Heroditus vs. Thucydides? The Melian Debate

In today's sermon, entitled "The Melian Debate," I am posing two differing ways of thinking about history - and I might add, different understandings of international and political relations among human beings. Today's sermon offers the invitation for us to become, for this week, armchair historians and political scientists, as we also seek to examine these issues in light of the revelation of God's truth in scripture.

The first way of thinking is illustrated by the historiographic approach of Herodotus, the ancient Greek historian. His approach to history held that it indeed gives evidence of a moral structure in human relationships - which he shows in his primary work detailing the history of the Greco-Persian war in the early 5th Century BCE. In that work he makes the claim that the strength of Athenian democracy lies in its embodiment of the ideals of freedom and "equality under the law," which inspire people to "their own cause."

Contrary to this way of thinking is Thucydides, who sought to strip the telling of history of all talk of values and morality, or what the gods may be up to, in favor of simply allowing history to teach its own lessons. He is considered the father of modern political science, in that he sought to show how human beings interact, not how the gods are controlling the score.

Here's an excellent summary that illustrates these two approaches to history.

Thucydides poses the question as to whether history is driven not by values or the hand of heaven, but by more human considerations. His exploration of this question is illustrated in a section of his "History of the Peloponnesian War" called The Melian Dialogue. In it, he seems to show the foolishness of an appeal to a values-based reading of history. Though the Melians may be righteous and noble in deciding to defend their homeland against tyranny - in the faith that heavenly justice will favor their admittedly weaker forces in the battle - Thucydides means to show that it's power, and not values, that drive relations among people. His point can be summarized by the familiar phrase, "Might makes right." Authority ultimately derives from the point of a gun. And morality is a function of power.

This contrasts, of course, with the biblical text under consideration: the story of David and Goliath in 1 Samuel 17. The telling of history in the Old Testament (we ought to consider the writers of the Old Testaments as the parents of history, since their writing predates Thucydides and Heroditus by several hundred years!) serves to illustrate Herodotus' point: that history IS full of moral lessons. God grants authority and efficacy to a King based on his conformity with standards of rightness and justice - usually in the form of obedience to God, the source of all goodness and power. "[Insert the name of King here] did what was right in the sight of the Lord..." was the recipe for successful exercise of power, or the opposite if the condition was not met. Here, the opposite claim is in play: "Right makes might."

David's defeat over Goliath serves to illustrate that "God saves not by sword or spear, but the battle is the Lord's."

So which reading of history is correct? Is it true that the world operates in the way that Thucydides posits? Does "might make right?" Or is our strength in the higher values we seek to embody?

Does, as Martin Luther King claims, "history have a long arc, but it bends toward justice"?

Moreover, whatever the reality might be, is it possible to choose the view of history according to which you - we - will live? Even if we live in a world where human relations are governed by the maxim "Might makes Right," would you want to live your life on that basis (a rather cruel and cynical formula, for my money)? Is there indeed another world we're invited to live in - in fact, the world announced by Jesus when he said "The Kingdom of God is at hand"? A world described in the Sermon the Mount?

And finally - is it ever a "pure play"? Must we say that life is really a combination of both? Of might that forms our moral judgments, and moral judgments that form our opinion on the right use of power and authority?

Such a conversation, though I did not mention it in the sermon, is really taking place on our national stage. One could say that it is a debate between an understanding of how history works embraced by the previous administration, and that of our current one. Mr. Obama seems to make the claim that our greatest strength lies in the embodiment of our ideals - who also referenced the MLK quote referenced above in a recent speech. Does he mean it, or is it Realpolitik cloaked in good rhetoric (of which Thucydides' Athenians would be proud)?

What do you think?

Onward!

(PS - would encourage folk to find links to illustrate the points above.... If you do, I'll add them to the entry. Didn't have time with this original post to do so).

Bentham vs. the Bible: Can We Use Scripture to Justify Torture?

The sermon that I gave this morning deals with the question,  Is it right that our society self-consciously and self avowedly employs the method of torture in the effort to keep us safe?

Without repeating the entire sermon here...the thesis is this: the use of torture in any form is incompatible with the clear teaching of the scriptures, and Christians can never countenance the use of torture in our name as a means toward the end of attaining national security.

I offered a bit of reflection on utilitarian ethics as contrasted with Biblical ethics, and used as an illustration Ursula Le Guin's short story, "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas".

The question at stake: for a Christian, is national security, or even happiness, the appropriate prime value that ought to govern our national conduct - and can we justify any act as a means toward achieving this end?

If we do, we will be able to countenance the torture of both the potentially guilty and the innocent.  The logical extreme of this moral calculation is exemplified in that story - where the happiness of an entire society depends on the suffering of one child; it is the same logic with which we justified the torture and death of Jesus.

Caiaphas's word exemplify this secular ethical philosophy all too well. He says, "You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation be destroyed." (John 11:50) Of course, these contain a uniquely double Johannine meaning - we know what Caiaphas is thinking, but he does not know that what he is saying is fulfilling the divine purpose.

How is it possible that we find so many evangelical white Christians taking the same position as Caiaphas?

I left out of the sermon the point that even from a utilitarian standpoint, torture may not stand up. There are many (most notable among them John McCain) who claim that torture does not produce the desired result of good intelligence that prevents harm to the majority. More often than not, this intelligence is unreliable. A point one could argue, but the argument of the sermon doesn't hinge on it. Torture is wrong even if it produces good results.

What do you think? Is there any justification based on scripture with which we might be able to say that torture is right? 

And lastly, for those who wish to exercise their conscience in expressing their thoughts to our elected leaders, or to find some good additional material to reflect upon, I would direct them to the National Religious Coalition Against Torture (NRCAT). Would also welcome others to share links of useful information.

Let's see if we can't break the record in number of responses!

In Christ,

Jeff Vamos

What does the Bible say about immigration?

For you folk who want to cut to the chase, here's the question for this week: Does the gospel (and the scriptures in general) speak to how we ought to treat the stranger in our midst? Might it guide us in advocating for public policies about immigration? And if so, how can we faithfully (ahem...) use the Bible for this purpose.

[Sidenote: anybody want to comment on the difference between a split verb and a split infinitive? Alas, I digress]

BACKGROUND...First, a review of last week's sermon.

HOSPITALITY. We usually think tea and cookies when we think of this word, but my main point in the sermon last week was that hospitality is at the heart of the gospel. 

* It's important because we all know what it's like to be a stranger - as the people of Israel were strangers in Egypt, we're all in touch with estrangement at a deep, human level. Not only the Junior High sort of looking-at-our-feet-at-the-dance stranger experience. It is the story of our incomplete humanity to feel "not at home" anywhere. We are "restless" sojourners until we "rest in thee."

* It's important because it's what God does for us. Welcomes us into the household of God. "Thou hast set a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup overflows." These are images of divine hospitality to humans who are yearning for home. "...And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life."

* It's important because God came to us as a stranger. It's how we experience God--through the stranger. "And the recognized him in the breaking of the bread." Bread broken with the mysterious stranger, in someone else's home.

That's where I jump off this week - in this week's sermon. I'm going to talk about immigration and what the gospel - what the scriptures in general - might have to say in guiding how we might think about it.

I'm still formulating my sermon - but one thing that is a danger I wish to avoid is to be cavalier or quick about making connections with immigration policy based on the scriptures. The world in which the the biblical writers were living is a completely different place. No Holiday Inns, for example, made hospitality a most sacred obligation, key to the survival of all travelers. 

That said, there are some pretty obvious ethical and religious guidelines about how we treat the person who happens to be the foreigner within our land. Less clear is how we ought to use the Bible in formulating policies about immigration.

Here is also where we may need to talk a bit about social analysis - not just Biblical exegesis. Why is our immigration policy so out of whack? Why are some saying it isn't fair? Why are some so afraid of "the other" wrecking our way of life (if that indeed is true - and I believe it is).

In any case - this is perhaps a "partial post" - I will post more after the sermon.

But I would very much welcome any thoughts or insights in advance of this Sunday's sermon, as I sit down to write tomorrow

Jeff V. (written Thursday at 4:15pm)

Did Jesus Come to Destroy Human Religion?

Friends! Jeff V. here. I see it's been a long time since an entry has appeared in this space. Blogging is harder to do (especially as a collective enterprise) than I'd thought.

I will continue to try to keep the flame alive. This space has already provided a number of interesting and informative conversations. So...onward, by the grace of God!

This week's post comes out of my sermon on Sunday. I am seeing the advantage of having a blog as a way to continue to preach (and to listen - more importantly!) as the word of God preached continues to echo among the congregation - and within the preacher.

The main point of my sermon on Sunday - which had to do with what it means to be "holy" - was this: That Jesus came to destroy human religion. Is it a radical claim? Or is it really the heart of the gospel?

So, to explore a few things I didn't have time for in the sermon. First, what do I mean by "religion"? Here's a very simple definition for my purposes that relies a lot on the great theologian Karl Barth. The point he (well, among others, like Paul Tillich) makes about human religion is that it may begin as a response to the divine revelation - but it is a human work (not a divine one) that quickly becomes corrupted by self-interest and sin. Human religiosity (the sense of what is holy) can quickly become that which justifies our tribe, our way of life, our agenda. In this sense, the holy can even become a mask for the demonic - placing a halo over the human will to power. 

As I pointed out in my sermon, nowhere is that irony more obvious than the so-called holy land, where people have used religion to justify all manner of religiocentric and ethnocentric violence - all based on a human reading of "my tribe's" holy book. No one is exempt here: Muslims enticing suicide bombers with the reward of holy martyrdom; Jewish violence to defend a land that God gave them; the great capture-the-flag debacle that was the Christian Crusades. Religion (human religion) has demonic possibilities indeed.

I claimed that the complete tearing away ("from top to bottom") of the curtain of the temple in Mark 15 is Mark's way of saying that Jesus destroyed human religion on the cross. All our attempts at nationalizing or localizing God; our claims that God resides here, on our territory, and not on yours; and finally, that holiness is limited by any human conception or definition...all that monkey business was destroyed on the cross, which is God's judgment on human religion.

Mark's point is that God, on the cross, sanctified every place, not just one place. In that act, Christ "broke down the dividing wall of hostility," which Paul speaks of in Ephesians 2:14 - the same wall of the temple that divided Jews (in the inner sanctuary) from Gentiles (who were limited to the Court of the Gentiles) - the wall beyond which Gentiles could not go, on penalty of death. So therefore God's holiness cannot be limited to a building - nor can it even be limited by any human concept or construct of the divine.

So the formula goes something like this: Divine revelation results in human religion. Human religion quickly becomes corrupted by sin and self interest. God is disappointed...and most of all, God then gets lost in religion itself. Is that not the ultimate irony?

But there's a problem here. I mentioned in the sermon that I made this assertion (Christ destroyed religion) while guest teaching at the Lawrenceville School. After I said that, one particularly piquant student then asked me, "OK - so who pays your paycheck?" touche.

Karl Barth's theology is called "dialectical theology" because he says that, on the one hand, we cannot speak of God. God is beyond human knowing. God's fullness cannot ever be fully described or understood. And yet, we must speak of God. How can we do so?

Of course, we know how: the only way we can speak of God is through faith in God's revelation to us: God crossed the infinite distance between us and God in Jesus, the incarnate Word. God gave us a reliable witness to this gracious act in the scriptures. And God continues to enable us faithfully to understand and represent this through the ministry of the Holy Spirit, which helps us in partnering with God in the ministry of reconciliation. But it is God's initiative, and it is God's help we need, which we receive by faith, not by religion. It is God's grace that we are constantly being thrown back upon, as we attempt to understand this revelation, and how we act out its implications (i.e. via religion).

So there is always a "dialectical" tension. The revelation in Christ judged all forms of human religion as inadequate. And yet we need religion to bear witness to this truth. (Hence...the need for my salary...whew). But we always need to be humble about our practice of religion, in light of that revelation, and in light of human sin.

Destroyed religion...and yet we need religion. That's the tension. While we constantly compartmentalize God - chop God into our human-sized boxes, so we can make God do what we want - God has been unleashed on the universe, destroying our provincial minds, and making Godself available to us at any moment and at any place. Any place and time can be a time when God's holy presence is revealed to you. And such moments are often the ones that cut against the grain of our self-justification (but...that's another sermon).

What do you think? Here's the question that might focus our musing on this. When has religion been an enterprise that, for you, needed to be questioned - or even done away with - based on your understanding of Christ's revelation? 

And, on the other side, when did you use the claims of religion for your own purposes and agenda - can we come clean on ways that we fall into this same trap?

And, lastly, given that all religion tends to become corrupted by human sin - how do we practice faithfully our...religion?

Look forward to your thoughts. Anyone out there?

Faithfully,

Jeff V.

We Wish You a Meaningful Christmas

Perhaps lighter, simpler fare this week. No big theological stuff. Stories! Provided by...YOU! 

Jeff here again, doing blog duty. Next week - Mary Alice...you tuning in?

Here's the question for the week: how are YOU making meaning of the season? 

It's an old question, but a good one. We've heard it before. We're all so busy, meeting the unquestioned expectations for givers and getters. But are there folks out there who are pausing, breathing deeply, taking time to look, to listen, to hear the angel voices? Are there folk struggling in the darkness of grief and loneliness, who wish to tell their stories of finding unlikely hope amidst the dark sky?

I will tell a story that I heard while waiting in line to see Santa Claus at the Lawrenceville Main Street Christmas festival, during a recent (and absolutely freezing) afternoon at Weeden Park. While waiting in line, I overheard some of the conversations between Santa and the various kids who posed on his lap.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Kids shared their imagined delights over receiving the usual things: a prized doll, a train set, a remote-control helicopter.

One kid, when Santa asked that question, responded with this: "I want a big heart." I inclined my ear to hear how he'd respond to this one. Santa stammered, muttered..."that's nice...but...." Then recovered with, "Well, what about under the tree? Wouldn't you like a nice radio-controlled helicopter?"

How are folks hoping for "a big heart" this Christmas? Stories? Anecdotes? Overheard at the grocery store?

In the PEACE, HOPE, JOY AND LOVE of the season!

Jeff

What would you do if Mary and Joseph arrived at your door?

We all know the story. Mary and Joseph arrive in Bethlehem. No room in the inn. A stable is all they can find for their nightly digs.

We might picture the typical first-century travel experience as similar to our own. If you're on the road and get tired - find the next Motel 6 along the way. We don't realize that staying in an Inn was actually a highly unusual thing in Mary and Joseph's time.

Hospitality to strangers in the ancient world was a key aspect - a sacred duty actually - of any community's life, precisely because there really were no Inns or hotels along the way for travelers. You would have to take into your home the slightly strange-looking Lower Mongolian traveling through town, because someday you yourself might be alone, tired and transiting through Lower Mongolia on your way to the in-laws. Basic law of reciprocity.

Remember the story of Sodom and Gomorra in Genesis 19? Here's a provocative statement: the main sin there is most definitely not the sin of homosexuality. It is the failure of a community to uphold the sacred duty to protect guests, and provide hospitality and safe harbor. The attempt at homosexual rape is a sort of exclamation point to that main sin. Most people don't realize that the sin against hospitality is really why God gets so upset, and torches those two infamous cities. (Anybody out there have a different take?)

So - all that leads to the question for the week. What would you do if Mary and Joseph showed up on your doorstep? Some of us have had that actual thing happen to us, and more than once - it certainly happens all the time in my line of work. Someone in need shows up at your doorstep. What do you do? Drop everything and help?

We certainly live in a different culture. Hotels are indeed relatively plentiful. Social services arguably are available in many circumstances. When I worked at a soup kitchen, I was subject all the time to requests for help, at all hours of day or night. If I were to respond to each one of them, and not draw boundaries, I would become "an easy mark", and easily get taken advantage of.

But, if we fail to help the real people at our doorstep - what's become of us Christians? If I were to say, I can't help people - I'm too busy maintaining an organization that's helping people - would I have lost the essence of my calling?

I certainly struggle a lot with that. Should I drop everything and help Mary and Joseph at my door?

What do you think? What are your stories of helping - or not - the Marys and Josephs who've come to your door? What's the proper balance between supporting institutions that help people - as "professionals" - versus rolling up our sleeves and getting our own hands dirty with the real human problems of the person who suddenly comes to us needing our help.

Stories? Comments?

Hey - can we break 10 responses this time?

Peace,

Jeff V.

How do we live as Advent People?

Black Friday was indeed a black day.  There were incidents throughout the country of death and violence connected to the door buster sales offered.  There was the 34-year-old man who was trampled to death when Wal-Mart shoppers literally busted down the doors.  A woman also miscarried in the same stampede.  The New York Times noted that some had been waiting in line since the previous evening.

We understand this time of Advent as a time of waiting.  Not only waiting for the Christ child but also waiting for the return of Christ the King.  How can we recapture the joy of waiting in this time of door busters?  What can the church demonstrate to the world about the true reason for all these gifts?  How are we, as people of faith to respond, without being otherworldly and without being ones stepping on the Wal-Mart employee?  My question for this week is, "How do we live as Advent people?"

In Christ's Service,

Jeremiah