A Response to C.S. Lewis’ “The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment”

Last evening, a dear friend of mine invited me to read C.S. Lewis’ essay, “The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment” in which Lewis offers a criticism of legal theories that prioritize rehabilitation and/or deterrence over notions of just deserts. What I found both surprised and disappointed in light of Lewis’ other writings and his admiration for thinkers like George MacDonald, whom Lewis refers to as his master.

Given Lewis’ status in the Christian world, mere attempts at criticism risk being dismissed as hubris. Nevertheless, I see in Lewis’ argument an erroneous predisposition that has long plagued not only Western civil law but also Western Christianity, and thus merits a response.

Lewis’ central claim is that, despite their benevolent intentions, advocates of humanitarian punishment undermine the relevant authority’s grounds for determining just deserts: “… take away desert and the whole morality of the punishment disappears. Why, in Heaven’s name, am I to be sacrificed to the good of society in this way? – unless, of course, I deserve it.”

Those who, like Lewis, have been conditioned within the Western European legal paradigm may take as granted the claim that certain actions demand a retributive response. They may even recognize a certain logic in Lewis’ argument. But it is in taking retributive justice for granted and failing to substantiate his presuppositions that Lewis’ argument fails.

Matters of law, justice and ethics in general must necessarily begin with the end, or purpose, in view because ends provide the only coherent basis for grounding and guiding legal and ethical determinations in specific cases. For instance, a utilitarian society will hold that its primary goal is a society that maximizes the well-being of the greatest number of people and its laws and judgments will be enforced in light of this end. If a prospective judgment results in an unnecessary decrease in the overall well-being of the society it can be dismissed as harmful and unnecessary within this utilitarian framework.

Lewis is unclear as to the primary end that law and justice should serve in society. He upholds the importance of retribution and just deserts for the sake of morality and human rights but provides little to substantiate his argument. This begs two questions: 1) What end, if any, does retributive justice serve? 2) Is this end superior to alternatives? Put differently, we should ask if it is even proper to begin from notions of just deserts.

What is the purpose of legal retribution? Does it solve the problem it seeks to address? If a murderer is executed for killing another person many would declare that justice has been done and perhaps even that the problem has been solved. Seeing a perpetrator punished might give some satisfaction to those bereaved, but this is not restitution. But killing the killer doesn’t bring the victim back to life. One might instead argue that killing murderers communicates a deterring message to the society at large. However, reducing justice to a deterrent is rejected by Lewis because, according to him, it has nothing to do with what the criminal deserves for his crime.

Let’s take a less extreme example. Suppose a thief is charged for stealing $100. Restitution would be achieved by simply returning the money to its rightful owner and perhaps making amends for any damages or hardships that resulted from this theft. One might even argue that an additional fine or punishment is required to deter future theft. Again, though, this would fall under the humanitarian, deterrent forms of punishment Lewis rejects. He maintains that some sort of retributive punishment is required for the sake of justice, apart from deterrence and restitution.

This takes us back to question 1 – What end does retributive justice – in and of itself, apart from restitution and deterrence – serve? One searches in vain for a persuasive answer because retribution appears to have no purpose other than conforming to an unsubstantiated notion of just deserts.

The closest Lewis comes to substantiating his notion of just deserts relates to his appeal to human rights. Society should have a say in determining what constitutes a just punishment, which upholds the will of the people. For any serious student of history, this is a frightening prospect. The masses have often demanded or at least condoned “just” punishments that we now see as abhorrent. Lutherans and Calvinists tortured and massacred Anabaptists for believing differently than they did. The United States built itself up through legal slavery for nearly a century. Fourteen-year-old George Stinney was wrongfully executed by the State of South Carolina, sentenced without due process by a jury of his peers. All three examples were seen as just.

Perhaps Lewis would appeal to his understanding of Divine Law. God is the ultimate law giver and has decreed that His justice demands retribution. The problems with this approach are, first, it isn’t mentioned in Lewis’ article and second, can be understood in a number of ways, as has been the case throughout the history of Christianity. Furthermore, the ultimate punishment one can suffer in Lewis’ theological framework, eternal damnation from God, results not from God’s retributive act but from the free choice of those damned.

Some Christians viewed punishment as a means to an end similar to advocates of Humanitarian Punishment Theory while others saw punishment as an end in itself. Biblical and theological arguments are made for both perspectives. Nevertheless, if Lewis wishes to uphold punishment on the basis of just deserts the question remains – what good does it accomplish to punish someone simply because they deserve it?

Thus the second question – Is this end, being retribution for the sake of just deserts, superior to alternative approaches? Does it offer more explanatory power or persuasive force? Clearly not, and I would go as far as saying that the very theory that Lewis criticizes offers a much more persuasive account of the ends punishment should serve. The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment outlines several potential and positive ends for punishment, including remediation, restitution and deterrence. A criminal’s sentence can work for their own good, providing them resources for becoming a law-abiding member of society, and for the good of society, protecting citizens from being further victimized by the criminal. As stated previously, punishing criminals acts as a deterrent to society at large by showing citizens what happens to perpetrators. However, punishment for the sake of retribution alone is merely a cruel and frivolous response that provides no solution to the problem it seeks to address.

Furthermore, evidence reveals the numerous benefits of a remedial approach over a retributive:

In Norway, the incarceration rate is about 75/100,000 people, and the recidivism rate is the lowest in the world at around 20 percent. In the US, more than 700/100,000 people are incarcerated, and more than 70 percent of freed inmates are re-arrested within five years.What is the difference between the two systems? Although America’s system says it’s about rehabilitation, its actions focus on punishment and confinement. Norway walks the walk and talks the talk when it comes to rehabilitation and restorative justice, and considers a loss of freedom punishment enough. The focus is on helping inmates prepare to re-enter society with the people and job skills they need.

 Source

Perhaps Lewis would have stuck to the wisdom of his master:

“God is not bound to punish sin; he is bound to destroy sin.
The only vengeance worth having on sin
is to make the sinner himself its executioner.”

― George MacDonald

Is Universalism a Heresy? – Part II: The Fifth Ecumenical Council and Universalism

Ask where and when the Eastern Orthodox Church condemned universalism and one inevitably hears mention of the Fifth Ecumenical Council, the Second Council of Constantinople (553 CE). It was here that the great Christian scholar, Origen of Alexandria, and several of his teachings, including his alleged belief in universalism, was anathematized. Thus one need only look to this council to demonstrate that universalism is heretical.

Now, it may be the case that adherence to universalism is erroneous for myriad reasons ranging from the text of the Bible itself to the liturgical traditions of the Church, but can The Fifth Ecumenical Council (referred to as Constantinople II for the duration of this article) rightly be included among these reasons?

Studying the developments of Constantinople II with the supposed universalist condemnations in mind reveals several peculiarities. First, the primary impetus for convening the council had nothing to do with Origen or his teachings. Rather, the Church faced a dilemma regarding how to best answer Nestorius and his supporters in the School of Antioch, who advanced a controversial christology involving a radical distinction between Christ’s humanity and divinity. One wonders why Origen, a man associated with a different Christian school and three hundred years removed from this dispute, would have been introduced to the conversation.

The second oddity involves Origen as person. Though his was indeed a divisive legacy by the fourth century CE, he was nevertheless regarded as a masterful scholar who had suffered on behalf of his Christian convictions and lived an exemplary life. Furthermore, he counted among his friends and devotees some of the most beloved and influential saints of the Church, including St. Athanasius of Alexandria and the Cappadocian Fathers, St. Gregory of Nyssa, St. Basil of Caesarea and St. Gregory Nazianzen. It is difficult to find other instances wherein such an influential church scholar was condemned by an ecumenical council posthumously, and so long after his death.

Third, and perhaps most damning, the official anathemas from Constantinople II, those sent to and agreed upon by Pope Vigilius make no mention of Origen. In fact, many scholars are in agreement that the fifteen anathemas against Origen did not originate at Constantinople II but at a local synod a decade prior in 543. Nevertheless, some claim that these anathemas were reaffirmed by Constantinople II, thus granting them authoritative status. This claim, however, maintains a dubious status among scholars. For instance, Richard Bauckham is doubtful that Constantinople II had anything negative to say about universalism (“Universalism: a historical survey”, Themelios 4.2 (September 1978): 47–54.).

At the least, one is pressed to concede that the anathemas against Origen are disputed on persuasive grounds. However, even if one concedes that the Fifteen Anathemas are rightly bound to Constantinople II, it does not necessarily follow that universalism has been condemned. Orthodox scholar Augustine Casiday notes that “… we need to think of the anti-Origenist canons as the rejection of this system as a whole, each denouncing one of its particulars.” In a similar vein, Orthodox Metropolitan Kallistos Ware notes:

Now, as we have noted, the first of the fifteen anti-Origenist anathemas is directed not simply against Origen’s teaching concerning universal reconciliation, but against his total understanding of salvation history—against his theory of preexistent souls, of a precosmic fall and a final apocatastasis—seen as a single and undivided whole. Suppose, however, that we separate his eschatology from his protology; suppose that we abandon all speculations about the realm of eternal logikoi; suppose that we simply adhere to the standard Christian view whereby there is no preexistence of the soul, but each new person comes into being as an integral unity of soul and body, at or shortly after the moment of the conception of the embryo within the mother’s womb. In this way we could advance a doctrine of universal salvation—affirming this, not as a logical certainty (indeed, Origen never did that), but as a heartfelt aspiration, a visionary hope—which would avoid the circularity of Origen’s view and so would escape the condemnation of the anti-Origenist anathemas. (“Dare We Hope for the Salvation of All,” in The Inner Kingdom, pp. 199-200)

Finally, even if one holds that the Fifteen Anathemas stand, and among these is included a condemnation of Origen’s universalism, pressing questions remain, especially regarding what one is to make of universalist saints like St. Gregory of Nyssa and St. Isaac the Syrian.

A special thanks to Fr. Aidan Kimel, from whom I drew inspiration and content for these articles.

For further reading on the Orthodox Church’s relationship with universalism, I recommend the following:

1. “Apocatastasis: The Heresy that Never Was” by Fr. Aidan Kimel

2. “Patristic Universalism” by Ambrose Andreano

Is Universalism a Heresy? – Part I: What is a Heresy?

What is a heresy and why are heresies such a big deal?

Since the fourth century CE, Orthodox Christians have debated many divisive questions relevant to the Christian life, on topics ranging from the person of Jesus of Nazareth to baptism and re-baptism. Along the way some of the claims or beliefs have been denounced as “heresy.”

In an Orthodox Christian context, the term heresy signifies a claim or belief that contradicts the orthodox, or right beliefs of the Church and poses a threat meriting a formal repudiation. Such a formal denunciation is not leveled lightly. To outsiders, especially today, these ancient debates may seem like a lot of wasted ink and effort, reminiscent of feuds between Star Trek and Star Wars fanatics. However, for those participating in these debates nothing was more important because the issues at hand had ramifications for how one ought to live and die. For this reason many Christians risked and even gave their lives for their convictions.

How are heresies determined?

It isn’t enough that a bishop, even the Pope in Rome or the Ecumenical Patriarch, deem a certain conviction to be heretical. Likewise, conventional or popular opinion on a matter does not determine heresy. Several requirements have traditionally been necessary in order to reach a formal declaration of heresy. A gathering of official representatives (bishops) from all patriarchates or jurisdictions within the Orthodox Communion must meet to initiate a dialogue on matters of contention. Whatever conclusions are reached by these bishops – or at least their majority – are then put to the entire body of believers. Only after widespread acceptance has been achieved can such conclusions be deemed binding on the Church at large. Some have argued that conciliar determinations must also be ratified by a subsequent council to deem affirmations dogmatic and rejections heretical.

As one might imagine, this was not an easy task in eras preceding rapid communication and transit. Some bishops had to endure hazardous journeys lasting weeks and even months just to arrive at the appointed meeting place. Furthermore, political considerations often made agreement difficult to achieve. For example, discussion of Arianism – declared heretical at the First Council of Nicea – was complicated by the movement’s growing popularity within and beyond the Roman Empire. In fact, it was Emperor Constantine’s wish for the council to ratify the Arian perspective, which he thought was the likely outcome in any case. It was likely due only to the uniting figure and authority of Emperor that such gatherings were even feasible to begin with, even if the conclusions reached didn’t always reflect his desires.

Due in part to such difficulties such gatherings were a rarity and only seven councils achieved ecumenical, or universally authoritative status during the first one-thousand years of Orthodox-Catholic Christianity:

First Council of Nicaea (325 CE)

First Council of Constantinople (381 CE)

First Council of Ephesus (431 CE)

Council of Chalcedon (451 CE)

Second Council of Constantinople (553 CE)

Third Council of Constantinople (680-681 CE)

Second Council of Nicaea (787 CE)

What did these councils deem heretical, and did any of these universally binding councils repudiate the belief that all will be saved? This will be the focus of the next installment. Stay tuned!

Is Universalism a Heresy?: Introduction

Introduction

This begins a series of exploratory articles looking into whether or not the Eastern Orthodox Church has ever formally and definitively declared universalism – the belief that all will be saved – heresy.

My reasons for embarking on this project are 1) I miss writing and doing research and 2) I am interested in the topic. I don’t think I have anything particularly original to add to the ongoing conversation, but maybe I’ll get lucky.

Edit (30 October 2018): As Fr. Cassian Sibley has generously explained elsewhere, apokatastasis does not simply refer to the belief that all will ultimately be saved, but rather to the broader, Christian eschatalogical vision of creation being restored, which may or may not include the salvation of all humans. As such, for the sake of clarity, I will be using the terms “universalism” or “universal salvation” in this series in reference to the belief that all will be saved.

While I find many philosophical and theological arguments in favor of universal salvation fascinating, they will play no part in this project. I wish to focus specifically on the dogmatic question itself, which is the ultimate determinant for whether an Eastern Orthodox Christian ought to hold such a conviction, regardless of how persuasive the arguments for or against universal salvation might be.

Since Christianity’s beginnings there have been believers on both sides of the universalism debate. St. Augustine informs us that, during his time, “There are very many who though not denying the Holy Scriptures, do not believe in endless torments.” (Enchiria, ad Laurent. c. 29) Likewise, St. Basil states that “The mass of men (Christians) say that there is to be an end of punishment to those who are punished.” (De Asceticis). Thus it would me a mistake to suggest, as has often been claimed, that the belief that all will be saved is a modern innovation. Furthermore, the church numbers among the saints some who seem to have believed in some form of universalism, such as St. Gregory of Nyssa, St. Macrina, St. Clement of Alexandria and St. Isaac the Syrian.

Even so, the common perception among Orthodox Christians, both today and in past generations, is that universalism is a heresy, declared as such at The Second Council of Constantinople. This notion has been promulgated in recent works such as Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick’s book Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy as well as in John Mark Reynolds’ article “Peterson on Bell.”

Many Orthodox Christians – perhaps most notably Metropolitan Kallistos Ware – permit that one may hope that all will be saved, but that a conviction that this will be the case is a step too far. Others, such as David Bentley Hart and Fr. Sergei Bulgakov, go a step further, arguing that there is a strong precedent in both the Orthodox tradition and the Church’s eschatological vision for believing that, in the end, all will be saved.

Whose perspective is right on this matter? I’m hoping to gain some insight to that question.

I would appreciate input from any and all of you who are interested in this topic. I am sure the outcome of this project will be all the better with multiple voices chiming in and I anticipate revising my articles along the way, as needed.

Article on Orthodox Conversion in Utah

The Salt Lake Tribune recently ran this article on Orthodox converts in Utah. I am briefly quoted midway through.

Utah Mormons, Protestants finding new spiritual home in ancient Orthodox church

Here is my full interview:

—Tell me about you. Age, what you do for a living? Education? Married? Kids?

I’m 30 years old and I am a stay-at-home dad during the day and a warehouse manager in the evening. I graduated from Utah State University with degrees in Philosophy and Political Science. I then went on to complete a Master’s in History from the same institution. I was accepted to study historical theology at Princeton Theological Seminary but opted to forego the opportunity. I am married and have two young boys.

—Were you raised and baptised in the LDS faith?

I was born and raised LDS in Idaho, baptized at 8 years old as is customary. Both sides of my family are multi-generational Mormon and both of my parents remain active in the LDS faith, and the LDS faith was very much a part of my upbringing and my identity.

—What led to your questioning Mormonism, and how did that lead to Orthodoxy? (What “flavor” of Orthodox did you choose? Greek, Russian, OCA, etc?)

I actually learned many of the messier aspects of LDS history as a child, so unlike a lot of disaffiliated Mormons who today have a crisis of faith upon learning these things, it wasn’t Joseph Smith’s polygamy, the Adam-God theory, or the Mountain Meadows Massacre that led me to question. I simply never acquired the conviction that the LDS faith or church is what it claims to be.However,  I continued to identify as Mormon into my early undergraduate years. During my second year at Utah State I began taking courses in both philosophy and religious studies and found that early Christianity didn’t look like modern Mormonism and  Mormon beliefs, in many ways, seemed more to reflect post-Enlightenment and particular American ideologies than ancient Christian and Jewish worldviews. In other words, what really made me lose faith in the LDS movement was that it seemed very much a product of and response to its time and environment, it didn’t sound like what I was finding in the earliest Christian records, and its temple theology didn’t match up well with what I was learning about Jewish views of the temple.

This all motivated me to see what other modern faith groups believe, so I began reading about everything from Shintoism to Jehova’s Witnesses. Ultimately, perhaps due to my encounter with the robust philosophical tradition of early and medieval Christianity, I both found the naturalistic worldview and atheism unpersuasive and found myself attracted to Roman Catholicism. After spending a year or so in RCIA (an educational course for those preparing for baptism in the Catholic Church) I decided to be baptized Catholic. However, during one of the class sessions the instructor said “I can’t understand how any Christian who knows their history could be anything besides Catholic, or maybe Orthodox.” At the time I was ignorant of the Orthodox Christian tradition so I asked the instructor if, by Orthodox, she was referring to Orthodox Jews. Through her answer I learned for the first time about the Orthodox Christian tradition, which remains relatively unknown in the US, despite being the second-largest Christian body in the world. Eventually, after a couple more years of study, I found the Orthodox Christian spiritual tradition more beautiful and compelling in light of my reading of history and theology. I decided to be baptized in 2014.

All of the Eastern Orthodox churches share the same faith and commune with one another so, although I attend a Greek Orthodox parish due to its close proximity, I feel at home in the other jurisdictional churches as well.

—What is it about Orthodoxy that seems to fulfill you spiritually, where the LDS Church did not?

Honestly, my conversion to Orthodoxy wasn’t so much about perceived spiritual fulfillment as it was about convictions about what is and isn’t true, and what perspective offers a more persuasive account of the human story and experience. As one might expect, however, spiritual truths often have practical, tangible manifestations, so I suppose I might say that I find Orthodox Christianity more fulfilling because the way of life it prescribes better accords with what I hold to be true, good, and beautiful.

—How has your family, friends, etc., reacted? Do they consider you an “apostate?”

All of my family members who know about my conversion have been more-or-less tolerant of my decision, and those closest to me tend to be more understanding because I have been able to better explain to them why I made the decision. One has even considered following in my footsteps. My friends have been even more accepting of my decision, probably due more to our modern culture of tolerance and plurality than to the actual merits of my decision, but one of my best friends actually converted about a year or so following my own. I don’t know if any consider me an apostate. Nobody has condemned me as such.

—How were you accepted by Orthodox folk, especially those who were born into the faith rather than converted into it?

The Orthodox Christians I have encountered have generally been friendly and welcoming, regardless of whether they are cradle (born into the faith) or convert. When I first began attending predominantly cradle Orthodox parishes there were some who found it a little odd that someone who isn’t Greek, Russian, and so on would choose to be Orthodox, but conversions are now frequent enough that such occurrences are seen as commonplace. Additionally, I’ve now been around long enough that I’m welcomed like family.

—A good portion of Orthodox Christians in the U.S., and Utah, are converts . . . from Mormonism, mainline Protestant denominations, Catholics, Episcopalians, evangelicals, etc. How do those varying backgrounds play out in this new, common theological and liturgical setting?

One usually doesn’t see manifestations of this variety in liturgical worship itself, since these rituals and practices stem from continuing ancient traditions, though there are sometimes enthusiastic converts who bring  new life to parishes that may have fallen into mundane repetition. Some areas where the diversity is more visible is in conversations regarding evangelism and disputed aspects of the faith. For example, those who come from proselytizing traditions like Mormonism and certain Evangelical groups may want to bring some of the missionary strategies from their old traditions into Orthodox Christianity. With an ever growing pool of converts, there is also always the risk that people will try to conform Orthodox Christianity to their old ways of thinking rather than the other way around. There are even terms like “Byzantine Baptist” and “Reformed Orthodox” that refer to individuals who are perceived as maintaining too much from their former traditions, or who attempt to interpret Orthodox theology through a Protestant, Catholic or perhaps Mormon lens and vocabulary. For the most part, though, the diversity of converts has been a positive thing for Orthodox parishes in America, which in many areas had become enclaves of cultural Christianity.

—What have been the biggest challenges for you in becoming Orthodox? (Some say the top-down discipline, initial social/cultural disassociations, doctrines about the Trinity, nature of God, veneration of Mary and the saints, etc.)

Traditional Christian doctrines were certainly an issue at first, but they became less of an obstacle once I found out that much of what Mormons tell one another about traditional Christian beliefs are misrepresentations. Furthermore, I began to find the perspectives of classical Christianity more persuasive than Mormonism’s unique views of God and cosmology. The deeper one goes into Orthodox theology, the more one sees that everything from the veneration of saints and the hierarchy are not only important, but essential elements for the continuing and proper function of the Church.

The biggest challenges to becoming and remaining Orthodox are actually logistical. The closest parish is 60 miles away, so it takes an hour just to get to church. There have also been several times when severe winter weather has prevented travel through the canyon pass. Fortunately, efforts are currently being made to establish regular Orthodox services locally in Logan, and there are live liturgical services online for the days one is unable to travel.

—Are you as zealous about your choice of Orthodoxy today as you were following your conversion, baptism, Chrismation?

I don’t know that I have ever been zealous, to be honest. You might be better off asking my friends this question. I am by nature skeptical, second-guessing, and slow to make decisions, so my conversion to Orthodoxy was a pretty sober development. As a historian and enthusiast of philosophy I tend to see Christianity a bit differently than others; not necessarily in a superior way, but in a manner that makes it difficult to be zealous or triumphalistic. That said, I would definitely say that my continued participation in the Orthodox Christian life and the fruits of this perticipation have reinforced my conviction that I am in the right place.

Review: Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy (Revised & Expanded edition)

I first encountered Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick’s “Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy” project through his podcast series on the Ancient Faith website. Orthodox Christianity was new to me at the time, and Fr. Damick’s podcast seemed like an ideal introductory resource. It was informative and helpful, but I was disappointed by the polemical tone and oversimplifications I perceived in his descriptions of Roman Catholicism. Therefore, I was pleased to read in the preface to the new edition of Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy that he had made a concentrated effort to avoid unnecessary polemics and to learn about the various faith traditions discussed from the adherents in these respective traditions. Fr. Damick’s commendable effort is seen throughout the book in quotations from source materials relevant to each respective group being considered and his ability to find common ground with even religious groups that have few apparent similarities to Orthodox Christianity.

The book begins by stating both the motivation for its creation and the position of the author. Truth, Fr. Damick tells us, is as central a foundation for religious and spiritual considerations as it is in disciplines like science and history. It is important for Orthodox Christians to hold this in mind as they learn about and engage other faith traditions, especially in light of ever more popular relativist and consumerist views of spirituality that view one’s denominational choice in the same category as their entertainment or transportation preferences.

Following a helpful glossary of the heresies Christianity encountered in its early history, chapters are arranged by their similarity and developmental proximity to Orthodox Christianity, beginning with Roman Catholicism and ending with a section on non-Christian religions. For the most part, these chapters accomplish Fr. Damick’s stated intention: to provide an introductory overview of the beliefs of non-Orthodox faith traditions and a comparative analysis of how each of these respective traditions are similar and dissimilar to Orthodox Christianity.

My favorite section is the epilogue, in which Fr. Damick turns his attention to the conversational habits of many (or at least the loudest) within his own Orthodox Christian tradition. He observes that modern dialogue between Orthodox Christians and others, especially on the internet, is often too polemical and unproductive and emphasizes the need for a loving evangelism that seeks to establish common ground and fellowship rather than exclusivism and division. He is especially critical of those who condemn ecumenical dialogue in all of its forms and those who are quick to label those with whom they disagree as heretics.

Because Fr. Damick’s survey of religions extends far beyond my own areas of competency, I cannot speak to the accuracy of most of the book’s chapters; however, I am familiar with Roman Catholicism and Mormonism which allowed me to assess the sections relevant to these faith groups with more scrutiny. In the section on Roman Catholicism, Fr. Damick occasionally overstates the differences between it and the Orthodox tradition. Following other prominent Orthodox Christian thinkers like Vladimir Lossky, Fr. Damick has a tendency to juxtaposes rational West with experiential, mystical East. However, as is made evident in the works of Orthodox thinkers like Fr. Georges Florovsky, Fr. Dimitru Staniloae, and more recently Fr. Andrew Louth, the late Fr. Matthew Baker, and Marcus Plested has shown, this juxtaposition does not do justice to the historical reality. To Fr. Andrew’s credit, he does emphasize that one ought not to take this comparison too far, yet  he still reminds the reader at several points of Roman Catholicism’s injurious rational approach and legalism.

Fr. Damick’s brief section on Mormonism is surprisingly fair, especially in light of most outside descriptions of the tradition. It is evident from this brief section that he likely consulted resources that are true to Mormon history and beliefs. However, on at least one occasion he implies that a somewhat common Mormon belief (that the Virgin Mary was physically impregnated by God the Father) is official teaching. In Fr. Damick’s defense, though, it is often difficult to distinguish official Mormon teaching from popular belief because Mormons do not have well-defined creedal statements.

Beyond these section-specific criticisms, I think that the book is still too polemical at points, though I commend Fr. Damick for his frequent efforts to highlight the common ground between Orthodox Christianity and other faith traditions. I especially appreciate his focus on Orthodox beliefs that are often overlooked, such as the need for compassion, and a respect for animals and the environment. There are also instances where Fr. Damick establishes his views as the Orthodox position on matters that have long been, and are still debated within the Orthodox tradition, such as the place Scholastic philosophy and apokatastasis have in the Church.

As a note of personal preference, I believe the book would have been more valuable to the dialogue if it had focused more on the ideological trends throughout the history of Christendom rather than the historical events and players themselves. For instance, central to the Reformation was the adoption of Nominalism in opposition to the Scholastic tradition that dominated both the Catholic Church and its universities, yet there is no mention of this pivotal change. Furthermore, Fr. Damick frames modern ideological conflicts in terms of truth vs. relativism, yet as philosophers like Alasdair MacIntyre and Charles Taylor have convincingly argued, the issue often isn’t about whether or not one or more parties accepts truth or not, but about how one is able to determine it. That said, ideological considerations are not completely absent from Fr. Damick’s surveys, and his summaries are executed with care and consideration.

I agree with Fr. Damick’s estimation that this book will be informative for Orthodox Christians looking for an introductory survey of many different faith groups and how Orthodox Christian beliefs are different from those of other faith traditions. However, I can’t speak to the accuracy of all its sections and would recommend checking the accuracy against the self-understanding of each faith group considered in Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy.

Observations of Orthodoxy in America

I’ve now attended an Orthodox parish for four years, and I am still happy to have it as my Christian home. During this time I have had the opportunity to meet many other converts, most of whom have been interesting and wonderful in their own ways. Converts are often a blessing, bringing new light and life to parishes that had become ethnic enclaves; however, there are also many attitudes and trends within these circles that are concerning. What is especially concerning is that it is often the parishes in which these elements are thriving that are experiencing the most growth.

Orthodox Christianity is, in some respects, a safe haven from the world of vacillating ethics and values. Many inquirers and converts are attracted to it for this very reason. However, they often focus only on a select number of things from which the Church offers protection, which may or may not do justice to what the Orthodox way truly offers to the world. For instance, rather than seeing Orthodox Christianity as a place where one can work against the selfishness, consumerism, and objectification of the human person in Western society, attempts are often made to depict Orthodox Christianity as a sanctuary for the ideals particular to American conservativism, such as the preservation of gun rights and the reduction of federal powers. This perhaps stems from the reality that American citizens, and especially American Christians, are inheritors of American Exceptionalism, the notion that America and its ideals are divinely exalted above the world at large. Now, I don’t mean to say that a Christian should reject gun rights, or support a strong federal government, and I certainly do not wish to give the impression that American is without its merits. My main point is that the Orthodox Christian tradition has little to say about these and other ideals particular to American conservativism and it is disingenuous to perpetuate the idea that Orthodox Christianity is particularly fitting to individuals who adhere to conservative ideologies. The reality is that Christianity does not fit neatly into either American conservative or progressive paradigms. As Fr. Paisius (now Hieromonk Alexii) Altschul stated, (paraphrasing) “I am more conservative than conservatives and I am more liberal than liberals because I am a Christian.” By failing to realize that Orthodox Christianity isn’t at home in American conservativism we do a disservice to the Church’s tradition and its true mission, and we drive away those who don’t adhere to these standards.

Following the recent Orthodox gathering of bishops in Crete, a friend stated that Orthodox ecclesiology has become fundamentally schismatic. While I think this is an overstatement, my interactions with some Orthodox Christians, convert and cradle alike, allow me to understand the temptation of such generalizations. After all, the Ecumenical Patriarch has been condemned by many for merely referring to other Christian denominations as “churches” (I guess they haven’t read St. Basil!). Furthermore, the loudest of American Orthodox bloggers are increasingly defining their faith in negative rather than positive ways. What I mean by this is that one will often encounter an individual who explains Orthodox Christianity not by detailing its rich history, theology, and methods, but by talking about how it is different than and superior to alternatives. Rather than simply noticing differences, such individuals often seek them out. This sort of activity is fuels contention and divisiveness, and it often carries over into the way in which one chooses an Orthodox parish. A family may go out of their way to travel to the parish in the next town over because the local parish holds joint activities with the Catholic parish, has pews, because the priest believes in biological evolution, or any other number of reasons.  The drive for “correctness” has often landed individuals in schismatic parishes that aren’t even in communion with the greater Orthodox Church. I understand the importance of truth and right worship, and I understand the desire to be around like-minded people, but this isn’t what we are called to. Excessively focusing on these aspects risks turning the faith into an ideology rather than a way of life. Furthermore, it can lead to an escapist mentality that leaves deficient parishes to die when one should instead work along side the parish family to bring improvements and new life about.

The Church is on the Offensive

Matthew 16:18 reads “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.” The latter portion of this verse has often been interpreted as a promise to Christians that Satan, hell, or the powers of evil will not destroy the Church. However, in a recent “Be the Bee” video, Steven Christoforou reminds us that gates are not an offensive, but a defensive tool:

Thus when Christ tells us in Matthew 16:18 that the gates of Hades will not prevail against the Church, He is indicating that the Church is on the offensive against Hades rather than  defending against it. Most importantly, Christ is reminding us of the central Christian message, that Christ and therefore the Church overcomes Hades and the powers of death. This interpretation of Matthew 16:18 turns popular alternatives on their heads, but it is clearly the more obvious reading of the verse.

Review of Marcus Plested’s Orthodox Readings of Aquinas

 

In Orthodox Readings of Aquinas, Marcus Plested argues that the historical use of scholastic methods and philosophy, and the reception of Thomas Aquinas among the Orthodox, bears little resemblance to the picture painted by contemporary polemicists.

The book’s first section, “Greek East and Latin West: An Exercises in Multiple Perspective,” focuses on Aquinas and St. Gregory Palamas, who are often presented as exemplars of two irreconcilable theological perspectives. Plested argues however, that Aquinas is much more “Greek” and apophatic in his theology, and Palamas more “Scholastic” and rational in his methods than is often suggested. The primary example of this for Aquinas is his reliance not on the Latin St. Augustine, as one would expect, but on the Greek St. John Chrysostom who “… is the single most cited author…” in all of Aquinas’ work. (18) Furthermore, Plested identifies the mystical thread running throughout all of Aquinas’ works, and emphasizes that “… any presentation of Thomas that paints him as an out-and-out rationalist… will fall short of the truth. (14) Plested then highlights that Palamas was “… praised for his mastery of Aristotle…” and logic, and penned theological works that were just as systematic and, dare one say, scholastic as those of Aquinas. Perhaps the most important of Plested’s revelations in this first section is that there existed no clear division between Scholastics and anti-Palamites on the one hand, and anti-Scholastics and and anti-Palamites on the other has no basis in history. In fact, the record shows that some of Palamas’ chief rivals, such as Barlaam of Calabria, were opponents of logic and rational argument within the theological discipline.

Section two, “Byzantine Readings of Aquinas,” is a chronological survey that details how Aquinas was received in the Christian East during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Plested demonstrates that Aquinas was widely read among Orthodox intellectuals and hierarchs, and even had loyal followers who used his works to defend Orthodox Christianity and Palamism against the Latin West. Gennadios Scholarios, Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople from 1454 to 1464 CE, provides this praise and lamentation of Aquinas:

If only, most excellent Thomas, you had not been born in the West! Then you would not have been obliged to justify the errors of that Church concerning, for instance, the procession of the Spirit and the distinction between the divine essence and operation. Then you would have been as infallible in theological matters as you are in this treatise on ethics. (132)

Methods one might today label as “Scholastic” were also widely used throughout these centuries, even by stalwart defenders of the Orthodox faith, such as St. Mark of Ephesus:”Like Palamas and indeed Aquinas he expressly commends and embraces syllogistic reasoning even in the highest realms of theology – so long as proper subservience to the authority of scripture and the Fathers be maintained.”

The third and final section, “Ottoman Era and Modern Orthodox Readings of Aquinas,” surveys receptions of Aquinas in both Orthodox Greece and Orthodox Russia from the fall of Constantinople to our modern era. Here Plested shows that the staunch opposition to Aquinas one finds in modern Orthodox thinkers like Lossky and Romanides has not been the prevailing position since the advent of Aquinas’ works in the Orthodox East, but is rather unique to the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. After the Greek Church fell under the rule of the Ottomans, engagement and appreciation for Aquinas continued:

… Gennadios’ anti-unionist but otherwise pro-Latin stance achieved normative status in this period… [Aquinas] remains in the days of the Ottoman Empire, as in the Byzantine, a prominent interlocutor and recurrent resource for Orthodox theology. (169)

Plested notes that appreciation for Scholasticism and Thomism found its way into the Kievan school of Orthodox thought, and even became its preferred method of inquiry and pedagogy. Even St. Dimitri of Rostov’s theological works indicate that he was well-versed in Aquinas, as they bear, in Plested’s words, “… unmistakable traces of his Western learning.” (175)

Plested then moves to considerations of how the Enlightenment, bringing with it challenges to Thomism and traditional Christianity in general, shaped Orthodox engagement with Aquinas. With Thomism’s decrease in popularity, Greek theological scholars found less with which to engage, and thus Orthodox Greece is relatively silent on matters of Thomism during this era. In Russia, however, a Slavophile distrust of rationality and scholasticism arose, which eventually found expressions in the works of Pavel Florensky and then Vladimir Lossky. Others, such as Sergius Bulgakov, accused Aquinas’ philosophy of a fatal subservience to Aristotle. Such unflattering treatments continued in the twentieth century neo-Patristic works of Orthodox thinkers, namely Lossky, Romanides, and Christos Yannaris. However, Orthodox scholar Fr. Georges Florovsky adopted a subtler position, claiming that “The antithesis of “West and East” belongs more to the polemical and publicistic phraseology than to sober historical thinking.” (198) This criticism was aimed primarily at Lossky, whom Florovsky thought had exaggerated tensions between East and West in his works, and had further failed to acknowledge that there were tensions even within the Eastern tradition itself, such as those between the Christian schools of Alexandria and Antioch. Where Lossky had, in Florovsky’s estimation, too easily dismissed the West, Florovsky saw “… creative possibilities… for Orthodox engagement with Western medieval theology-with Aquinas and Scotus especially in mind.” (201) This is, Plested notes,  “… a far cry from the positions of Lossky and Bulgakov.”

In Florovsky, Plested sees an exemplar for how the future of Orthodox theological scholarship and engagement ought to operate: “Florovsky is… something of a hero of this study.” (203) Plested concludes by identifying those who he believes have followed in Florovsky’s footsteps, paying Western theology its due respect. Such individuals include Olivier Clement, Archimandrite Lev Gillet, Fr. Dumitru Staniloae, and Met. Kallistos Ware.

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Plested’s Orthodox Readings of Aquinas is a valuable historical contribution that highlights the contrast between Thomas Aquinas’ initial reception among Orthodox Christians and the way in which he has been received and described by his Orthodox critics in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Plested persuasively argues that a lack serious engagement with Western theology and especially Scholasticism is working to the detriment of Orthodox thought. However, Orthodox Readings of Aquinas, while being concerned primarily with the philosophical methods and attitudes of both East and West spends little time actually detailing them. Throughout the book one is provided examples of Orthodox thinkers who did or did not view Aquinas favorably, but insufficient space is dedicated to explaining, philosophically, the reasons Aquinas’ ideas were received as they were by the noted individuals in the Orthodox East. An especially noteworthy omission are details regarding how pro-Palamite Thomists in the East reconciled the essence-energies distinction of St. Gregory Palamas and the Absolute Divine Simplicity of Aquinas. This, however, should not be held against Plested, whose task was to provide a historical rather than philosophical exposition of Aquinas’ reception among the Orthodox.

This volume is an invaluable resource for those wishing to know the “who, where, and when” of Aquinas’ reception among the Orthodox; however, deeper philosophical and theological questions regarding why and how Aquinas was received as he was is a topic left to be explored elsewhere.

 

Can Human Self-Awareness be Exhaustively Explained by Science?

 

 

Since the enlightenment, it has become ever more acceptable to believe that the category of existence, or things that are real, is limited to phenomena composed of matter. The naturalist asserts that if it is not constructed of material parts, then it does not exist at all. This and other such claims, however, betray their veracity from the onset because they rely on metaphysics in their appeal to a source of validation beyond the material realm. This is because materialism has no method by which it can prove this claim as a brute fact; one cannot prove that only matter exists by observing matter. Beyond this are additional problems. This materialist view excludes all things qualitative, be they experiences of music, visual art, beauty, love, and so on. The most interesting phenomenon excluded by this materialist perspective is the very means by which one has the capacity for qualitative experiences: self-awareness.

Philosopher and cognitive scientist David Chalmers notes that we humans “play movies” in our heads that project to us real time observations, dreams, memories, ideas, and other mental images. What is fascinating about these experiences is not the “movies” themselves, but that there is a “me” that is observing and experiencing them.

Before progressing further, I want to emphasize a distinction that highlights the primary focus of my argument. By claiming that human consciousness and self-awareness cannot be exhaustively explained by science, I do not mean that science cannot observe and explain self-awareness right now, but might find a way in the future. What I mean is that this “me,” this observer, this subject cannot ever be accessed and quantified by the scientific method because it isn’t quantitative but rather qualitative, and the aim of science is to observe and explain that which is quantifiable.

In light of of this qualitative problem of self-awareness, some have posited a radical hypothesis: self-awareness is an illusion. If they are correct, then my argument is moot from here on out because there is no use arguing for something that doesn’t exist. This claim, however, is not merely radical. It seems outright absurd, for it denies the very phenomenon that, for centuries, has been held by epistemologists to be the chief certainty among our human experiences. There is even a school of philosophy, solipsism, that argues that our self-awareness is the only thing we can know exists.

To question self-awareness is to introduce contradiction from the outset, for if one asks “do I exist?” they must also necessarily ask “well, who is asking?” In other words, the question cannot even be posed without presupposing the existence of the self, the subject. To deny self-awareness is not only denying that there is a “you” experiencing the world, hearing music, viewing a film, etc.; it is denying that there is a “you” or a “me” at all. It is to propose that the foundation and awareness of each of our subjective experiences, the means through which we observe, interact with and know the world doesn’t actually exist. It is the most absurd of absurdities; it is to deny the most obvious aspect of our existence.

With that in place, the central question of this post is introduced: Can human self-awareness be exhaustively explained by science?

The scientific method is a system by which its employers seek to answer questions about the natural world. Scientists pose a question about some phenomenon in the universe and seek to answer the question through observation, testing, and re-testing their findings to control for anomalies and establish regularity. Thus in order for the scientific method to answer questions and offer new facts and knowledge about what is being observed, the phenomenon being observed must be 1) generally observable (meaning observable by most everyone, given the proper tools and sensory abilities) and 2) falsifiable. If a phenomenon isn’t observable, then it cannot be studied, and if it is not falsifiable, then there is nothing to be discovered about the phenomenon, at least as far as the scientific method is concerned. To answer the question central to this article in the affirmative, it must be demonstrated that human self-awareness is 1) observable and 2) falsifiable.

There is indeed a sense in which human self-awareness is observable; it is implied by the very term itself. The self can observe their own awareness. However, subjective observations or experiences are not adequate methods of observation because one’s subjectivity is not accessible to others. Effects related to self awareness can be observed, such as neurological activity in the brain and verbal descriptions of experiences being had. However, these material aspects of self awareness tell us nothing more than there are material aspects associated with self-awareness; they never grant firsthand access to what it is to be the subject.  To reduce human self-awareness to these material processes and observable constituents is akin to saying that one viewing a painting is nothing more than the painting’s material components or that, in Chalmer’s “movie” example, one isn’t the viewer of the movie, but the movie itself.

At this point, some may object to my claim that self-awareness will never be the kind of thing science can observe and argue that, while it is currently incapable of directly observing consciousness, science may eventually develop the tools necessary for making such a direct observation. To see why this argument fails, consider what it would mean to directly observe one’s self awareness. It would require that one, in essence, become the subject being observed, given that one’s self awareness, as previously stated, is the thing that makes me “me.” My self-awareness isn’t merely the movie of dreams, memories, and real-time experiences I am having, and one’s observation of these things would not be observing self-awareness, but rather that which the self is aware of. Self-awareness, in other words, is the very means by which I observe and have experiences of these visualizations. Thus even if scientists are one day capable of seeing my mental images, hearing my mental sounds, etc. they are still not accessing the “me” that sees and hears these things, but merely the things I see and hear.

Because self-awareness is not directly observable, it necessarily follows that scientific questions regarding consciousness are not falsifiable via the scientific method. Can human self-awareness and consciousness be exhaustively explained by science? Clearly, they cannot.

For further reading and viewing on this topic, I recommend the following:

“God and the Mad Hatter,” and article by David Bentley Hart

“What is Consciousness?” from the PBS tv program Closer to Truth