence.

Fascinating, isn't it, how humanity suppresses its sense of the divine while devoting herculean effort towards creating beings of near infinite intelligence and immortality? We embrace a world of individuals and reject a world of persons. We deny the Imago Dei in ourselves as we simultaneously labor to create a technological Imago Dei. We deny God even as we try to give birth to God.

Sexuality and God-Images - A healing sexual theology of Submission and dominance

This is a paper I wrote for a class on Christian Sexuality. I hope it proves edifying to you. Note that there are footnotes on citations 14, 15 and 18 which may help to clarify certain points.

Thank you for reading. I hope you too will see the urgency of the task before us, the need to provide everyone with a unique language necessary for living into healing narratives and relationships.

"In Embodiment, James Nelson argues that sexual and religious questions are not mutually exclusive from one another as many traditions maintain, but rather inform and color each other necessarily.¹ Our sexuality conditions and affects our theology, and vice versa. This conditioning has a multitude of factors, not least of which is the power of the God-image on the sexually developing being. In what follows, I will explore the interplay between faith and sexuality, first providing personal and historical context, then arguing that God need not be related to in a way that is detrimental to the sexual unfolding and happiness of the individual. Drawing from my own context and Nelson, I will propose a sexual theology wherein the traditional power dynamic between humanity and the divine is inverted to reflect an authentic sexual communion surrounding submission and dominance. I will conclude that faith ought to be a matter of claiming a healing narrative and then living into a healing relationship, both with fellow sexual beings and with God. This will all begin with some personal and historical context on the subject.

Much ink has been spilled on establishing, defining and enforcing the normative God-images of western Christianity. Whether it is God as Father, God as Lord, God as Husband or God as Judge, the symbolic language by which we refer to the divine has concrete implications for how we live as embodied beings, particularly with regard to sexuality. Sometimes these implications are positive, sometimes negative. In my case, they were negative. Growing up, there was no sexual theology in place to make sense of my traumatic experiences.

The early family life of which I am cognizant was not very life-giving. My parents were unhappily married. They spent most of my childhood fighting, and while my mother was loving, she and my father both left me to my own devices. I discovered masturbation and sexuality almost entirely through pornography, as my father was too belligerent and abusive and my mother did not think it her place to explain male sexuality to her son. I was left in the dark. All I had to go on was my natural attraction to the opposite sex.

Partly due to fundamentalist Christian influence and partly because of my toxic relationship with my father, I saw God as an authority figure who said he loved me even when his behavior suggested that the condition for his love was total obedience. My father said he loved me, but I did not feel loved. God made me feel guilty and unworthy. Again, I was left to my own devices, and many days were spent alone before God, repenting but never experiencing absolution. God was Father and Judge, and neither God-image had a positive impact on me. The salt in the wound was that I was constantly told how vital relationship with God was, but I did not desire any such relationship with my Heavenly Father, let alone my earthly one. Needless to say, the God-image of Father did not facilitate my development, but rather nurtured my sense of hurt and resentment. My faith was stunted, and my sexuality developed according to what pornography taught me, leading to sexist dualisms that estranged me from my emotions. Neither my family nor my faith community contributed to my sexual or theological development. I had no context, and until college, I played along. God was Father, but I did not desire relationship with him, and sexual release only happened secretly on a computer screen late at night.

Looking back on the historical context of western Christianity, it is not surprising that my faith community and parents taught me nothing about sexuality. From the days of the overwhelmingly influential Saint Augustine to the present, Christianity has taken a more or less negative view of the human body and sexual relationships that take place outside of marriage (or for purposes other than procreation). This is largely attributable to Augustine. In his mind, sexual acts are sinful by nature and distort the loves and wills of humanity, transmitting the original sin of Adam and Eve like a biological contagion.² He is adamant on this point because it fits his experience; Augustine's life was characterized by lustful trysts that caused more harm than good, feeding into his sense of listlessness and inner frustration. His sexual drive was high, and he was clearly disturbed by the loss of self-control and willpower that occurs when engaging in sexual acts. In such moments, the human being becomes insatiable, attempting to feed an infinite desire with a finite good. Only God, the infinite good, can meet this infinite desire, and trying to replace God with sex is sinful in Augustine's eyes. Given this association between sex and selfish, insatiable desires (referred to as 'concupiscence'), “every sex act is not only directly connected to original sin (for which each of us is responsible) but also binds us more firmly to it.”³ In Confessions, Augustine writes that his heart is restless until it rests in God, who alone can satisfy his deep longing and properly order his will, so that lust can no longer turn him from divine love, which was waiting for him all along.⁴

In Augustine's mind, it is not humanity who first reaches out to God, but God who first reaches out to humanity. Even in the midst of sin and concupiscence, God is present, never far away, always ready to break the chains. In terms of grace and salvation, God always acts first. This is solidified later when Augustine argues contra Pelagius that humanity cannot abstain from sin by willpower alone, but is always in need of divine help. In other words, the initiative is God's alone to take. Even so, humanity is still free to pursue finite goods in place of the infinite good:

“How long it was before I learned that you were my true joy! You were silent then, and I went on my way, father and farther from you, proud in my distress and restless in fatigue, sowing more and more seeds whose only crop was grief.”⁵

Augustine's sexual history did not bring him fulfillment and wholeness, but rather grief. In processing his experiences, he turned to abstinence, prescribing a sexual ethic where sex could only happen in marriage, and then only for procreation. Thus, contraception and sex for pleasure were condemned.⁶ It takes only a cursory glance to see that Augustine's sexual ethic, first written through the experiential lens of a traumatic sexual history, is commonplace in Christianity today. The west's most predominant Christian sexual ethic was written by a man who ultimately gave up on embodied sexual fulfillment. In this way, it is easy to see how one's sexual experiences can color one's theology, and how one's theology can change the world.

Just as sexuality can color the particulars of theology, it also gives rise to God-images. The God-image most constraining to me is Father, which has become one of the most common God-images. It had its origins with Jesus himself, automatically lending itself to popularity. In first century Judaism, God was understood as a party to the covenant between him and his chosen people, Israel. Before that, he was the creator, the maker of all. In terms of relationship, he was the husband, while Israel was the bride.⁷ This marital language in theology has endured. Augustine in the 4^th century CE used such language when he described his years of lust, during which he “broke troth with [God].”⁸ Israelite transgression of the covenant was often interpreted in terms of breaking troth and marital infidelity.⁹ God was not commonly referred to as Father. However, possibly due to his own father's death and the subsequent loss of a stable father figure, Jesus had a moving experience where he came to know God as his heavenly Father, claiming dignity as a Son of God (after all, in all accounts of Jesus' ministry, Joseph is curiously absent).¹⁰ This metaphor gave life to Jesus, but for me, this paternal metaphor has become entangled in feelings of fear, hurt, resentment, and powerlessness. It has not contributed to my sexual unfolding.

What does contribute to my sexual unfolding is a God-image that not only makes sense of my experiences, but also gives me new understanding of who God is. In the course of discovering my own sexual characteristics, I learned that it is erotic for me to be in a dominant role. I appreciate and enjoy the submission of a partner because it indicates that they trust me and value my wishes. It is an affirmation of my self-worth, a reminder that I have control over my life and that I need not be a doormat to anyone. It also feeds into my nurturing side, the aspect of my self that has always wanted to be a responsible caretaker and provider. Being dominant and assuming the position of power in sexual acts speaks to what is good in me; it banishes my anxieties surrounding my sense of worthlessness engendered in me by my father, and it fills me with love for the person who first loved me enough to submit. It makes me a fuller person, and it was only when I became sexually active in this way that I achieved an orgasm meaningful to me. Being in control and indulging in the moment of desire, far from corrupting my humanity as Augustine feared, actually restored it.

This sexual development represents a deviation from the sexual ethic prescribed in most faith communities, which often closely resemble Augustine's. At the same time, it is also a departure from historical Christianity, which has always conceived of God in male terms and then as a figure of supreme authority, not as an intimate lover. The God-image that makes better sense to me of my sexual experiences and general context is God as female Lover. Like Augustine, I too wasted much time sowing seeds whose only crop was grief. But in the midst of all my loss and heartache, I have learned that God alone is the Lover who will never leave, the Supporter who will build me up, the Wife who will give my labor meaning, the Seductress whose charms will unfailingly hold my wandering gaze, and the Heart that will always desire me, even when I feel undesirable.

Moreover, God is the Lover who will give herself to me, not because I am more powerful or significant, but because she knows that her submission will make me happy. That is how much she loves me. Her submission and the transfer of power it signifies is an affirmation of my worth as the beloved, as a creature made in the image of God. This mode of relating to God gives me insight into the divine; for once, the tables are turned, and I can see God from an inverted point of view.

My proposal for a sexual theology is precisely this: humanity is afforded new perspective and is affirmed in its created goodness when it allows God to be submissive and itself to be dominant. Throughout history, God has always been the one to take the initiative, as Augustine argued. In nearly all of the philosophical and theological literature, God is all-powerful, dominant, all-knowing, utterly transcendent, and always in charge. God calls the shots, and humanity is the one who must surrender and find value in the act. I would argue that while this dynamic is not without merit, it also cuts off possibility and inhibits growth when it becomes the sole lens through which the relationship between God and humanity is viewed. Nelson writes that sexuality is “a highly symbolic dimension of human experience,” and that to think of it as such represents a “departure from from the heavily biological emphasis typical of traditional natural law theory in ethics.”¹¹ By the same token, I would argue that to see sexuality as a highly symbolic dimension of human experience also represents a departure from the heavily philosophical emphasis on traditional metaphysical and hierarchical distinctions between God and humanity, such as creator and created, spirit and matter, Lord and subject. When the relationship between God and humanity becomes one sided in this way, it ceases to be a polarity where “two harmonious elements essentially belonging together are yet distinguishable and may exist in creative tension.”¹² The implication of God always being in the position of power and dominance in the relationship is that humanity is always in the position of lack of power and submission, meaning that humanity will never fully understand the act of submission in context. Does giving mean as much when one does not know what it is to receive? God knows equally well what it is to dominate and what it is to submit, but in the historically adopted paradigm of divine domination, humanity has only ever known submission. In allowing God to submit, humanity is given the opportunity to know another aspect of God, to touch the divine heart, to experience union with the divine in a new and empowering way.

The first immediate objection is that if God submits and humanity dominates, God is made less and humanity is lifted up beyond safe boundaries. This need not be a concern. Nelson argues that authentic sexual communion precludes both dichotomy (wherein fundamental distinctions are not resolved) and absorption (where the two become one or both lovers are rendered precisely the same, in which case there is no polarity worth having). Rather:

In authentic sexual communion dichotomy is overcome while polarity remains. The body-self is united with the beloved partner. . .This communion retains its polarity. . .In a true sexual relationship with the beloved, I do not possess my partner. The same is true in the knowing relationship with God.”¹³

In short, if a sexual relationship of dominance and submission is entered into in good faith and loving intention on both sides, the polarity of creative tension and the uniqueness of both dom and sub remains untouched, regardless of whatever outward dynamic the sexual act might imply.¹⁴ The dom does not own the sub, and the sub's value or identity is not invalidated by the dom. Real sexual communion means giving lovingly and graciously accepting what is given, all in a dynamic of mutuality. However the power dynamic appears on the surface, if it is authentic sexual communion, the polarity remains. Even if God is conceived of in the role of sub, her power, identity and majesty is preserved. The ontological status quo between God and humanity remains, despite the outward appearance of power transfer. God does not become humanity and humanity does not become God; they merely become the beloved of one another in a different capacity.¹⁵

Another objection is that the rightful place of humanity is one of submission. This depends heavily on how one defines submission and whether or not the act of submission is toxic for the individual. There are those for whom submission is a return to a violent and traumatic childhood, for whom the language of submission holds little but trauma and sadness, just as there are those for whom the language of dominance denies the value of submission. Everyone has different experiences, and the language of submission will not be life-giving to everyone. For this reason, I argue that Christianity's historical emphasis on the value of human submission is highly contextual and should not be taken as universally valid across the board. There will always be those who find life in submission to God and to others, but there will also always be those for whom submission is death.

For those who seek to know and love God by way of the sexual theology I am proposing, there are arguments to be made against humanity always being in submission. When Augustine wrote that the initiative is God's alone to take, he implied that the human being was a “receptor only – a passive, waiting vessel who can only respond to the divine initiative. . .Thus, the image of a passive self totally pliable before God not only truncates the fullness of the body-self but also impoverishes the God to whom we would respond.”¹⁶ If humanity and God are lovers on a polarity, God is robbed of a lover when humanity does not contribute to the co-creative tension, floundering limply like a doll. There is little pleasure to be derived from a partner who lies lifeless and still, lacking dynamism of any kind, never giving feedback during the act. Whether dominant or submissive, God surely desires an active partner, not a passive receptor. If the initiative is always God's alone, then humanity is robbed of its right to be co-creative with God, and co-creativity is part of what it means to occupy a polarity of authentic sexual communion with the divine.

It goes without saying that all language applied to God is symbolic. Any sexual theology that conceives of God as Lover in the context of a specific sexual act is necessarily metaphorical and will not fully encapsulate the Mystery. Equally obvious is that the language of dominant and submissive relationship will not resonate with everyone's experiences, sexual or otherwise. But whatever form a sexual theology may take, it is important to recognize that sex, as a form of human language, is “an expression of the human search for meaning and belonging,” and that “sex for human beings is a language of love.”¹⁷ One of the first things a child in Sunday School learns is 'God loves you.' What that love means will change from person to person, from sexual history to sexual history, from heartache to heartache.¹⁸ Many people carry a lot of pain and alienation inside of them, as Augustine did for so many years. But where he dismissed the desire of sexuality as inherently sinful, I would argue that sexuality and sexual theology both ought to be about claiming healing narratives that speak to and validate our individual stories.

At its core, religion is about claiming healing narratives. Unfortunately, where there is no language in the community to give voice to their sexual or theological experiences, people will either bear the pain silently or look elsewhere. When the stories of the faith community do not resonate with and make room for the sexual self, that sexual self will be forced to find expression elsewhere, perhaps in a subculture established around a certain sexual act. Too often, an individual will discover themselves sexually only to find that their faith community is not only unwilling to celebrate that discovery, but condemns it! The simple fact is that not only are we unable to understand ourselves apart from our sexuality, but we also “do not have complete control over interpretations of our sexuality; some definitions and understandings are forced upon us. . .our sexuality is shaped by the time and space in which we live.”¹⁹ We cannot help being what we are, and we are fully justified in wanting to find communities where aspects of our sexual-selves can find freedom of expression. The tragedy lies in the fact that while many find acceptance in sexual subcultures, they do not always find that same acceptance in their faith communities or in their homes. This is true not only of certain sexual acts, but also of sexual theologies that go against the grain established by Augustine long ago. I know of no church where the sexual theology I proposed could be wholly accepted. Like many, I am forced to compartmentalize my self, to pick and choose between membership in seemingly mutually exclusive tribes.

There is an urgent need for theological language that can facilitate the synthesis between these tribes, so that people may experience both sexual and spiritual fulfillment, not one at the expense of the other. Whatever human beings are, we are social and sexual, and our sexuality is an expression of our search for value and meaning; when we find that value and meaning, we ought to be able to share it with others! Our sexuality informs our intimate relationships, both with people and with God. In the final analysis, these relationships should reflect authentic sexual communion and take forms that heal us, rather than hurt us. They should never inhibit our unfolding as social and sexual beings desiring intimacy and acceptance. The sexual theology of human domination and divine submission is merely one of many sexual theologies that need to be written. We need many more such theologies and God-images, so that all people may own a language by which to express their sexual experiences to both their divine and human beloved.

Works Cited:

Nelson, James B. Embodiment: An Approach to Sexuality and Christian Theology. First ed., Minneapolis, MN, Augsburg Publishing House, 1978, pp. 15-106.

Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. San Francisco, Harper One, 1989.

Beattie, Patricia, and Darryl W. Stephens, editors. Professional Sexual Ethics: A Holistic Ministry Approach. First ed., Minneapolis, MN, Fortress Press, 2013, pp. 12-62.

Augustine, Saint. Confessions. Westminster, Penguin Books, 1961, pp. 34-44.

Hinson, E G. The Early Church. First ed., Nashville, TN, Abingdon Press, 1996, p 30.

1James B. Nelson, Embodiment, page 15

2Professional Sexual Ethics, page 62

3Nelson, page 53

4Saint Augustine, Confessions, page 21

5Augustine, pages 43-44

6Professional Sexual Ethics, page 62

7Holy Bible NRSV, Isaiah 54:5, Hosea 2:19, Jeremiah 31:32, Malachi 3:17

8Augustine, page 34

9Hosea 2:2-23, Jeremiah 3:20

10Glenn Hinson, The Early Church, page 30

11Nelson, page 28

12Nelson, page 37

13Nelson, pages 34-35

14Briefly, in relationships of power transfer and exchange, the dominant one who takes initiative and derives pleasure from dominance is referred to as a top or dom (there are fine distinctions between a top and a dom, but these lie outside the scope of this paper. We will simply use the term dom moving forward), and the submissive one who derives pleasure from submission is referred to as the sub.

15In such relationships, it is the sub who has the power; while the dom takes the initiative and dictates what sexual act will happen and when, the sub has the final word and retains the power to say “yes” or “no,” to which the dom must respectfully comply. The dom has only the appearance of power. God is not diminished in any way as the sub. In fact, her ultimate power is thus affirmed.

16Nelson, page 32

17Nelson, pages 105-106

18For many with experiences similar to mine, the statement 'God loves you' can be harmful if that love is perceived as coming from certain figures, i.e. paternal figures. My father said he loved me, but his actions implied otherwise. If God is paternal and I hear 'God loves you,' it rings hollow in my ears. If a faith community succeeds in making the statement 'God loves you' ring hollow for anyone, it has failed in its primary mission.

19Professional Sexual Ethics, pages 12-13"

The following is something I wrote in response to a class discussion question on contradictions in scripture. The question was what we can do with such contradictions. I wasn't expecting to write anything useable for this blog, but it just sort of happened, and I feel comfortable sharing. I hope it helps you in some way.

-James

"As someone who is re-experiencing biblical material from a philosophical background, I appreciate things like clearly defined terms and mutually affirming accounts of things. Contradictions, I've learned, are to be avoided or rooted out. But this is not possible in the case of scripture, or even of ancient literature. The method of editing is drastically different from the one we've adopted today. Rather than edit the text to coalesce as a whole in order to make a single point, ancient editors compile different views and thoughts in order to present the subject in as nuanced a light as possible. While maddening in its own way, I think these inevitable contradictions give us the opportunity, as readers open to experiencing the Divine, to examine faith in very important ways (of which I mean to present two).

First, the contradictions provide us a window into the mindset of the author(s) and editor(s). As has often been noted in class, an interpretation of a thing will always reveal more about the interpreter than the thing being interpreted. We can learn from the contradictions by encountering them not as objective, literal accounts, but as viewpoints that color the text. Biology teaches us that diversity is a sign of health in any given system; I'd argue that this holds true even in matters of scripture. It is well that I have multiple accounts of the creation myth or of David's introduction to Saul. This means that I am presented with not just one viewpoint to consider, but two. If I were only interested in scripture for its prescriptive value to tell me what to believe, multiple accounts of a single event might be distressing. But if the study of human nature has taught me anything, it's that no two people ever encounter the same phenomenon in quite the same way. If I approach scripture from the viewpoint of a learner, I have more material to work with if I have multiple accounts. The unravelling of a mystery is always richer and more satisfying when there are many layers to consider. In this way, contradiction in scripture can be edifying in a scholarly way. I can learn to read the text as the author(s) intended it to be read.

The second opportunity provided by contradictions in scripture is a result of the first; it is the mystical encounter with the God who is infinitely larger than the scriptural context that presumes to encapsulate him. When I am presented with two different accounts, I am not passively spoon fed the Word of God; I am forced into picking up the spoon and feeding myself. The contradiction of opposing accounts of creation may initially be distressing, but when I meditate on them and listen to which of the two is meant for me, suddenly I have found something far more valuable than a scholarly "guesstimation" of the truth of the matter. Suddenly, I have found a truth that achieves reality in me. Kierkegaard called this a process of subjective appropriation, wherein truth is not only encountered by the individual, but also absorbed into the individual. When I am forced into grappling with the different accounts of the Christian Gospels, I am pulled into a deeper examination of what significance Christ's words hold. The result of my grappling is a mystical experience with truth, with God, which goes beyond mere intellectual assent; the truth achieves reality within me. This is merely my personal way of thinking on the subject. Suffice it to say that contradictions in scripture can be the catalyst for a mystical experience of the Divine, one that is not bogged down by doctrine or dogma. I can learn to read the text as God, not just the author, intended me to read it.


All this has been a rather longwinded way of saying that I think the key to dealing with any given discrepancy in a scriptural text is first to discover what the author meant and how they encountered the Divine. Second, to discover what the Divine means to you. We can't just jump back in time and witness the past for ourselves, that is, an objective view of scripture is denied us. But a subjective view, whether through the our own eyes or the eyes of the author(s), is always accessible."

This is the Idiot, signing out.

Science in the face of the smallness of humanity

To be read with ambient cosmic horror music playing in the background. I recommend this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlDivIaiuMU

"I think, in the grand scale of things, humanity thinks too much of its own understanding. It only takes a little honesty and humility to admit that we are nothing in the face of the cosmos, which indefinitely stretches out into a strange nothingness. The more difficult admission is that there is no salvation in attempting to expand our knowledge of the universe, because dust mites, however clever, are nothing when faced with the alien corpse of a sperm whale in the darkness of the ocean depths. The vastness of existence is beyond our ability to comprehend. That having been said, science ought not to proceed with the assumption that everything can be known, because there will always be an unknown horizon for us to explore. Just when science thinks it has adequately described the universe, new phenomenon will throw our certainty into panicked disarray.

It's worth noting that science has a place in human life and a perfectly legitimate employment. People like the great Carl Sagan, who are humble in their exploration of the wondrous universe, are a credit to their disciplines. The benefits of science are obvious, and there is no reason to avoid learning more about the amazing world we occupy, though complete mastery may elude us.

But science is not infallible. A common mistake, I have experienced, is to place faith in the ability of science to make all matters clear. The mistake lies in the fact that science is equipped to be descriptive of the world, but not prescriptive. It has power to tell unravel the intimate workings of the natural world, but it has no power to make value judgements or inform one how one's life ought to be lived. Science is often misappropriated as a basis for philosophies or world views, many of which history looks back on with disgust. For example, it was once declared in the name of science that the white man was superior to all humanity, and that the sterilization of society's "undesirables" might benefit humanity's general situation. These prescriptive misappropriations of science contributed, as many know, to the evils of the Holocaust, which the Nazis considered the fulfillment of everything American scientists had described in their detailed writings on eugenics.

Additionally, science has a tendency to change. What is fact one year is made obsolete the next. Today's fact is yesterday's disproved theory. The most that science can consistently afford us is knowledge of what can be safely predicted in the occurrences of the natural world. But even then, it is mere prediction, not certainty. Nothing is set in stone. The very earth beneath our feet, and how we permit ourselves to think of it, is under constant revision. There is no solid footing left, no still moments, no rest. Humanity becomes tossed about on a sea of change. But despite the uncertainty of its position, humanity becomes somehow determined to think of its rocky boat as a firm foundation, as a describer of the world and as a prescriber of values.

I think it worth noting that the prerogative to make prescriptive claims on human life has more firmly rested with religion and faith. Theology and spirituality, while not exempt from the chaotic change of the other sciences, profess as their foundations a more or less stable axiom, that there is more to life than can be empirically shown. These disciplines, more preoccupied with the truths of poetry and literature, are no less valuable than the natural sciences. They may not have the descriptive power of science, but they engender in us the honesty and humility to know that human beings are finite and in desperate need of something more. In a sense, theology and spirituality are open to the strangeness of the world, its infinite incomprehensibility and impossible strangeness.

Of course, these traditionally religious areas of human life are, like science, not without grievous faults. All too often, scripture is shown to have petty human interests at heart. Wars convenient to those who stand to benefit are often started in the name of religion. Spiritual awareness can lead to zealotry and evil in the name of good. Wrongly construed, the "word of God" can be taken to be an endorsement of ethically reprehensible practices. Faith, while a reaction to something more than human, is all too often warped into something small, petty and human.
Ultimately, it isn't what humans do or write that is interesting to me. The failures of humanity, whether in matters of faith or science, are not difficult to affirm. I witness them every day, both in my actions and in the actions of others. No, whatever human beings derive on the basis of their own inspiration and capabilities, it does not matter; it holds no interest for me. What does hold interest for me is the intrusion of the alien and divine into human life, and the human reaction to that intrusion. Such a dynamic defies all the rules of our little existence. Could such a thing could ever happen? The sheer size of the world and what lies beyond it is so immense that the human mind simply cannot take it all in. The world is completely beyond us.

And for that reason, I call scientism an overrated fad. Faith in human epistemic and rational capabilities is far less compelling to me than faith in what is transcendent of those same human capabilities. That alien and unknowable otherness, which has made itself known in whispers and brutal death, intangibly calls every human mind to contemplation. It implants symbols into the mind. The cross is both a taunt and acknowledgement of death, a call to the madness of an eternal existence. I use the word "madness" quite deliberately, for love is mad, and God is love. And by the narrow definition of rationality and reason that we insignificant specs put forth as incontestable, God is utterly insane, for his love knows no rational limit, and he will love in ways that confound our tiny sense of ethicality or logic. What he sees and does goes utterly beyond what we can see and do, and so he appears from the human perspective as irredeemably insane. There is no single logos tying his behaviors down in ways that we humans can grasp. He is wholly other. We think ourselves sane, and he mad. But perhaps it is he who is sane and we who are mad. And who is to say what constitutes saneness or madness in an objective sense? Surely not we humans, whose eyes are so imperfectly dim. And yet God has shown himself willing to stretch out his hands and reveal the eldritch truth to those open to seeing.

Logic (and any paradigm of science that glorifies logic) is ultimately a tiny god to worship; I will never understand the people who appeal to it over the  overwhelming insanity and otherness of God.

Maybe Lovecraft had more insight into faith than he could have ever guessed."

This is the Idiot, signing out.

The Theology of Flatland (God and the 4th Dimension)

Last semester at school, I was required to take a lower level math course that I had no desire to sit through. For the most part, my dread and hesitancy were both justified, but for one brief, shining week or two, the math class covered the topic of the 4th Dimension. Part of that study involved reading Flatland, a wonderful book by Edwin A. Abbott that tells the story of a 2-dimensional being experiencing the higher realities of the 3rd dimension, as we see it. Truly fascinating stuff, I would encourage anyone and everyone to read it.

Everyone else in the class seemed to hate this topic. Perhaps it was too cerebral for them (though how any of them could prefer to discuss modular arithmetic or statistics instead of dimensional theory is beyond me), but my colleagues were relieved when the topic was over and we were assigned a paper, detailing our thoughts and reactions to Flatland. Perhaps it was because I was in a particularly theological mood that semester, but I tackled it from a perspective of how the idea of the 4th dimension pertains to varying models of God's existence. It was philosophically satisfying as well.

This is the paper that I wrote. I feel confident enough in my writing and reasoning that I can share it with you all without too much trepidation. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope this gives you something extra to think about when the subject of God's existence or Flatland or dimensional theory crops up.

And with that said, spoilers. You have been warned.

"At first glance, Flatland appears to have little to do with theology. The given history of that 2-dimensional plane is fueled by satire, the plot points are written in terms of geometrical proofs and the overall goal of the work seems to be to get the reader to think in terms of 0-4 dimensions (or even 0-nth dimensions). Yet the book has themes that transcend the field of mathematics to which it is traditionally bound, especially in the second half when the main figure, A. Square, receives a revelation from a Sphere who comes in the name of a “Gospel of the 3^rd Dimension.” Such terms as “Gospel,” “converts” or “Apostle” imply deeper religious meanings which can give the book added context (62). By no means is this a book with ideological content that is exclusive to the field of mathematics.

This shift towards theology begins in the second half of the book and persists until the end, from the arrival of the visiting Sphere to A. Square's imprisonment. The book's first sign of theological awareness is the point in the story when the Sphere pulls Square out of Flatland and into Spaceland, where Square is overcome with wonder and awe that leads him to initially make the assumption that he now sees things as God does. “Behold, I am become as a God. For the wise men in our country say that to see all things, or as they express it, omnividence, is the attribute of God alone” (66). The Sphere is quick to rebuke him, responding that if omnividence is the attribute of God, then even the crudest and most immoral of Spacelanders must be divine, at which point divinity becomes a joke. Qualities like mercy and love are betters indicators of divinity, according to him.

In this case, Omnividence is a thinly veiled term for omniscience, which was platonically thought to be one of the attributes of a perfectly rational and aloof God. In this platonic theological model, God is seen as being above the possibility of being affected by anything, even feelings. This preference of the intellectual over the emotional is reflected in Flatland's attitude towards women, who are depicted as being irrational and overly-emotional. The Sphere's answer is a dismissal of the platonic model, with its uncaring and purely rational God. Furthermore, it is a refutation of A. Square's gnostic presumption that knowledge, power, and perception are signs of godliness.

It is worth briefly noting that the King of Pointland is another example of the platonic theological model and its inadequacies. As described by the Sphere, this non-dimensional being is completely self encapsulated and utterly indivisible, since he is a universe unto himself: “He is himself his own World, his own Universe; of any other than himself he can form no conception; he knows not Length, nor Breadth, nor Height, for he has had no experience of them; he has no cognizance even of the number Two; nor has he a thought of Plurality; for he is himself his One and All, being really Nothing” (75). The Greek world associated plurality and divisibility with the physical, which was mortal, sinful, and prone to decay. Conversely, singleness and indivisibility were associated with the spirit, which was divine, rational, and eternal. What this implied for them was a God who was a single unit unto himself, so completely transcendent that he could only be aware of himself. This platonic God was, for the Greeks, the highest being, a position that is contested by the example of the King of Pointland, who while being utterly singular is also at the lowest possible level of existence. How pitiful it would be if God were so wrapped up in himself that he could not even be aware of anything other than himself! Creation itself would then be impossible, since creation, by definition, implies a creator and a creation, which is a plurality. By way of this comparison between the non-dimensional and the platonic, we can apply geometry to theology; if God is to be worthy of his name, he cannot possibly be non-dimensional and ignorant of plurality like the King of Pointland, and consequently, he cannot be like the God that the Greeks envisioned.

Also worthy of mention is how Square's initial conviction that Spaceland is the ultimate reality is analogous to the way many people imagine they may feel about the prospect of meeting intelligent extraterrestrials or experiencing the 4^th Dimension firsthand. The rash assumption is often made that upon find ourselves capable of such transcendence, God becomes irrelevant. It may seem a disappointment for a Flatlander to experience the 3^rd Dimension and not find God there (as was the case when Square first assumed that omnividence was Godly and then realized his error), but this does not mean that God is not out there in a yet higher dimension. The day may come when human beings discover a way to travel to the most distant stars or experience the 4^th Dimension for themselves, and they may find no God waiting for them. But this should not be discouraging. How disappointing it would be to learn that God is merely 4^th Dimensional, and not at a level of existence infinitely greater than that. Whatever dimensions we eventually travel to and regardless of what beings we meet, it would be theologically advisable for us to remember that God is the Great Other, of whom we can as of yet see but little. Square's inability to look upward did not discount the possibility of upward direction; our inability to look in God's direction does not discount the possibility of his existence. No matter how many dimensions we travel to, we will not find God with our own eyes, but he will still be present. Until we meet face to face, he will remain Nth Dimensional.

All of this is to say that our finitude as human beings affects how we think of God and also how we are unable to see him. Our platonic models yield only the pitiful King of Pointland and unfeeling rationality, and no matter how hard we try, we do not have eyes capable of seeing beyond the fog of our imposed dimensions. No matter what incredible strides we make in terms of spatial or dimensional capability, the one true and all encompassing answer is beyond achieving on our own strength. But in spite of all this, we have heard God speak to us, though we could not see him. We did not have to rip through dimensional barriers to find the truth; the truth came to us. When God decided that the time was right for us to see him with our limited, 3-Dimensional eyes, he stepped down into our dimension as the Incarnation, so he could preach a Gospel of a Kingdom, the Dimension of Heaven."

Feedback/comments are welcomed and encouraged. I'd love to hear what you think of all this.

Until next time, this is the Idiot, signing out.

Unconscious Pagans: A Response to "Christianity Rediscovered"

Hello, all. I wrote a paper just recently for a class at college. It might actually be one of the most concise papers I've ever written, and I am quite pleased with it. Looking back at my old posts, I can see that I have come a long way, but I still have a long way to go.

The paper is a response to a book I read called "Christianity Rediscovered." It was about a Catholic missionary named Donovan who traveled to Africa in the 1960's. He was deeply disturbed by the way that the once good name of Christianity had been dragged through the mud of racial hatred and institutionalism, both of which are NOT central to the Christian message. He also worried that Christianity had become too Western, too estranged from the third world to be able to make any difference in the life of a nomadic tribe, of which there are many in Africa. I recommend this book for anyone who wants to see the culturally sensitive side of Christianity or wants to be given a reason why Christianity is NOT conformist or culturally single minded, and is in fact freely accessible to everyone.

That being said, here's my customary disclaimer: The paper is not meant to offend, just to build on top of what I see as solid work from Donovan and to make it more relevant to a contemporary Western audience.

"Most Christians today agree that the teachings of Christ are wholly distinct from worldly beliefs. The Christian Gospel is allegedly transcendent, above any worldly influence that could dilute the significance of its message. And yet, none can deny that throughout its long historical existence, Christianity as a whole has progressively assumed a decidedly Western tone. During the time of Vincent J. Donovan, missionary and author of Christianity Rediscovered, this Westernized Christianity began to show its age and limitations in how it went about its mission to spread the Gospel. In its emphasis on the education of and financial assistance for the African people, the Church essentially became another world charity organization, a mere institution, no better qualified to share the Gospel than the United Nations. After one hundred years of such administration, the only victory achieved was a hollow one, with liturgy being neglected and religion becoming just another subject taught in the schools (7).

Donovan protests this cultural bias, and rightly so. Throughout his book, he argues that the radical individualism and institutionalism of Western society needs careful examination (and when necessary, restriction) before preaching the Gospel, and throughout this brief exposition, I will argue that, at all times, Christians should carefully emphasize the Gospel's transcendence over all earthly systems and its need to be shared within a culturally subjective context. Every tribe and people, whether pagan or Western, is perfectly capable of listening to and receiving the good news. The challenge lies in translating it in such a way that they can understand it within their own cultural context. Only then can they begin to decide their collective response. The relationship between Christian theology (or belief in the divine message that it is meant to clarify) and human culture becomes clear in this light. Theology is meant to meet humanity where it stands.

Frustrated by the inefficiency of the Church's institutional work in Africa, Donovan took an alternative, direct approach. In a letter to an unnamed bishop, he expressed a desire to dispense with the failing, traditional strategy of not preaching the Gospel directly to the pagans:

“I suddenly feel the urgent need to cast aside all theories and discussions, all efforts at strategy – and simply go to these people and do the work among them for which I came to Africa. . . .I know this is a radical departure from traditional procedure, but the very fact that it is to be considered shows the state we are in” (13).

Traditional procedure dictated that one could not preach the Gospel to pagans directly, but that they needed time and incentive to warm up to Christian ideology (42). This might be a concern for a number of reasons, whether political, economical or historical, etc. But when Donovan defied the norm by asking a Masai elder named Ndangoya to speak with him about God (as opposed to medical or financial aid), it quickly became clear that the pagan Masai were already culturally prepared for the Gospel; they needed no warming up or incentive to listen to it when it was spoken. “Who can refuse to talk about God?” answered Ndangoya (18).

Donovan soon learned that the Masai, indeed, all pagans, are beautiful people. They have beautiful customs, habits and expressions. They are human without being Western. But more importantly, they possess their own liturgies and a religious mindset that is potentially receptive to the Christian Gospel. The true story of the virtuous Ole Sikii, the Masai who earnestly sought Engai (his god) even to the edges of a volcano, but for all his effort could not find him, stands as a testament to the honesty and purity of pagan belief (83-90). Though the way they think about God and theological concepts might initially sound too different from the orthodoxy that Westerners have accepted, they are every bit as capable of comprehending the significance of the Christian Gospel and the fulfillment that it entails.

Indeed, fulfillment is the single most important word that could be used to describe the Gospel to pagan ears. The Gospel does not demand a conforming to Western thought. It has no cultural strings attached. Being a Christian does not strictly mean abandoning tribal culture and embracing the theological culture of the Western Church. But what the Gospel does entail is the fulfillment of the beliefs and customs already in pagan possession, meaning that Christ and all subsequent theology is meant to meet humanity where it stands. In other words, pagan culture and liturgy is entirely compatible with Christian doctrine, just as the language of the Hellenistic people encountered by Paul proved entirely compatible. While the Greeks sought God, God sought the Greeks, and he spoke to them through missionaries like Paul. The Gospel presented itself as an answer to the great questions that had plagued Greek thought for years; the Gospel was the fulfillment of their culture. In just the same way, the messages of forgiveness and community preached by Christ addressed the age old concerns and fears of the Masai people. Though their creation myth was not that of Eden, it shared the most fundamental themes of Creation and Fall, albeit with different cultural biases (43).

In multiple cases, Donovan learned to dismiss the culturally blind assumption that pagans have no sense of piety, or that grace and holiness were gifts that he needed to bring with him to the dark corners of the world. His encounters with the various Masai tribes made it progressively clearer to him that grace and holiness already abounded there, regardless of his missionary presence. In fact, when his own faith failed him, he found among the Masai culture a new insight to faith that helped inspire him to complete his task. To the Masai, true belief is like a lion on the hunt, who leaps for his prey, wraps his arms around it, and takes it into himself. Merely agreeing to something is like the hunter who shoots his prey from a distance and uses only a portion of his body, but real faith requires the use of the lion's entire being in its pursuit. Moreover, the analogy provides an excellent picture of how God seeks out his people. “We have not searched for him,” said the Masai elder. “He has searched for us. He has searched for us and found us. All the time we think we are the lion. In the end, the lion is God” (48). In a way, this is the heart of the Christian faith; while humanity seeks the divine, the divine seeks humanity. The light of the Gospel was always God's to give, and he gives it indiscriminately of culture.

Not only is the Gospel intended to be given to all cultures, but it is also meant to be heard and understood by them as well. As in the case of language, we fail to understand foreign languages despite our familiarity with the common meanings behind words, as we are not always familiar with the words to which meanings correspond. Human beings do not speak a single language, nor do they have a single cultural context in which to share concepts. Instead, there are many cultures and ways of thinking. If the Gospel is truly transcendent of earthly limitations, then it cares nothing for culture. This is not to say that the Gospel dispenses with human culture as worthless, but instead that it cares for human cultural, political, or historical systems specifically as varying means by which it can express itself to the human understanding. For example, God communicated with the tribe of Israel in terms of its own culture, but this does not make ancient Hebrew culture somehow superior to contemporary ones. Human ways of thinking, living, and speaking, while valued as precious, are vehicles for the underlying message of the Gospel. They are ways of signifying something greater than themselves.

If this is true, then Western civilization has no exclusive claim to the interpretation of the Gospel. Donovan frequently criticizes the Western Church for being too individualistic and centered around organizations. He contrasts these tendencies to the communitarian outlook of Masai tribal society, and claims that, “A missionary facing an alien culture, to be an efficient instrument of the gospel, has to have the courage to cast off the idols of the tribe, of the tribe he came from” (68). In other words, a missionary like Donovan must set aside his tendencies of thinking in terms of individualism or institutionalism, both traits of Western “tribes,” and learn to take on a new meta-cultural perspective, which is entirely in keeping with the demands of missionary work.

Up to this point, Donovan has correctly assessed the relationship between the Gospel and human culture, but a problem presents itself: he has articulated well how Christianity is a fulfillment of pagan culture, but he has said nothing of fulfillment for Western culture. What about the people who do not possess the religious receptivity of the pious pagans, and whose culture has contrasting values that do not immediately lend themselves to the fulfillment that the Gospel promises?

I am a Westerner. I have never travelled to Africa or any third world countries, and as such, Western society is my native environment. The only foreign countries I have seen with my own eyes are European ones, with developed cities and no nomadic tribes to speak of. The people and customs there are as diverse and unique as anywhere, but they differ from the pagans in that they have inherited varying viewpoints with regards to religion. I have seen that large portions of Europe are without belief. Despite the towering cathedrals that still stand as reminders of their Christian heritage, many Westerners do not acknowledge any need for faith in their lives. This obstacle to missionary work is not exclusive to Europe, either. North America finds itself in a similar situation. The public eye here often confuses faith for fundamentalism or irrationality. In increasing numbers, Western people dismiss belief in God as an antiquated notion. At best, they see the Gospel as trivial or subjective.

Westerners, for all their civilization, are in desperate need. Though they may not starve or suffer under conditions of civil war, they lack the ability to see the Gospel as a fulfillment of their culture. In their comfort, they have lost the religious receptivity of the pagans, which was what once allowed Christianity to spread, and they remain unaware of their loss. They are as the rich young man who refused to follow Christ after giving away his possessions. My objection to Donovan is not his meta-cultural perspective of missionary work, but rather how limited his scope within that field of work is. He emphasizes the need to speak the pagan language to bring them the fulfillment of the Gospel, but he remains silent as to how the Gospel should translate to Western ears. Donovan is a product of his time, putting all his focus into third world missionary work because that was where the greatest need once seemed to be. Apart from an occasional anecdote about the ignorance of Western youth in the classroom, he seems blind to the spiritual poverty of Western culture, and gives no guidance or insight as to how this obstacle can be overcome.

Having never traveled to Africa, I cannot say with certainty that Donovan's emphasis was unnecessary. Extreme poverty and suffering are, beyond any reasonable doubt, real issues that Christians must take seriously. In spite of that, I am keenly aware that I do not live in the pagan society that Donovan describes. Post-modernism and the lingering spirit of the Enlightenment have hardened the heart of the West to the good news. In a way, the West has assumed the traditionally negative connotations of paganism: its superstition is science, its witchdoctors are radical secularists, and, most dangerously, it teaches an active resistance to any notion of a higher power that could threaten human sovereignty. Westerners have become the worst sort of pagans, the kind who have lost their religious receptivity, something crucial to the acknowledgement of the fulfillment promised by the Gospel. Arguably, this fulfillment is the very point of missionary work. In short, Westerners have traded the positive aspects of their paganism for all the negative ones. They remain willfully ignorant of who they really are.

Donovan's strategy of the Finishable Task assumes that pagans who will either accept or reject the Gospel constitute the world. For those who accept, they receive the Christian inheritance, and they must become missionaries unto their neighbors. For those who reject, Donovan says nothing except that he must mournfully pass them by and continue sharing with those who will listen (80-82). With this tactic, he excludes many Westerners, as a simple sharing of the Gospel will never suffice in persuading them. Moreover, his outlined plan entails approaching “the people of any culture or nation, not as individuals, but as a community” (121). This worked well in his dealings with the Masai, but for Westerners, who do not often think in terms of community, this approach fails.

Either Donovan's meta-cultural vision of the Gospel is correct, and missionaries need to approach Westerners within the context or their own culture (even if that culture is individualistic or organization centered), or they need to convince Westerners that their culture is somehow wrong and that they must embrace a communitarian outlook. The first option says that Westerners must hear the Gospel in their own terms, while the second dictates that they must forsake their culture and take on aspects of one more fitting with Donovan's model. But this second alternative is an anathema to Donovan's entire position, since he initially concerned himself with the fact that the Western Church has no right to impose Western culture on any who hear the Gospel. Consequently, pagan communitarianism has no right to impose its culture on the West, and Donovan's complaints of Western individualism are dismissible in the face of the Gospel, which is transcendent of human culture in any case.

Looking back, I can see that Donovan's approach is true to the original missionary intent and practice of the Gospel. Seen in this light, Christianity is geared for reaching out to pagans, specifically those who earnestly seek God. But at the same time, Christianity appears ill-suited for dealing with a culture of pagans who have heard the good news but rejected it. However accurate Donovan's view, it fails to consider the fulfillment of Western culture. This stands out as a clear shortcoming. While I must agree with Donovan's model, it suffices only as one half of a greater equation, a foundation upon which to build. The question becomes how missionaries can translate the Gospel into the language of Western pagans while staying true to Donovan's meta-cultural approach to missionary work.

Belief in the Gospel meets people where they are. It must meet us Westerners in terms of our own language while somehow coaxing us away from our hard-hearted Enlightenment presuppositions. It must remain consistent with our scientific and moral sensibilities while simultaneously engendering in us a heart of understanding, a willingness to listen to God's message as given through the Incarnation. It must transform us from rejecting pagans into virtuous pagans. It must convince us of the need to acknowledge our own paganism, and that the Gospel fulfills our culture every bit as much as it does that of the Masai of Africa."

Works Cited:

Donovan, Vincent J. Christianity Rediscovered. 4thth ed. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 2005. N. pag. Print.

Feedback/comments are welcome and appreciated. I'd love to hear what you think of all this.

This is the Idiot, signing out.