Summer School Recap Week 3

It's the End Once Again

Here we are again. The world is on the brink of war and I have classes to teach. Isn’t it weird how quickly the world and our lives can change. Within the span of only a few days, we had resurrected ancient conversations about what is good, what is bad, where is God in all of this, and is this the end? By the whims of serendipitous fate, my theology class talked about morality while my New Testament class discussed the literature of John (which entails the Gospel of John, John’s epistles, and Revelation).

To be honest with you, I was nervous. These types of conversations can lead to some nasty debates and disagreements. These types of conversations are the types of blows to the church’s unity, the ever-prevalent problem of Protestantism. When things like this happen, Facebook prophets and grainy YouTube videos filmed outside an RV start to pop up, claiming the kingdom of God is near and that everyone needs to become acutely aware or, as these types love to say, “wake up!”

The tightrope I walked when teaching these courses was not as treacherous as I thought. Turns out, like most times, my suspicions were unfounded. Again in my cynicism, I thought people were going to be less curious than they were convinced they had it all figured out. Graciously and wonderfully, the church proved me wrong. The conversations surrounding morality, the mystery’s of John’s gospels, and the monsters of Armageddon were some of the most tantalizing of the summer thus far. It’s an honor to convey our classes collective findings to you, dear reader, now.

Here’s the recap for week three of Summer School over morality and Johannine literature:

1. Evil must exist if good is to exist

Morality is a sticky, purulent swamp whose debates are often reduced to mere sentiment or vindictiveness. It’s a powerful irony we find ourselves in when discussing good and evil that we often embody the good and the evil that are arguing about. The classic questions that come up in a conversation about morality are, honestly, tired and boring. Things like, “Why do good things happen to bad people and visa versa?”, or “how God can be all-good while also omnipotent?”, or, the more relevant one, “if there is a God why is there so much war?”. These questions drive us mad because there is no real answer that satisfies our experience of evil in the world. This exact sentiment is what leads the author of Ecclesiastes to say that these questions are, like everything else, meaningless" (Ecc. 8:14).

I knew morality was something that must be included if we are to have any sort of serious discussion on the claims of Christianity in light of the philosopher’s pursuit of wisdom. After all, the core of the Christian message is a moral message. It claims 1) that there is such a thing as sin (evil) and holiness (good) 2) that we are sinners and 3) there is restitution for our souls through the sacrifice of Christ called salvation. Because the central point of Christianity rests in a certain moral philosophy, we have to talk about what this morality even is, where it comes from, and how we can, as Christians, be “good”.

With the first claim, St. Augustine, as always, provides us a beautiful answer. St. Augustine builds upon the work and writing of a Greek philosopher named Plato (who we will talk more about in this recap) and suggests that there is a “natural law”. Most major religions have some word for objective morality, meaning that our concept of morals rests on a universal moral code. The Chinese mystics have the Tao, Muslims have the Akhlaq, the Hindus have the Dharma, and even the pagan Greeks had an Ethos. These are words to describe the cosmic law, the rule of the universe, and the moral fabric that all of us are to abide by in pursuit of righteousness.

St. Augustine suggested that this natural law, this objective morality, is within us. He takes the Genesis narrative’s claim that humanity is made “in the image of God” as a metaphysical claim, suggesting that we have we he calls the imago dei. This imago dei is the law that’s written on our hearts and the conscience within us that pushes us backwards towards a harmonious Eden state between God and man. It is the metaphysical reality purported by Christ himself when he says “the kingdom of heaven is within you” (Luke 17:21).

The argument rests on the experience of humanity, which is why St. Augustine’s point is so poignant. We all have a conscience. The ones that don’t we view as the most evil of all. You may claim that morality can be “culturally” sanctioned but, by and large, they are shockingly similar throughout every civilization. These arguments typically roll into the simple assertion of “well the terrorists, murderers, thieves, and rapists all think they are doing a perfectly normal or maybe even good thing”. Never forget satan is, above all else, a tempter. Adam and Eve thought they, too, were doing something normal and maybe even good. The evil in the world claiming they are doing something good is exactly the same modus operandi that evil has always had. It is the only thing evil can do.

It is to this Genesis narrative that the moral argument takes on new forms. Because if we have a God, and this God’s existence can be proven through the moral code within us all (read C.S. Lewis’ book 1 or Mere Christianity or The Abolition of Man), then where does evil come from? Isn’t our God a creator? Did he the create Satan, and therefore evil? That’s a good question. Good thing it was answered 1800 years ago. Remember, there are no new questions, and most questions raised by opponents of Christianity have been answered since the beginning of the faith.

A man from northern Egypt named Origen wrote a small piece answering this question. It seems to have been a large reason why people were not convinced of Christianity in the ancient Mediterranean in favor of other systems that suggests that the creator God Yahweh actually is an evil one. Origen had a brilliant answer for these other moral philosophies and it is the claim that I called this section: evil must exist if good is to exist.

Origen writes that God does not create evil, but he also doesn’t prevent it. Both evil and good are used for “necessary purposes”. The wickedness of Judas is undoubtedly the greatest betrayal in the history of storytelling, yet it led to the cross of Christ. It is upon that cross where evil and good both exist simultaneously. For it is both the worst day, where perfect goodness dies unjustly, and the best day, where death dies and hell harrowed.

Origen also claims that evil is a necessary distinction for those who “strive for the glory of virtue”. If there was no evil, there would be no way of telling what is good. If all we’ve ever known was the good, it would be so familiar that it would lose its very essence. I had a student ask a wonderful question in regard to this statement. He asked, “did Adam think God was good?”. I paused and thought out loud as an attempt to answer his question. I said something to the degree of this, “Adam and Eve ate from the knowledge of good and evil. They understood then what that distinction was. I think Adam would have been too acquainted with God’s glory to see it as something good. He had to first learn what evil was”. As soon as we knew what evil was, we acted upon it by covering our nakedness. Since then we have been attempting to garner a sacrifice worthy of God’s goodness, because we finally had something to compare it to, a world in chaotic depravity.

That is the heart of Christian morality. It’s summed up by C.S. Lewis when he said that the human dilemma is this: there is a natural law of right and wrong and humanity does not follow it. It is impossible for man to be good on his own. We no longer know the difference between our own voice and that of the whispering serpent in the garden. They have become one and the same. Because sin is not a mere action, but a condition. It is a state of being. And being can only be rescued by a non-being, something transcending our mortal coil, uncreated, and holy. And glory be, Christ “became” our sin (2 Cor. 5:21) and killed it upon a cross, so that we might inherit not Adam’s guilt, but the righteousness of God.

2. John’s gospel is a philosophical argument for the divinity of Christ

The collected stories of Christ’s life and times known as “gospels” are all doing different things, as we discussed last week. The synoptics (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) all share the same information, more or less, yet their differences promote a certain harmony in the picture of Christ they are attempting to paint. But what about this fourth gospel? 90% of the Gospel of John is not contained in the other gospels. Why? What sources are they using? Where are they getting this information? Even if these gospel writers were eyewitnesses, no eyewitness would witness 90% different material than the other ones. So, it must be asked, what is the Gospel of John trying to do?

We can clearly see the intention of the gospel by looking at its introduction. Mark begins with John the Baptist and immediately into Jesus’ ministry, making it clear that Mark is simply a résumé of Christ’s work. Matthew begins in a genealogy from Abraham and David, making it clear that it is a gospel written by and to the Jews. Luke begins with an explicit goal of compiling sources to create a whole narrative of the events of Christ and dedicated it to his friend Theophilus, making it clear that it is the attempt to take the gospel genre and fusing it with classical Greek story telling. Therefore, it seems relevant to examine John’s introduction to ascertain its specific intention and audience.

John’s gospel, as we’ve already hinted at, is strange. It doesn’t open with a preface stating authorial intent, a genealogy, or even a prologue to Jesus’ ministry at all. Instead it begins with an alternative reading of the creation narrative. John 1 famous opening words are,

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

After a little interlude which contains the coming of John the Baptist, his purpose, and even a theological claim regarding his call, the “Word” narrative continues:

14And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.

There is a famous theme throughout this creation narrative and it’s the word “Word”. Again, English as a language fails to live up to the ancient expectation of thought through speech. The word “Word” is a horrendous translation. I believe that word should have simply remained its original Greek word with a footnote explaining it. That Greek word is the word logos.

Logos is the etymological root of the suffix -ology and the word “logic”. It is not just a word in and of itself, but it represents an ancient philosophical concept, which was ancient even to the father of Greek philosophy Socrates and his pupil Plato (Socrates’ thoughts and life are preserved through Plato so we will henceforth refer only to Plato in reference to them both). Plato established a philosophical tradition that was taught and proliferated throughout the ancient mediterranean school system. His concepts regarding theology, morals, metaphysics, and politics were the bedrock for the rest of Greek philosophy. Within him, I believe, we can begin to understand why John’s gospel contains the word logos and what it’s trying to achieve with this famous word.

Plato writes in several of his works (namely The Republic, Phaedo, and Symposium) about something he called the Theory of Forms. Plato suggested that there are eternal and perfect realities that exist outside our reality called forms by which the material world’s offerings are just mere imitations. They work a little something like this: If I were to show a crowd a picture of a sunset and a picture of a sunflower, and asked them which one is more beautiful, a logical person could surmise that some people would choose the sunset and some would choose the flower. But how could they come to such a conclusion if there wasn’t somewhere a perfect beauty by which our consciousness can examine both and make a judgment thereafter? If I were to say the phrase “I have hair”, that would be true. If I were to say “I have long, brown hair”, that would be more true. Again, how can such a judgment come about if there wasn’t a perfect eternal by which we compare? Perfect and eternal truth, justice, beauty, love, and goodness reside only in one place, and that is within the mind of God (Plato didn’t call it that but, for brevity’s sake, we’ll just keep that there). St. Augustine expounded on this and claimed that these forms exist within us as the imago dei (see above).

Within the Platonic system, these forms were only reached through the Logos. The Logos, according to Plato but also the philosophers before him, was the fundamental governance of the universe. It is the “reason” that bridges the gap between the material, human world and the reality of the perfect and eternal forms. The Logos is the conversation, the knowledge, the pursuit of wisdom that allows us mortals to interact with the divine forms. In the Logos is our purpose and the very reason we were granted consciousness, to know and pursue the knowing.

When the Gospel of John uses this famous word Logos, it is by no mere accident or coincidence. The Greek philosophers would have read it and make a specific conclusion about the claims this text is presenting. In essence, the introduction of John makes the claim that Christ is the Logos, the divine reason and fundamental governance of the universe (all things were made through him…). What the philosophers called the Logos is actually the eternal and perfect God, which is both with and is God, because they are coexisting and coeternal. The Logos was then made flesh, and made his dwelling among us, so that man could glean from his teaching, which is the very fabric by which our universe is held. The Logos made his dwelling among us so that he could reveal himself as the mediator between God, where perfect and eternal truth, love, beauty, justice, and goodness reside, and us.

With these things in mind, I claim the introduction of John is suggesting two things: 1) that Jesus is God and it can logically be proven so using the philosophical axioms and paradigms of the time and 2) he has come to provide us “life”. Again, this word “life” is a Greek word with deep philosophical connections. The Greek word zoe (from the word zao) means life, but not in the physical sense. Bios is the word used for physical, biological life, but zoe is used here to describe spiritual life, purpose, meaning, and fulfillment of our souls.

The Gospel of John is a philosophical treatise on the nature of Christ, his mission on Earth, and his teaching. When you take out the philosophical sections of John’s gospel, all you are really left with is miracles. Therefore, one can surmise that John used a similar technique to Mark by using a “signs source” and then crafted around that source the most beautiful and awe-inspiring text of the New Testament. I’m not the only one who thinks that either, for John was the most commented text of the New Testament by the church fathers. It is rich with thought, perforated with philosophy, and profoundly important to the massive claim that Christ made that the other gospels don’t emphasize as much, which is the Jesus Christ is God made into man. John is necessary for a harmonious picture of Christ, who caused a intellectual earthquake when he claimed, in the same way and words as Yahweh God himself, that he is the “I am”.

3. Love is an ontology

Of the many philosophical underpinnings of the Gospel of John and Johannine literature as a whole, none is more relevant and stereotypical of the Christian life than love. No matter what people may think of Christianity as a theological or philosophical claim, they associate Jesus with a message of love. Love seems to by the characterizing component of the Christian life, deed, and belief.

However, in our “spiritual but not religious” cultural climate, I feel that love has been robbed of its passion and power. I went to a Metallica concert recently and the lead singer, James Hetfield, said he could, “feel the love”. The Black Eyed Peas in 2003 in the midst of a global conflict against islamic states (sound familiar?) cried “where is the love?”. Sir Ian McKellen, the whimsical Gandalf actor, claimed on a podcast that he feels at home “when grown men call strangers love” and that the world would be better off we all started doing that. We hear about love almost too much. We use love as a sort of catch-all for spiritual emotionalism and a panacea for all the world’s problems. But what exactly are we saying when we say love? What is this thing that we are feeling? What is this solution to the world’s problem? What is Metallica, Fergie, and Gandalf all referencing?

Before we get into that, we must again reference the Greek to understand what exactly John means when he writes the word that we have egregiously translated as “love”. English (again, a failed language that rarely achieves the same goal as the original textual languages) has only one word for love. We use the same word “love” when talking about our spouse, our mom, our dog, pizza, and the Tom Hanks movie Castaway. But we don’t love our wives and husbands the same way we love Tom Hanks (at least most people don’t…). In Greek, there are four words for love, creating a nice typography for the experience of affection. They are 1) Philos-brotherly love, friendly love, how someone loves a certain candle’s scent or tacos al pastor 2) Storge-familial love, household love, how you love your mom, dad, aunt, brother, and weird cousin 3) Eros-romantic love, spousal love, how you love your boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, and no one else (looking at the weird person who LOVES Tom Hanks…) and 4) Agape-this is the one we need to talk about.

Agape means something to the degree of “divine love”. It is the unconditional, sacrificial love that Christ shows on the cross, or that God shows when he breaks Jacob’s hip. It has no action that is consistent. It is love in its deepest, most profound form. It is not a love that that you choose or foster, it is the love that occurs involuntarily. It is the love that dies. It is the love Solomon describes in his song when he claims that “love is as strong as death”. It is the love that Dostoyevsky says “comes before logic”. It is the only love that matters. It is the only love that saves.

John 15:13 sets the stage for what biblical love looks like. Christ says:

13 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

This sentiment is prevalent throughout the Gospel of John but reaches its theological conclusion and status through John’s first epistle. 1 John continues the the agape love discussion by saying this:

16 By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers.

So we see here the sacrificial component of agape love. But 1 John does not stop with this simple notion. He makes it much more complicated with a famous verse that is often overused to the point of implosion. He says this in 1 John 4

7 Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. 8 Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. 9 In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. 10 In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. 11 Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 12 No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us. (emphasis mine)

God is love? God is agape? What a profound statement and a claim that has lost its power. Every time “love” is used here in this passage, it is the word agape. So love here is not described as the feel good catch-all we’ve made it out to be, nor is it used in the same definition as the “spiritual but not religious” crowd has defined it. For love is death. But there is a life after this death. We are “born again” (a uniquely Johannine phrase) into God’s love which is made manifest among us through Christ and is perfected in us through the Holy Spirit. This is not a claim of “love conquers all”, this is the claim of “love has conquered me, and it is no longer I who live, but the one who loved me that is living within”.

In this way, biblical love is ontological. Ontology is the branch of philosophy that deals with “being” and “existence”. Love is ontological because it’s spoken of here as a fundamental reality and its inexorable connection of existence. However, this agape is not about reinforcing your existence, but obliterating it. Love is the casting aside of whatever I am and whoever I may be in order for God, who is love itself, to reside within me and out into the world.

St. Augustine describes love as the ontological reality of God himself. He explains that for love to exist at all there must be three components: the lover, the beloved, and the love that is shared. If God is love, then he must be triune. It is because of our singularity, our mere oneness of being, that requires us, in love, to cast ourselves upon the altar and die. After that death, love is perfected within us as Christ still lives, still reigns, and still saves through the essential doctrine of agape, which covers a “multitude of sins” (1 Peter 4:8).

In this day in age, as the cycle of war, power, greed, and strife continue its menacing rotation, we ask the same thing as Will.I.Am did when it was happening in 2003, “where is the love?”. I make a bold claim: it’s always been here in the person, the logos, the God, and the agape of Christ. The problem, therefore, is you and me. We are the deceived and the tempted. We are doomed and the damned. It is the moral conundrum that we all face, when we decide what is good and what is evil. Despite political lines, philosophical differences, religious extremism, and lives lost, we all must come to terms with our own moral depravity at some point. We all are desperate to see love win in the world, an overarching good destroying the schemes of evil and establish a world of peace. But the basis of Christianity is that 1) it already has upon the cross and grave of Christ and 2) the first domino to fall must be in the hearts of men.

It is the end once again, and once again we are looking for answers everywhere besides within us. For we are the perpetrators and the criminals, the terror and the harlot, the beast and the serpent. In love, we must die so that, in love, we, in the end, can live once again. For love is the end, once again, and Christ, the agape of God, is king of the coming kingdom, to reign supreme until the end, once again.

Next week we start on Paul’s letters and discuss the meaning of life…once again.