Ask a Theologian III

[Plotinus]

I have a lot on right now - in particular I'm giving a talk on gnosticism this evening which I haven't entirely finished preparing (that is a euphemism) and then I have to revise a journal paper, which I don't know when I'm going to find time for, so I may take a couple of days to get to these. It's on the agenda though. In particular I want to be able to look through some patristic biblical commentaries to answer Domination3000's query properly (although random is entirely right to say that theological categories of the sixteenth century do not apply to the early church - indeed the early Christians would probably have found the theological debates of the Renaissance and early modern periods simply incomprehensible).

 

[Agent327]

(Originally Posted by Plotinus in another thread: )

St Justin says that Christ is reason (because he is the Logos, the divine reason), so it follows that anyone who follows reason is following Christ - although they may not put it like that.

Indeed, one might say that even the people in this thread who are arguing rationally against theism may, ironically, be said to be following Christ - because they are trying to be rational. They may think they are opposing Christ, but by being rational, they are actually following the glimmerings of divine reason which are in all of us. At least, that would be in line with what St Justin says.

I´d call this a theologicism. First, ofcourse, by equating Christ with reason, paradoxically, one does not equate reason with Christ. Second, logos may also simply mean word or even doctrine, making this a very personal interpretation by St Justin at best. (Actually anyone equating Christ with reason hasn´t been reading the NT very closely, as it shows Christ to be an emotional man, but let´s leave that aside.) Third, again, divine reason isn´t the same as reason in itself. But it´d be interesting to see how someone working miracles is acting reasonably, not in the least as miracles in a very real sense defy reason.

 

[Tabster]

If we're talking major heretical groups, I'd say gnosticism in general. It was a fundamentally world-denying movement - a fetishisation of death and denial of life.

I'm giving a talk on gnosticism this evening

Could you explain more (when you have opportunity) about what you mean by 'fetishisation of death'.

 

[Ajidica]

I read a book that touched on Gnosticism/Cathars so I think I can explain somewhat.
Basicaly, Gnostics held that the material world was inherently sinful (they might have regarded it as hell). If a person had abstained from sin as much as possible then they got an almost free shot into heaven. The 'fetishization of death' probably comes from the fact they looked forward to death rather then fearing it. Death sets them free from sin and temptation.

 

[Plotinus]

First:

You mean they were all Calvinists?

Because that was what I meant. Obviously the name didn't exist. But I meant the people who held that form of doctrine.

To begin with, Arminians were Calvinists. They just weren’t orthodox Calvinists, because they believed in libertarian free will. So you shouldn’t contrast Arminians with Calvinists, you should contrast them with orthodox Calvinists. Similarly, you shouldn’t simply label the belief in libertarian free will “Arminianism” – which is what I suppose you’re doing here – because “Arminianism” carries a whole load of other baggage with it, and means far more than merely the belief in libertarian free will.

More fundamentally, these positions didn’t exist before early modern times. Not just the names, but the doctrines themselves. People didn’t merely have different opinions at different periods in history, they weren’t even asking the same questions. The doctrines (or sets of doctrines) that we call “Arminian” and “orthodox Calvinist” couldn’t possibly exist before the time of Calvin, because they were reactions to (or developments of) his thought.

Question: What is the Arminian explanation of Romans 9, particularly the parts about the potter and the clay?

If you want to know what early Christians thought about these things, you need to understand that the church fathers were not, for the most part, interested in the kinds of issues that people argued about in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Some of these issues would have been incomprehensible to them. A good example is the Amyraldean controversy, which was kind of the French equivalent of the Arminian controversy. It revolved around the question of God’s decrees and their logical order; in particular, did God’s decree to save (in general) precede his decree to save (in particular such-and-such people through Christ), or was it the other way around? That’s a question that no-one from the early church would even have understood, let alone addressed.

In the case of Arminianism, you’re on marginally more solid ground because the issue of the nature of free will and its relation to divine grace was a subject that the church fathers addressed – at least, the later ones – in the context of the Pelagian dispute. In brief, Pelagius believed that divine grace is of such a nature that it does not override human libertarian free will, while Augustine thought that it did, and that human beings therefore have only compatibilist free will (or something like this – Augustine’s views on the subject were very complex). You can read Augustine’s summary of the issue and his views on it in the two letters and treatise that begin here. You will notice that Augustine is arguing against both what you’d call orthodox Calvinism and Arminianism here, since he attacks those who deny free will, and also those who deny that God’s grace determines human actions; I suppose that makes him closer to orthodox Calvinism than to Arminianism. You will also notice that he never mentions the verse from John’s Gospel that you cite, and he mentions the verse from Romans only once, in ch. 41 of this treatise. As that suggests, even when ancient Christians were discussing similar topics to modern ones, they did so in different ways and did not necessarily think that the same biblical texts were relevant.

(I would urge you very strongly to follow this link and the others I give, and to read as much of these texts as you can – not just the occasional sentence. You will never understand the Christian faith at all until you can understand how very differently Christians of different ages have understood it, and what very different preconceptions, assumptions, and methods they have brought to understanding their faith. And you can never really understand that without actually reading their works for yourself. It’s not enough to be told by someone else. Given that so many of these works are available for free online, it baffles me that any Christian wouldn’t bother to read as many of them as possible, because if you’re a Christian, what could be more important than understanding Christianity?)

In general, if you’re interested in what ancient Christians thought about any verse of the Bible, you should start by going to this site, which has the nineteenth-century translations of key patristic works all online. Each of these volumes has an index at the end of biblical references, with links to where those verses are cited in the text. So you can go through the volumes containing the authors you’re interested in and look up the biblical passages you’re interested in at the back. Note that these translations are Victorian and in rather archaic language, plus of course the accompanying scholarship is partisan and outdated, though still quite useful.

And particularly this verse:

22 What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction,

I linked to a treatise of Augustine earlier (and you can find many more works by him on this topic in the same volume) in which he interprets this passage in general in a way that an orthodox Calvinist would broadly accept (although Augustine’s intention is, in part, to defend the claim that human free will is compatible with a predestinarian understanding of this passage). Now one of Augustine’s opponents in all of this was Pelagius, who argued very powerfully for the view that human beings have libertarian free will and that this is not overridden by divine grace. As it happens, we possess Pelagius’ commentary on Romans, which is especially interesting since he was subsequently condemned as a heretic, which normally means the person’s writings are all destroyed. It’s doubly interesting as it is the earliest extant writing by a British author.

Now Pelagius’ views are, I suppose, roughly comparable to the Arminian position, although they are considerably stronger (you don’t have to be a Pelagian to be an Arminian). So his comments on Romans 9 are presumably the kind of thing you’re looking for.

Pelagius argues that the predestination attributed to God in Romans 9 is always on the basis of later faith. So if God predestines someone to salvation or damnation, it is because he knows whether they will later have faith in him; predestination, therefore, does not override human free will but merely follows it. This is a common idea in patristic thought and Augustine himself argued for it at one stage of his career. Commenting on Romans 9:10, Pelagius says:

Not only are Ishmael and Isaac, who were begotten [of different mothers], though of one father, not equal in the sight of God; Jacob and Esau too, who were born of Rebecca as a result of a single conception, were separated in God’s sight before they were born on account of their [subsequent] faith, so that God’s purpose for choosing the good and resisting the evil existed already in foreknowledge. So too, then, he has now chosen those whom he foreknew would believe from among the Gentiles, and has rejected those whom he foreknew would be unbelieving out of Israel… God’s foreknowledge does [not] prejudge the sinner, if he is willing to repent. For he says through Ezekiel: “If I say to a sinner: ‘You shall surely die’, and he, having repented, does what is right, he shall surely live and shall not die” [Ezek. 33:14-15].

And on verse 15:

”For Moses says: ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will show compassion to whom I will have mercy.’” This is correctly understood as follows: I will have mercy on him whom I have foreknown will be able to deserve compassion, so that already then I have had mercy on him.

Pelagius argues that in verse 16, Paul is expressing not his own views, but the views of those he is opposing. So in these verses, Paul imagines someone arguing on the basis of what he’s said in the preceding passage, and reaching the conclusion that God determines everything, overriding everyone’s free will. But on Pelagius’ interpretation, Paul does not endorse this conclusion – in fact he rejects it. So he comments on verses 18 and 19:

”Therefore God has mercy on whom he wills and he hardens whom he wills. Then you say to me: ‘What is he still looking for? For who can resist his will?’” If, then, this too is understood as follows: “He has mercy on whom he wills [and] he hardens whom he wills” because there is enough wickedness, then your argument also will be lost – the argument that not you, but the will of the Lord, to which there can be no opposition, is the cause of your wickedness. The very nature of God’s justice opposes this reasoning of yours.

Pelagius isn’t sure at which point Paul stops reporting the objections of his imaginary opponent and starts replying to them. He thinks that perhaps at verse 20 Paul starts to speak in his own voice again. In that case, “the apostle replies that even if there were cause for them to make accusation, they ought not to talk back to their maker, for in comparison to God we are as a piece of pottery is to its artisan”. In other words, if Paul is here speaking in his own voice, he is not saying that God has total control over us in the way that a potter has total control over his clay; rather, he is saying that we don’t have any right to complain to God, any more than the clay has the right to complain to the potter. That is not the same thing.

In the case of verse 22, Pelagius says that if Paul is speaking here in his own voice, this is what he means:

”…The vessels of wrath, prepared for destruction.” By filling up the quota of their sins they became vessels worthy of wrath, and by their own doing they became vessels prepared for destruction.

So he refers back to the idea expressed earlier that it is the sinners themselves who determine their destruction, by sinning; and God simply responds to this choice of theirs.

In other words, for Pelagius, the verse you asked about should be interpreted in one of two ways:

(1) It means that God predestines people on the basis of their actions, so we have free will after all and we determine what happens to us.

(2) Paul isn’t speaking in his own voice here at all, but articulating a view that he disagrees with and goes on to attack.

John Chrysostom, who was not a Pelagian but did have Pelagian sympathies, also gives us an analysis of this passage from Romans (source here, note the archaic translation). You will note that Chrysostom interprets it in a strongly libertarian way, insisting that the passage does not teach determinism of the will:

Ver. 20, 2l. “Shall the thing formed say to Him that formed it, Why hast Thou made me thus? Hath not the potter (Read Jer. xviii. 1–10) power, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonor?”

Here it is not to do away with free-will that he says this, but to show, up to what point we ought to obey God. For in respect of calling God to account, we ought to be as little disposed to it as the clay is. For we ought to abstain not from gainsaying or questioning only, but even from speaking or thinking of it at all, and to become like that lifeless matter, which followeth the potter’s hands, and lets itself be drawn about anywhere he may please. And this is the only point he applied the illustration to, not, that is, to any enunciation of the rule of life, but to the complete obedience and silence enforced upon us. And this we ought to observe in all cases, that we are not to take the illustrations quite entire, but after selecting the good of them, and that for which they were introduced, to let the rest alone. As, for instance, when he says, “He couched, he lay down as a lion;” (Numb. xxiv. 9) let us take out the indomitable and fearful part, not the brutality, nor any other of the things belonging to a lion. And again, when He says, “I will meet them as a bereaved bear” (Hos. xiii. 8), let us take the vindictiveness. And when he says, “our God is a consuming fire” (Deut. iv. 24; and Heb. xii. 29), the wasting power exerted in punishing. So also here must we single out the clay, the potter, and the vessels. And when he does go on to say, “Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonor?” do not suppose that this is said by Paul as an account of the creation, nor as implying a necessity over the will, but to illustrate the sovereignty and difference of dispensations; for if we do not take it in this way, divers incongruities will follow, for if here he were speaking about the will, and those who are good and those not so, He will be Himself the Maker of these, and man will be free from all responsibility. And at this rate, Paul will also be shown to be at variance with himself, as he always bestows chief honor upon free choice. There is nothing else then which he here wishes to do, save to persuade the hearer to yield entirely to God, and at no time to call Him to account for anything whatever. For as the potter (he says) of the same lump makes what he pleaseth, and no one forbids it; thus also when God, of the same race of men, punisheth some, and honoreth others, be not thou curious nor meddlesome herein, but worship only, and imitate the clay. And as it followeth the hands of the potter, so do thou also the mind of Him that so ordereth things. For He worketh nothing at random, or mere hazard, though thou be ignorant of the secret of His Wisdom. Yet thou allowest the other of the same lump to make divers things, and findest no fault: but of Him you demand an account of His punishments and honors, and will not allow Him to know who is worthy and who is not so; but since the same lump is of the same substance, you assert that there are the same dispositions. And, how monstrous this is! And yet not even is it on the potter that the honor and the dishonor of the things made of the lump depends, but upon the use made by those that handle them, so here also it depends on the free choice. Still, as I said before, one must take this illustration to have one bearing only, which is that one should not contravene God, but yield to His incomprehensible Wisdom. For the examples ought to be greater than the subject, and than the things on account of which they are brought forward, so as to draw on the hearer better. Since if they were not greater and did not mount far above it, he could not attack as he ought, and shame the objectors. However, their ill-timed obstinacy he silenced in this way with becoming superiority. And then he introduces his answer. Now what is the answer?

Ver. 22, 23, 24. “What if God, willing to show His wrath, and to make His power known, endured with much long-suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction: and that He might make known the riches of His glory on the vessels of mercy, which He had afore prepared unto glory, even us, whom He hath chosen, not of the Jews only, but also of the Gentiles.”

What he means is somewhat as follows. Pharaoh was a vessel of wrath, that is, a man who by his own hard-heartedness had kindled the wrath of God. For after enjoying much long-suffering, he became no better, but remained unimproved. Wherefore he calleth him not only “a vessel of wrath,” but also one “fitted for destruction.” That is, fully fitted indeed, but by his own proper self. For neither had God left out aught of the things likely to recover him, nor did he leave out aught of those that would ruin him, and put him beyond any forgiveness. Yet still, though God knew this, “He endured him with much long-suffering,” being willing to bring him to repentance. For had He not willed this, then He would not have been thus long-suffering. But as he would not use the long-suffering in order to repentance, but fully fitted himself for wrath, He used him for the correction of others, through the punishment inflicted upon him making them better, and in this way setting forth His power. For that it is not God’s wish that His power be so made known, but in another way, by His benefits, namely, and kindnesses, he had shown above in all possible ways. For if Paul does not wish to appear powerful in this way (“not that we should appear approved,” he says, “but that ye should do that which is honest,&#8221 (2 Cor. xiii. 7), much less doth God. But after that he had shown long-suffering, that He might lead to repentance, but he did not repent, He suffered him a long time, that He might display at once His goodness and His power, even if that man were not minded to gain anything from this great long-suffering. As then by punishing this man, who continued incorrigible, He showed His power, so by having pitied those who had done many sins but repented, He manifested His love toward man. But it does not say, love towards man, but glory, to show that this is especially God’s glory, and for this He was above all things earnest. But in saying, “which He had afore prepared unto glory,” he does not mean that all is God’s doing. Since if this were so, there were nothing to hinder all men from being saved. But he is setting forth again His foreknowledge, and doing away with the difference between the Jews and the Gentiles. And on this topic again he grounds a defence of his statement, which is no small one. For it was not in the case of the Jews only that some men perished, and some were saved, but with the Gentiles also this was the case. Wherefore he does not say, all the Gentiles, but, “of the Gentiles,” nor, all the Jews, but, “of the Jews.” As then Pharaoh became a vessel of wrath by his own lawlessness, so did these become vessels of mercy by their own readiness to obey. For though the more part is of God, still they also have contributed themselves some little. Whence he does not say either, vessels of well-doing, or vessels of boldness (παρρησία&#962, but “vessels of mercy,” to show that the whole is of God. For the phrase, “it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,” even if it comes in the course of the objection, still, were it said by Paul, would create no difficulty. Because when he says, “it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,” he does not deprive us of free-will, but shows that all is not one’s own, for that it requires grace from above. For it is binding on us to will, and also to run: but to confide not in our own labors, but in the love of God toward man. And this he has expressed elsewhere. “Yet not I, but the grace which was with me.” (1 Cor. xv. 10.) And he well says, “Which He had afore prepared unto glory.” For since they reproached them with this, that they were saved by grace, and thought to make them ashamed, he far more than sets aside this insinuation. For if the thing brought glory even to God, much more to them through whom God was glorified. But observe his forbearance, and unspeakable wisdom. For when he had it in his power to adduce, as an instance of those punished, not Pharaoh, but such of the Jews as had sinned, and so make his discourse much clearer, and show that where there were the same fathers, and the same sins, some perished, and some had mercy shown them, and persuade them not to be doubtful-minded, even if some of the Gentiles were saved, while the Jews were perishing; that he might not make his discourse irksome, the showing forth of the punishment he draws from the foreigner, so that he may not be forced to call them “vessels of wrath.” But those that obtained mercy he draws from the people of the Jews. And besides, he also has spoken in a sufficient way in God’s behalf, because though He knew very well that the nation was fitting itself as a vessel of destruction, still He contributed all on His part, His patience, His long-suffering, and that not merely long-suffering, but “much long-suffering;” yet still he was not minded to state it barely against the Jews. Whence then are some vessels of wrath, and some of mercy? Of their own free choice. God, however, being very good, shows the same kindness to both. For it was not those in a state of salvation only to whom He showed mercy, but also Pharaoh, as far as His part went. For of the same long-suffering, both they and he had the advantage. And if he was not saved, it was quite owing to his own will: since, as for what concerneth God, he had as much done for him as they who were saved.

Here again, Chrysostom makes roughly the same argument as Pelagius. He says that the image of the clay is not meant to express the idea that God determines everything that happens to us – it is only meant to express the idea that we have no right to question what God does. He also says that Paul cannot mean to say that God determines everything that we do, because (a) that would make God the author of sin, which is impossible and impious, and (b) Paul upholds free will elsewhere, and he wouldn’t contradict himself. And where God makes people “vessels of wrath”, he does so in response to those people’s own behaviour – he doesn’t predestine them to become vessels of wrath.

So these are pretty much the same interpretation as Pelagius’ (although Chrysostom does not argue, as Pelagius does, that Paul is reporting views with which he disagrees). So I think you can take these interpretations as the standard way in which early Christians who believed in libertarian free will, and denied the irresistibility of grace, interpreted the Romans passage.

I'd also like to know how they explain this:

37 All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never cast out.

That is John 6:37 (it would be kind of helpful to say what it is you’re quoting). As far as I can tell, early Christians did not consider this verse to be relevant to the question of predestination and free will. Augustine cites it here in the context of saying that everyone who comes to Christ is predestined to do so, but of course, he does not use it to suggest that those who do not come to Christ are predestined not to do so (the doctrine of double predestination is Calvinist, not patristic).

This is a more detailed analysis of this passage from Augustine (source here, archaic translation):

“And Jesus said unto them, I am the Bread of Life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.” “He that cometh to me;” this is the same thing as “He that believeth on me;” and “shall never hunger” is to be understood to mean the same thing as “shall never thirst.” For by both is signified that eternal sufficiency in which there is no want. You desire bread from heaven; you have it before you, and yet you do not eat. “But I said unto you, that ye also have seen me, and ye believed not.” But I have not on that account lost my people. “For hath your unbelief made the faith of God of none effect?” For, see thou what follows: “All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me, I will not cast out of doors.” What kind of within is that, whence there is no going out of doors? Noble interior, sweet retreat! O secret dwelling without weariness, without the bitterness of evil thoughts, without the solicitings of temptations and the interruptions of griefs! Is it not that secret dwelling whither shall enter that well-deserving servant, to whom the Lord will say, “Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord?”

You can see that he doesn’t touch on the question of predestination and free will here at all.

Do you like to answer all these questions or is it getting tedious?

That depends very much on the question.

Practically: ask them. It yields good enough info for most purposes.

You can’t ask someone before they’re even conceived, though, can you?

It seems more intuitive than not to me. But more importantly, it's the only reasonable way to explain why it's OK to have kids at all.

So you’re making it a premise in your argument that it is OK to have children? If I understand you right, you’re arguing like this:

(1) If it’s morally acceptable to have children, it must be that having children is good.
(2) But it is morally acceptable to have children.
(3) Therefore, having children is good.

Your (1) seems quite false to me. Surely it could be morally acceptable to have children if having children is morally neutral. For example, if it is morally neutral whether I choose to sit or stand right now, either choice is morally acceptable. So something doesn’t have to be good to be morally acceptable. It only needs not to be bad.

And (2) is plainly begging the question. Is it morally acceptable to have children? I don’t know that it is, and I don’t think you know it either; you just want it to be. But wanting something to be true isn’t a good reason for supposing that it is true.

1) Who's your favorite post-schismatic eastern theologian?

I’d say either Symeon the New Theologian or Gregory Palamas.

 

[Plotinus]

“St Justin says that Christ is reason (because he is the Logos, the divine reason), so it follows that anyone who follows reason is following Christ - although they may not put it like that.

Indeed, one might say that even the people in this thread who are arguing rationally against theism may, ironically, be said to be following Christ - because they are trying to be rational. They may think they are opposing Christ, but by being rational, they are actually following the glimmerings of divine reason which are in all of us. At least, that would be in line with what St Justin says.”


Could you expand on this idea?

The relevant text can be found here:

But lest some should, without reason, and for the perversion of what we teach, maintain that we say that Christ was born one hundred and fifty years ago under Cyrenius, and subsequently, in the time of Pontius Pilate, taught what we say He taught; and should cry out against us as though all men who were born before Him were irresponsible —let us anticipate and solve the difficulty. We have been taught that Christ is the first-born of God, and we have declared above that He is the Word of whom every race of men were partakers; and those who lived reasonably are Christians, even though they have been thought atheists; as, among the Greeks, Socrates and Heraclitus, and men like them; and among the barbarians, Abraham, and Ananias, and Azarias, and Misael, and Elias, and many others whose actions and names we now decline to recount, because we know it would be tedious. So that even they who lived before Christ, and lived without reason, were wicked and hostile to Christ, and slew those who lived reasonably. But who, through the power of the Word, according to the will of God the Father and Lord of all, He was born of a virgin as a man, and was named Jesus, and was crucified, and died, and rose again, and ascended into heaven, an intelligent man will be able to comprehend from what has been already so largely said. And we, since the proof of this subject is less needful now, will pass for the present to the proof of those things which are urgent.

The word “Word” there is Logos, which of course also means “Reason”, among other things – in fact “Word” is probably the least relevant of all its many translations.

The idea of the divine Logos running the universe (and perhaps creating it), either as a roundabout way of talking about God himself or meaning a distinct entity from God, was very common in philosophy of the time, particularly Platonism and Stoicism. For the Stoics, the Logos is God immanent in the world. For Middle Platonists, the Logos is a distinct divine entity, below the High God, who acts as an intermediary between the High God and the physical world. What Justin does is to follow the opening verses of John’s Gospel and identify Christ with this divine Logos.

Moreover, for the Stoics in particular, human reason is part of the divine Logos; we each have a “seed of the Logos” which is a fragment of the universal divine reason in each of us. Justin makes use of that idea too, when he says here:

For I myself, when I discovered the wicked disguise which the evil spirits had thrown around the divine doctrines of the Christians, to turn aside others from joining them, laughed both at those who framed these falsehoods, and at the disguise itself and at popular opinion and I confess that I both boast and with all my strength strive to be found a Christian; not because the teachings of Plato are different from those of Christ, but because they are not in all respects similar, as neither are those of the others, Stoics, and poets, and historians. For each man spoke well in proportion to the share he had of the spermatic word, seeing what was related to it. But they who contradict themselves on the more important points appear not to have possessed the heavenly wisdom, and the knowledge which cannot be spoken against. Whatever things were rightly said among all men, are the property of us Christians. For next to God, we worship and love the Word who is from the unbegotten and ineffable God, since also He became man for our sakes, that becoming a partaker of our sufferings, He might also bring us healing. For all the writers were able to see realities darkly through the sowing of the implanted word that was in them. For the seed and imitation impacted according to capacity is one thing, and quite another is the thing itself, of which there is the participation and imitation according to the grace which is from Him.

The phrase translated “spermatic word” there is spermatikos logos, that is the seed of the Logos, the idea taken from Stoicism.

So if we combine these two passages from Justin, we get the idea that there is a divine Logos or Reason which orders the world (in accordance with Stoic and Platonic theology), and that human reason is intimately connected with it, to the extent that anyone who follows reason, that is, who behaves rationally, is living in accordance with the divine Logos. To this Justin adds the Christian notion that the divine Logos is what was incarnate in Christ. It follows that anyone who lives rationally is living in accordance with Christ and may be counted a follower of Christ even if they’ve never heard of the historical Jesus.

Now Justin uses this idea to argue that people who lived before Christ, in particular the Jewish prophets and the Greek philosophers, could be considered followers of Christ, because of their rationality. He doesn’t consider the case of people who live today, i.e. after Christ, but haven’t heard of him; he certainly doesn’t consider the case of people who have heard of Christ but reject him. In the twentieth century, Karl Rahner developed the idea to suggest that people from other religious traditions could be considered “anonymous Christians” on the grounds that Christ, the universal Reason, could be part of their tradition even though they don’t use that language. Those who have not heard the Christian message could thus be Christians deep down without realising it. That includes people who have heard the Christian message in a very shallow way – e.g. they have heard it preached, but never had it properly explained to them or properly understood it; for these purposes, such people don’t really count as having heard the Christian message at all. If, nevertheless, they follow what is right and good in their own traditions, that may be enough to count as following Christ in their own way.

However, Rahner thought that anyone who has heard and understood the Christian message, but rejected it, could not count as following Christ in any sense. If someone consciously rejects Christ when they encounter him clearly, they can’t be following him unconsciously at other times.

What I was imagining was that perhaps someone could argue along the lines of Justin’s and Rahner’s views, but in a more radical way, to say that perhaps someone who (consciously) rejects Christianity might nevertheless be counted a follower of Christ if they act rationally. Perhaps one might argue that people who reject Christianity on rational grounds haven’t really understood it, and so they haven’t really rejected the real Christ, just the rather rubbish interpretation of him that they’ve had presented to them. But I don’t know if anyone’s actually argued along these lines.

How would you rank the cosmological, ontological, and teleological arguments?

From good to bad:

(1) The modern forms of the teleological argument which appeal to physical laws.
(2) The cosmological argument.
(3) The ontological argument.
(4) The old forms of the teleological argument which appeal to biology.

To be more exact, I’d say that (1) is the only group of arguments with any real credibility today, although I don’t think they work. (2) is not much good, (3) is fun but absurd, and (4) is totally worthless.

(Originally Posted by Plotinus in another thread: )

St Justin says that Christ is reason (because he is the Logos, the divine reason), so it follows that anyone who follows reason is following Christ - although they may not put it like that.

Indeed, one might say that even the people in this thread who are arguing rationally against theism may, ironically, be said to be following Christ - because they are trying to be rational. They may think they are opposing Christ, but by being rational, they are actually following the glimmerings of divine reason which are in all of us. At least, that would be in line with what St Justin says.

I´d call this a theologicism.

I don’t know what that means.

First, ofcourse, by equating Christ with reason, paradoxically, one does not equate reason with Christ.

Yes, one does. If you equate two things you say they are precisely the same thing; and if a=b, it must be the case that b=a.

Second, logos may also simply mean word or even doctrine, making this a very personal interpretation by St Justin at best.

I don’t think it can mean “doctrine”. But it’s certainly not a “personal” interpretation – as I said above, it’s merely an application to Christianity of standard Stoic and Platonic views. Justin was, by his own admission, a Platonic philosopher, so naturally he interpreted Christian language in ways that made sense within that tradition. (Whether the language itself, i.e. the opening verses of John’s Gospel, was influenced by philosophical terminology remains uncertain.)

(Actually anyone equating Christ with reason hasn´t been reading the NT very closely, as it shows Christ to be an emotional man, but let´s leave that aside.)

Let’s, because (a) being rational is not incompatible with being emotional, and (b) even if one considers Christ to be an incarnation of the Logos, there is still a distinction between the Logos and the human being in whom he is incarnated. So it could be perfectly possible for the human Christ to have properties which the eternal Logos, in his pre-incarnate state, lacks; in fact it would be heretical to deny this.

Third, again, divine reason isn´t the same as reason in itself.

From the point of view of ancient philosophy, that is not necessarily the case. In fact, don’t forget that within Aristotelianism, there was a strong tendency to universalise human reason, with some interpreters holding that Aristotle’s “active reason” is a single, universal entity which acts upon individual minds. This tendency reached its high point with Averroes, who held that human reason itself is a single entity; so it’s not like my reason is a faculty of my mind and yours is a faculty of yours. Rather, there is a single universal reason which we all use. That view had not developed in Justin Martyr’s day, but the Stoic doctrine that human rational faculties are “fragments” of the divine Logos can be seen as tending in the same direction, and that’s the doctrine which Justin repeats.

But it´d be interesting to see how someone working miracles is acting reasonably, not in the least as miracles in a very real sense defy reason.

You’re making a big assumption there. How do you know that miracles are irrational? Just because we don’t understand something doesn’t make it irrational. Leibniz, for example, understood miracles as occurring in accordance with the laws of the universe. It’s just that laws form a hierarchy, the less fundamental kinds arising merely from the operation of the more fundamental ones. For example, consider the laws of biology. These are distinct from the laws of physics, but they operate because the laws of physics operate. It is because the laws of physics are as they are that living things are governed by laws such as the need to respire or reproduce. This means that there are special laws that govern living things, which do not govern other things (rocks aren’t bound by the laws of respiration), but this isn’t because living things have their own laws that are distinct from the normal laws of physics and independent of them – it’s because living things are structured in such a way that the normal operation of the laws of physics in them cause subsidiary laws to arise. And indeed, we can see even more subsidiary laws operating in subset of living beings – for example, the laws of economics, which govern only some living beings (i.e. human beings). Again, these supervene upon the more fundamental laws.

Now for Leibniz, the laws of physics themselves are not fundamental, but supervene upon a still more fundamental set of laws. That means that sometimes the laws of physics do not apply, just as there are occasions when the laws of biology do not apply (e.g. in the case of stones). When the laws of physics do not apply, because events are following a deeper set of laws, that’s what we call a miracle. It appears to us to breach the natural laws, but that’s because we don’t understand the most fundamental natural laws, but only some of those that supervene upon them. If we could understand perfectly, we’d see that what we call miracles are actually perfectly lawful and rational.

Could you explain more (when you have opportunity) about what you mean by 'fetishisation of death'.

Simple: gnostics typically regarded the material world as bad, or at least not good, and the spiritual world as good. They also believed that the world was a sort of mixture of good spiritual elements woven into the dominant bad physical matter (and also the neutral psychic matter). In particular, they thought that they, the gnostics, had fragments of the spiritual world lodged inside them.

Gnostics typically believed that this mingling was A Bad Thing and that salvation – at least for gnostics – consisted in the separation of these elements, with the body being left behind and the spirit escaping to the Pleroma or divine realm. (And the soul also being separated and left in a sort of intermediary zone, at least according to the Valentinians.) But that, of course, is death. So for the gnostics, salvation is simply death. That is reflected in their views of Jesus’ death. Most gnostics seem to have thought that the divine Saviour didn’t die at all – he either abandoned the human Jesus before his passion, or he substituted himself for someone else, changing their appearances, and stood by laughing while the other man got crucified in his place. But those who did think that he died believed that his death alone represented salvation – that by dying, Jesus’ spirit escaped its prison of matter, and gnostics can look forward to the same thing. This is why the Gospel of Judas represents Judas as a positive character, because by bringing about Jesus’ death, he allows this to happen. And Judas is rewarded by dying himself. What more could a gnostic hope for?

And for the world as a whole, they thought its destiny would be for the different elements to be permanently separated, with all the spiritual bits returning to the Pleroma, all the physical bits being gathered together and destroyed, and the psychic bits being perhaps allowed to exist in the intermediary zone (representing a kind of poor man’s heaven for those people who led good lives but didn’t have the spiritual element).

 

[Plotinus]

What did most historical theologians feel about Demonology, Angel Heirarchies and the like? Was there a general trend? Did anyone discuss that in any detail?
Do you know much about that field?
If so, where exactly did they come up with that stuff?

Well, here’s a brief overview of the development of attitudes to angels and demons in early Christianity.

In the second century, Justin Martyr tells us that Christians actually worship angels:

We are called atheists. And we confess that we are atheists, so far as gods of this sort are concerned, but not with respect to the most true God, the Father of righteousness and temperance and the other virtues, who is free from all impurity. But both him, and the Son (who came forth from him and taught us these things), and the host of the other good angels who follow and are made like to him, and the prophetic Spirit, we worship and adore.

This seems a bit confused. He also adds this about angels:

God, when he made the whole world, and subjected things earthly to man… committed the care of men and of all things under heaven to angels whom he appointed over them. But the angels transgressed this appointment, and were captivated by love of women, and begat children who are those that are called demons; and besides, they afterwards subdued the human race to themselves, partly by magical writings, and partly by fears and the punishments they occasioned, and partly by teaching them to offer sacrifices, and incense, and libations, of which things they stood in need after they were enslaved by lustful passions; and among men they sowed murders, wars, adulteries, intemperate deeds, and all wickedness. Whence also the poets and mythologists, not knowing that it was the angels and those demons who had been begotten by them that did these things to men, and women, and cities, and nations, which they related, ascribed them to god himself, and to those who were accounted to be his very offspring, and to the offspring of those who were called his brothers, Neptune and Pluto, and to the children again of these their offspring.

So that should give you a fair sense of the rather vague views in second-century Christianity. There doesn’t seem to have been much of an attempt to rank or list angels. That contrasts sharply with gnostic groups, of course, who liked nothing better than to differentiate between large numbers of divine or semi-divine beings and group them into hierarchies (for example, the Valentinians grouped the divine Aeons of the Pleroma into male-female pairs). But mainstream Christianity seems not to have done this, and to have rejected the idea of levels of divinity in the first place.

Popular piety of this time did, however, regard both angels and demons as being very close to human individuals. At this time, the notion of personal angelic guardians, based on the book of Tobit and Psalm 90:11-12, was quite popular. The Shepherd of Hermas expressed this idea like this:

“Hear now,” said he, “in regard to faith. There are two angels with a man—one of righteousness, and the other of iniquity.” And I said to him, “How, sir, am I to know the powers of these, for both angels dwell with me?” “Hear,” said he, and “understand them. The angel of righteousness is gentle and modest, meek and peaceful. When, therefore, he ascends into your heart, forthwit hhe talks to you of righteousness, purity, chastity, contentment, and of every righteous deed and glorious virtue. When all these ascend into your heart, know that the angel of righteousness is with you. These are the deeds of the angel of righteousness. Trust him, then, and his works. Look now at the works of the angel of iniquity. First, he is wrathful, and bitter, and foolish, and his works are evil, and ruin the servants of God. When, then, he ascends into your heart, know him by his works.”

So this is the origin of the image of a little angel and a little devil sitting on your shoulders trying to influence your actions.

In the third century, Origen developed these ideas. He is far more interested in angels than any Christian theologian before him, saying that there are angels literally everywhere. All good things in the world are caused by angels. So whenever we eat or drink anything, we eat and drink with the angels. And he has much more to say about the origins of both angels and demons. He thinks that in the beginning, created minds were all united to God, but they fell away (all apart from one), and became angels, humans, and demons, depending on how far they fell (this is from De principiis I.8):

…before the ages minds were all pure, both demons and souls and angels, offering service to God and keeping his commandments. But the devil, who was one of them, since he possessed free will, desired to resist God, and God drove him away. With him revolted all the other powers. Some sinned deeply and became demons, others less and became angels; others still less and became archangels; and thus each in turn received the reward for his individual sin. But there remained some souls who had not sinned so greatly as to become demons, nor on the other hand so very lightly as to become angels. God therefore made the present world and bound the soul to the body as a punishment. For God is no “respecter of persons”, that among all these beings who are of one nature (for all the immortal beings are rational) he should make some demons, some souls and some angels; rather it is clear that God mad one a demon, one a soul and one an angel as a means of punishing each in proportion to its sin.

He also developed the idea of different angels having different tasks. He repeats the notion, from Hermas, of personal guardian angels and tempting demons. But guardian angels, for Origen, are not just ethical influences – they are also intermediaries between individuals and God. He writes:

…we do speak of angels who are “ministering spirits sent forth to do service for the sake of those who will inherit salvation”. They ascend bringing the prayers of men into the purest heavenly region of the universe, or even to places purer than these beyond the heavens. And again they descend from there bringing to each individual according to his merits some benefit which God commands them to administer to those who are to receive his favours. Though we have learnt to call them angels from their activity, because they are divine we find that they are sometimes called “gods” in the sacred scriptures, but not in the sense that we are commanded to reverence and worship instead of God those who minister and bring to us his blessings. We have to send up every petition, prayer, intercession, and thanksgiving to the supreme God through the high priest of all angels, the living and divine Logos…

So there is a sort of hierarchy, with the Logos below the Father, the angels below the Logos, and us below the angels. And Origen specifies that each angel is assigned specific duties. So he says:

We must not suppose that it is the result of chance that a particular duty is assigned to a particular angel; the work of curing and healing, for instance, to Raphael; the supervising of wars to Gabriel; the task of attending to the prayers and supplications of mortals to Michael. We must believe that they have obtained these duties for no other reason except their own individual merits and that they entered upon them as a reward for the zeal and virtue they displayed before the construction of this world; after which event this or that kind of duty was assigned to each member of the order of archangels, while others were counted worthy of being enrolled in the order of angels and to act under this or that archangel, or under this or that leader or chief of his order. All this, as we have said, was arranged not by chance or at random, but by the most appropriate and righteous judgment of God, being settled in accordance with merit, God himself deciding and approving. Thus to one angel would be entrusted the church of Ephesus, to another the church of Smyrna; this angel would be Peter’s, that Paul’s; and so on through the entire number of those “least ones” who are in the church it would be decided which of the angels, who daily “see the face of God”, must be attached to each…

This hints at a hierarchy among angels, but Origen doesn’t really flesh this out. He says instead that the virtue of all angels is the same, although they are superior to human beings. But he stresses that human beings can become equal to angels, because their origins are the same – human beings and angels alike are fallen rational beings; it’s just that they haven’t all fallen as far.

Now this really sets the scene for what came next. First, demons were the subject of considerable scrutiny on the part of the desert fathers, many of whom were deeply influenced by Origen. One of the most Origenist of them was the leading theologian of the Egyptian desert, Evagrius Ponticus, who was extremely interested in demons. He wrote at length about “thoughts” which plague the monk – they come from within the mind, but arise against the monk’s volition, which indicates that they are actually caused by demons acting on the brain (demons cannot act directly on the soul). In fact these “thoughts” have a lot in common with the obsessions associated with OCD, and I’ve argued that Evagrius actually had OCD and was reporting its symptoms. In any case, Evagrius says that both angels and demons may do incite thoughts in the mind, but we can tell which thoughts come from which by their contents:

After lengthy observation we have learned to recognize this difference between angelic and human thoughts, and those that come from the demons. Firstly, angelic thoughts are concerned with the investigation of the natures of things and search out their spiritual principles. For example, the reason why gold was made and why it is sand-like and scattered through the lower regions of the earth, and is discovered with much labour and toil… The demonic thought neither knows nor understands these things, but without shame it suggests only the acquisition of sensible gold and predicts the enjoyment and esteem that will come from this. The human thought neither seeks the acquisition of gold nor is concerned with investigating what gold symbolizes; rather, it merely introduced in the intellect the simple form of gold separate from any passion of greed.

Evagrius categorises the thoughts into eight types:

All the generic types of thoughts fall into eight categories in which every sort of thought is included. First is that of gluttony, then fornication, third avarice, fourth sadness, fifth anger, sixth acedia, seventh vainglory, eighth pride. Whether or not all these thoughts trouble the soul is not within our power; but it is for us to decide if they are to linger within us or not and whether or not they stir up the passions.

These are the “eight sinful thoughts”. Evagrius’ (probable) disciple John Cassian repeated this idea in his Conferences, which were hugely in influential on western monasticism; Gregory the Great would later develop it a little to produce the “seven deadly sins”. (Sadness and vainglory were both dropped from the list, acedia was transformed into sloth, and envy was added.) Evagrius thinks that each kind of thought is produced by a different kind of demon: the demons specialise. So by examining the thoughts carefully, you can tell which demon is attacking you, and tailor your response accordingly:

It is necessary to recognize the differences among demons and to make note of their attendant circumstances. We shall know them on the basis of the thoughts, and the thoughts on the basis of the objects, that is, with regard to which of the demons are uncommon and more oppressive, what sort are persistent but easier to bear, and which ones burst upon us suddenly and carry the mind away into blasphemy. It is necessary to know these things, so that when the thoughts begin to set their proper matter in motion and before we are cast out of our own state we may pronounce some word against them and denounce the one at hand. In this way we may readily make progress with God’s help and set them to flight in amazement and consternation over us.

Evagrius’ advice about how to counter the demonic attacks is generally extremely subtle and sensible. He has general advice intended for all kinds of thoughts: for example, he recommends examining the thought itself and trying to analyse it, which takes your mind off the thing that the demon is trying to make you think about (e.g. if the demon is bringing lustful thoughts to mind, focus on the thoughts themselves and examine how they arise in your mind, what they are like, how they operate, and so on, and that will distract you from the lust). He also has advice for the particular kinds of thought. So here, for example, is Evagrius’ famous description of what happens when the demon of acedia attacks:

The demon of acedia, also called the noonday demon, is the most oppressive of all the demons. He attacks the monk about 10:00 am and besieges his soul until 2:00 pm. First of all, he makes it appear that the sun moves slowly or not at all, and that the day seems to be fifty hours long. Then he compels the monk to look constantly towards the windows, to jump out of the cell, to watch the sun to see how far it is from 3:00 pm, to look this way and that lest one of the brothers is coming to visit him. And further, he instils in him a dislike for the place and for his state of life itself, for manual labour, and also the idea that love has disappeared from among the brothers and there is no-one to console him. And should there be someone during those days who has offended the monk, this too the demon uses to add further to his dislike of the place. He leads him on to a desire for other places where he can easily find the wherewithal to meet his needs and pursue a trade that is easier and more productive.

And this is some of his advice on how to tackle this demon:

When we come up against the demon of acedia, then with tears let us divide the soul and have one part offer consolation and the other receive consolation. And sowing within ourselves goodly hopes, let us chant with holy David this incantation: “Why are you saddened, O my soul, and why do you trouble me? Hope in God; for I shall confess him, the salvation of my face and my God.”

You must not abandon the cell in the time of temptations, fashioning excuses seemingly reasonable. Rather, you must remain seated inside, exercise perseverance, and valiantly welcome all attackers, especially the demon of acedia, who is the most oppressive of all but leaves the soul proven to the highest degree. Fleeing and circumventing such struggles teaches the mind to be unskilled, cowardly, and evasive.

Our saintly teacher with his great experience in the practical life used to say: The monk must ever hold himself ready as though he were to die tomorrow, and in turn must treat the body as though he would have to live with it for many years. The first practice, he would say, cuts off the thoughts of acedia and makes the monk more zealous; the latter keeps the body healthy and always maintains its abstinence in balance.

Here’s his advice for the “vagabond demon”, a sort of demonic ringleader that assaults you with all kinds of different thoughts:

There is a demon called the “vagabond” who presents himself to the brothers especially about the time of dawn; he leads the mind around from city to city, from village to village, and from house to house. The mind arranges so-called simple encounters, then meets with acquaintances, holds longer conversations, and corrupts its own state with these associations, distancing itself little by little from the knowledge of God and from virtue while it forgets even its profession. The anchorite must therefore observe this demon, where he starts from and where he ends up, for he does not make this long circuit by chance or at random, but rather it is with the intention of destroying the anchorite’s state that he does this, so that the mind, inflamed by these things and intoxicated by these many encounters, immediately falls prey to the demon of fornication or anger or sadness – these demons especially spoil the radiance of its state. But if we make it our goal to know clearly the cunning of this demon, let us not be quick to speak to him or make known what is happening – how he produces these encounters in the intellect and the way in which he drives the mind little by little towards death – since he will flee from us, for he cannot allow himself to be seen doing these things; and then we will know nothing about what we have endeavoured to learn. Rather, let us allow him, for another day or two, to bring his game to completion, so that having learned about his deceitfulness in detail, we may put him to flight by exposing him with a word. But since in time of temptation the mind may happen to be muddled and not see accurately what is happening, one should do the following after the withdrawal of the demon. Sit down and recall for yourself the things that happened to you – where you started from, where you went, and the place in which you were caught by the spirit of fornication or anger or sadness, and how in turn these things took place. Examine these events carefully and commit them to memory that you may be able to expose him when he approaches; and uncover the place hidden by him, and how you will not follow him again. If you want to get him really mad, expose him immediately when he presents himself; and with a word show him the first place he entered, then the second and third, for he gets extremely vexed and cannot bear the shame.

For Evagrius, as for most early Christians, demons are physical beings. They have bodies as we do, but their bodies are much more ethereal. Ancient Christians typically thought that demons required food, and that pagan sacrifices literally nourished them with smoke (since they thought that the pagan gods were actually demons). Evagrius thinks that some thoughts have a physical effect on us because of the proximity of the demonic bodies themselves:

There are certain impure demons who always sit in front of those engaged in reading and try to seize their mind, often taking pretexts from the divine scriptures themselves and ending in evil thoughts. It sometimes happens that they force them to yawn more than they are accustomed and they instil a very deep sleep quite different from usual sleep. Whereas some of the brothers have imagined that it is in accordance with an unintelligible natural reaction, I for my part have learned this by frequent observation: they touch the eyelids and the entire head, cooling it with their own body, for the bodies of the demons are very cold and like ice; and the head feels as if it is being sucked by a cupping glass with a rasping sound. They do this in order to draw to themselves the heat that lies within the cranium, and then the eyelids, relaxed by the moisture and the cold, slip over the pupils of the eyes. Often in touching myself I have found my eyelids fixed like ice and my entire face numb and shivering. Natural sleep however normally warms bodies and renders the faces of healthy people rosy, as one can learn from experience itself. But the demons provoke unnatural and prolonged yawning, and they make themselves small enough to touch the interior of the mouth. This phenomenon I have not understood to this day, though I have often experienced it, but I heard the holy Makarios speak to me about it and offer as proof the fact that those who yawn make the sign of the cross over the mouth according to an old and mysterious tradition.

The desert monks took these things very seriously. Athanasius of Alexandria described more lurid demonic attacks in his Life of Antony, one of the most influential books ever written, since it was the prototype of all saints’ lives that followed. He describes the following incident in the life of Antony the Great, one of the first Christian monks:

Antony went out to the tombs that were situated some distance from the village. He changed one of his friends to supply him periodically with bread, and he entered one of the tombs and remained alone within, his friend having closed the door on him. When the enemy could stand it no longer – for he was apprehensive that Antony might before long fill the desert with the discipline – approaching one night with a multitude of demons he whipped him with such force that he lay on the earth, speechless from the tortures. He contended that the pains were so severe as to lead one to say that the blows could not have been delivered by humans, since they caused such agony. But by God’s providence (for the Lord does not overlook those who place their hope in him), the friend came the next day bringing him the loaves. Opening the door and seeing him lying, as if dead, on the ground, he picked him up and carried him to the Lord’s house in the village, and laid him on the earth. And many of his relatives and the people of the village stationed themselves by Antony as beside a corpse. But around midnight, coming to his senses and wakening, Antony, as he saw everyone sleeping, and only his friend keeping the watch, beckoned to him and asked him to lift him again and carry him to the tombs, waking no-one.

So he was taken back there by the man and, as before, the door was closed. Again he was alone inside. Because of the blows he was not strong enough to stand, but he prayed while lying down. And after the prayer he yelled out: “Here I am – Antony! I do not run from your blows, for even if you give me more, nothing shall separate me from the love of Christ.” Then he also sang, Though an army should set itself in array against me, my heart shall not be afraid. These things, then, the ascetic thought and spoke, but the enemy who despises good, astonished that even after the blows he had received he dared to return, summoned his dogs and said, exploding with rage, “You see that we failed to stop this man with a spirit of fornication or with lashes. Far from it – he is even insolent to us. Let us approach him in another way.” Now schemes for working evil come easily to the devil, so when it was night-time they made such a crashing noise that that whole place seemed to be shaken by a quake. The demons, as if breaking through the building’s four walls, and seeming to enter through them, were changed into the forms of beasts and reptiles. The place immediately was filled with the appearances of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, and serpents, asps, scorpions and wolves, and each of these moved in accordance with its form. The lion roared, wanting to spring at him; the bull seemed intent on goring; the creeping snake did not quite reach him; the onrushing wolf made straight for him – and altogether the sounds of all the creatures that appeared were terrible, and their ragings were fierce. Struck and wounded by them, Antony’s body was subject to yet more pain. But unmoved and even more watchful in his soul he lay there, and he groaned because of the pain he felt in his body, but being in control of his thoughts and as if mocking them, he said: “If there were some power among you, it would have been enough for only one of you to come. But since the Lord has broken your strength, you attempt to terrify me by any means with the mob; it is a mark of your weakness that you mimic the shapes of irrational beasts.”…

In this circumstance also the Lord did not forget the wrestling of Antony, but came to his aid. For when he looked up he saw the roof being opened, as it seemed, and a certain beam of light descending toward him. Suddenly the demons vanished from view, the pain of his body ceased instantly, and the building was once more intact.

So that’s demons within the Origenist tradition. As for angels, the man to consult on this subject is Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, a theologian writing in around AD 500. He wrote his books under the name of Dionysius the Areopagite, a character mentioned in Acts as one of Paul’s converts in Athens, and it seems that everyone was taken in by this pseudonymity for nearly a thousand years, even though he relies on technical Neoplatonist jargon and even quotes Ignatius of Antioch (who lived a generation or two after the historical Dionysius) at one point.

Later Neoplatonic philosophy, specifically that deriving from Proclus, revolved around triads. The whole of reality was conceived in terms of these triads, and what’s more, there was a typically triadic movement within reality, of procession, remaining, and return. Pseudo-Dionysius takes these ideas and Christianises them to create his “symbolic theology”, which proved incredibly influential. Dionysius describes the world as divided into hierarchies, each consisting of three elements, descending from God down to man. There are two main parts to the hierarchies – angelic and ecclesiastical. The former, described in De coelesti hierarchiae, consists of, first, seraphim, cherubim, and thrones; then dominions, virtues, and powers; and finally principalities, angels, and archangels. Each of these categories, or choirs, of beings manifests and distributes the activity and virtues of God to the world. The lowest choir of each of the three hierarchies purifies, the middle one illuminates, and the highest perfects those upon whom they act. Moreover, the higher up the hierarchy one goes, the closer to God the choirs are, and the more perfectly they are devoted to him.

And the system continues in the visible world, with three more hierarchies in the church, described in De ecclesiasticae hierarchiae. First are the sacraments – baptism, the Eucharist, and unction; then the clergy – bishops, priests, and deacons; and finally those who are instructed – monks, lay people, and catechumens. Here again, the functions of each of the three hierarchies, and of the three categories within each hierarchy, can be understood in terms of purification, illumination, and perfection.

Dionysius does not think of these hierarchies as a kind of ladder by which one climbs to God, beginning as a catechumen and finishing as a seraph. Rather, the hierarchies are the means by which God’s love and goodness are manifested and distributed. Every element on the hierarchies has its role to play, and by doing so and embracing its place it can know God directly, not simply as mediated by those higher up the hierarchy.

This is partly due to the fact that the hierarchies are themselves a reflection of God, who is also a hierarchy – the Thearchy of Father, Son, and Spirit. Thus, there are three sets of hierarchies altogether, each containing three hierarchies of three categories each.

He says that God has always manifested himself via angels, because no-one can see God. It was angels that gave the Law and spoke to the prophets.

It’s hard to give representative passages from Pseudo-Dionysius because of the style of his writing; he doesn’t tend to give summaries. The whole of De coelesti hierarchiae is really a summary of his views. But here’s a typical passage, describing the Seraphim, which are at the top of the celestial hierarchy and therefore the highest members of the hierarchies other than the Trinity:

The name Seraphim clearly indicates their ceaseless and eternal revolution about Divine Principles, their heat and keenness, the exuberance of their intense, perpetual, tireless activity, and their elevative and energetic assimilation of those below, kindling them and firing them to their own heat, and wholly purifying them by a burning and all- consuming flame; and by the unhidden, unquenchable, changeless, radiant and enlightening power, dispelling and destroying the shadows of darkness.

This, so far as I know, is the first Order of Celestial Beings which are established about God, immediately encircling Him: and in perpetual purity they encompass His eternal Knowledge in that most high and eternal angelic dance, rapt in the bliss of manifold blessed contemplations, and irradiated with pure and primal splendours.

This was incredibly influential on medieval thought – the whole thing, from the concept of hierarchy itself all the way to the details of the angelic and ecclesiastical hierarchies. You can see how easily it would fit in with feudal society. Some of the details did change. Isidore of Seville, who was the source for most medieval writers for this kind of thing, and who took his ideas from Pseudo-Dionysius, gave a slightly different version of the angelic hierarchies, which became standard in the medieval west. But the basic substance of it was unchanged.

 

[timtofly]

Did Plato and Justin Martyr address in any way the work of the Holy Spirit and how did they balance this if at all with reason and rational thought.

 

[uppi]

The word “Word” there is Logos, which of course also means “Reason”, among other things – in fact “Word” is probably the least relevant of all its many translations.

Do you know why it is universally (well...at least in all translations I have seen so far) translated as "Word" instead of something else that catches more of this word's meaning? Is there any particular reason for this?

 

[Agent327]

I don’t know what that means.

Pardon me for attempting humour. In essence, I´d say that Justin´s reasoning is flawd. See below.

Yes, one does. If you equate two things you say they are precisely the same thing; and if a=b, it must be the case that b=a.

Superficially, yes. However logic doesn´t apply here in that manner. If St. Justin equates ´Christ´ with ´reason´, it does not follow that reason equates Christ. (Try it out in a sentence and the result is an absurdity.)

I don’t think it can mean “doctrine”. But it’s certainly not a “personal” interpretation – as I said above, it’s merely an application to Christianity of standard Stoic and Platonic views. Justin was, by his own admission, a Platonic philosopher, so naturally he interpreted Christian language in ways that made sense within that tradition. (Whether the language itself, c

I was aware from the moment I read that proposition that St. Justin attempts (and fails) to apply Stoicism or Neoplatonism to Christianity. How this can not be termed ´personal´ I´m not following; it is St. Justin´s personal attempt I´m commenting on. Whereas Logos appears in John´s Gospel (which is a late addition to this body of religious texts), it already appears in Genesis, where it is said that ´In the beginning there was the Word and the Word was with God...´ That Logos can be translated with doctrine is not debatable; whether it can be in this context obviously is. By the way, I appreciate your explanation of the philosophical background to Justin´s thesis for those unfamilar with it.

Let’s, because (a) being rational is not incompatible with being emotional, and (b) even if one considers Christ to be an incarnation of the Logos, there is still a distinction between the Logos and the human being in whom he is incarnated. So it could be perfectly possible for the human Christ to have properties which the eternal Logos, in his pre-incarnate state, lacks; in fact it would be heretical to deny this.

I´d say that (a) is a proposition and (b) (if accepted) proves that St. Justin´s equation of ´Christ´ and reason simply is illogical (for one, ´Christ´ and ´Jesus´ aren´t identical, following (b)). So if a is b, paradoxically b is not a. QED.

From the point of view of ancient philosophy, that is not necessarily the case. In fact, don’t forget that within Aristotelianism, there was a strong tendency to universalise human reason, with some interpreters holding that Aristotle’s “active reason” is a single, universal entity which acts upon individual minds. This tendency reached its high point with Averroes, who held that human reason itself is a single entity; so it’s not like my reason is a faculty of my mind and yours is a faculty of yours. Rather, there is a single universal reason which we all use. That view had not developed in Justin Martyr’s day, but the Stoic doctrine that human rational faculties are “fragments” of the divine Logos can be seen as tending in the same direction, and that’s the doctrine which Justin repeats.

Obviously I am taking Justin´s word out of context by simply looking at the words themselves. However, you do the same by applying views Justin couldn´t have known (as they hadn´t been developed yet) and reading them into Justin´s text.

You’re making a big assumption there. How do you know that miracles are irrational? Just because we don’t understand something doesn’t make it irrational. Leibniz, for example, understood miracles as occurring in accordance with the laws of the universe. It’s just that laws form a hierarchy, the less fundamental kinds arising merely from the operation of the more fundamental ones. For example, consider the laws of biology. These are distinct from the laws of physics, but they operate because the laws of physics operate. It is because the laws of physics are as they are that living things are governed by laws such as the need to respire or reproduce. This means that there are special laws that govern living things, which do not govern other things (rocks aren’t bound by the laws of respiration), but this isn’t because living things have their own laws that are distinct from the normal laws of physics and independent of them – it’s because living things are structured in such a way that the normal operation of the laws of physics in them cause subsidiary laws to arise. And indeed, we can see even more subsidiary laws operating in subset of living beings – for example, the laws of economics, which govern only some living beings (i.e. human beings). Again, these supervene upon the more fundamental laws.

Now for Leibniz, the laws of physics themselves are not fundamental, but supervene upon a still more fundamental set of laws. That means that sometimes the laws of physics do not apply, just as there are occasions when the laws of biology do not apply (e.g. in the case of stones). When the laws of physics do not apply, because events are following a deeper set of laws, that’s what we call a miracle. It appears to us to breach the natural laws, but that’s because we don’t understand the most fundamental natural laws, but only some of those that supervene upon them. If we could understand perfectly, we’d see that what we call miracles are actually perfectly lawful and rational.

Actually, the assumption would be yours: I do not state that miracles are irrational, rather that they defy reason. This does not imply that they are irrational, but simply that (human, not Divine) reason eludes its grasp. I must further note that your biology analogy is flawd: all living things are made up of dead things. Contary to what you´re stating, the laws of physics directly apply to living things; they they are not subject to such arbitrary distinctions as ´Is this thing dead or alive?´ Returning to miracles, it is debatable whether the laws of physics do not apply to what we call ´miracles´; rather it would be more appropriate to say that it eludes human reason how a miracle actually ´works´. Your conclusion however is perfectly correct.

 

[Eran of Arcadia]

Contary to what you´re stating, the laws of physics directly apply to living things; they they are not subject to such arbitrary distinctions as ´Is this thing dead or alive?´

I think that's the opposite of what he really said (though I dare not speak for him). He didn't say that the laws of physics don't apply to living things, he said the laws of biology don't apply to non-living things, but the laws of physics apply to both living and non-living things - and that the laws of biology are ultimately derived from the laws of physics.

 

[Plotinus]

Did Plato and Justin Martyr address in any way the work of the Holy Spirit and how did they balance this if at all with reason and rational thought.

No. Obviously Plato didn't have a concept of the Holy Spirit. As for Justin Martyr, the passage I quoted about angels - where he mentions that Christians worship the Father, the Logos, the angels, and the Holy Spirit - is as far as he goes. He has little to say on the Holy Spirit and indeed it's a common criticism of his theology that he has no conceptual space for the Holy Spirit either, because he holds that all appearances and revelations of God to creation are performed by the Logos. E.g. when the Old Testament prophets saw visions of God, they were actually seeing the Logos. And when God spoke by the prophets, it was the Logos who conveyed the message. So it seems there's not much left for the Holy Spirit to do. Later theologians developed his ideas to include more of a role for the Holy Spirit, and thus the doctrine of the Trinity as we know it began to emerge.

Do you know why it is universally (well...at least in all translations I have seen so far) translated as "Word" instead of something else that catches more of this word's meaning? Is there any particular reason for this?

I don't know. Perhaps it's because "word" is the simplest and most straightforward translation for logos, as a rule, so that is what was used in the early translations, and it stuck. But in the case of the opening verses of John's Gospel, I'd say that "principle" or "reason" would be somewhat closer to the intended meaning. All the same, no single English word can really capture it.

Superficially, yes. However logic doesn´t apply here in that manner. If St. Justin equates ´Christ´ with ´reason´, it does not follow that reason equates Christ. (Try it out in a sentence and the result is an absurdity.)

It certainly does follow, and is essential to Justin's view.

Now you may think that the view is absurd. You may even be right. But it doesn't follow from that that Justin didn't hold it.

I was aware from the moment I read that proposition that St. Justin attempts (and fails) to apply Stoicism or Neoplatonism to Christianity.

Well, not Neoplatonism. That didn't exist at the time. Justin's theology is best understood in the context of Middle Platonism.

How this can not be termed ´personal´ I´m not following; it is St. Justin´s personal attempt I´m commenting on.

I assumed that by "personal" you meant it was unique to Justin; sorry if I misunderstood. At any rate these ideas were certainly not unusual among Christians at the time. We find similar ideas not only in Justin's pupil Tatian the Syrian but also Theophilus of Antioch, Athenagoras, Hippolytus of Rome, Clement of Alexandria, and indeed Tertullian (in some ways).

Whereas Logos appears in John´s Gospel (which is a late addition to this body of religious texts), it already appears in Genesis, where it is said that ´In the beginning there was the Word and the Word was with God...´

No, that's John's Gospel you're quoting. Genesis does not begin like that and there is no mention of the Word or anything similar.

The Old Testament equivalent to the Logos is Wisdom, which features as a (quasi-?) independent entity, associated with God, in the Wisdom literature such as the book of Proverbs and the book of Wisdom itself (which is influenced by Greek philosophy). To what extent John's Gospel should be understood in this context as opposed to the context of Greek philosophy is a vexed question. The same goes for Philo, who also had a great deal to say about the Logos. Also, we don't know whether the author of John's Gospel had read Philo, or whether Justin had read Philo.

That Logos can be translated with doctrine is not debatable; whether it can be in this context obviously is.

I've never encountered it being translated in that way or being used in a context that suggests such a translation. The Greek for "doctrine" is doxa.

I´d say that (a) is a proposition

Well, yes.

and (b) (if accepted) proves that St. Justin´s equation of ´Christ´ and reason simply is illogical (for one, ´Christ´ and ´Jesus´ aren´t identical, following (b)).

There's nothing illogical about that. Two things can be identical in one sense but not in another. If I eat a huge amount and put on weight, in one sense the later me is identical with the earlier me (I'm the same person, at a later time). But in another sense, the later me is not identical with the earlier me; I have the earlier me as a proper part, plus some extra as another proper part (namely, all the fat I put on). Some models of the incarnation explain it in terms similar to these, i.e. the Logos acquires new parts and therefore can be considered to be identical with Christ, although the incarnate Christ contains parts that the pre-incarnate Logos did not have. That all postdates Justin Martyr though, of course.

Obviously I am taking Justin´s word out of context by simply looking at the words themselves. However, you do the same by applying views Justin couldn´t have known (as they hadn´t been developed yet) and reading them into Justin´s text.

I'm not reading Averroism into it. I'm just saying that you can't assume modern views in the context of ancient philosophy. You said it's clear that the divine reason can't be considered identical with human reason. But from an ancient viewpoint, that's not clear at all, even if the full and explicit identification of the two had not yet developed. As I said, Middle Platonism, Stoicism, and Aristotelianism all had tendencies in this direction. You can see that in the tenth book of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, for example, where he urges his readers to follow the life of reason and thereby exercise their divine element and become more godlike.

Actually, the assumption would be yours: I do not state that miracles are irrational, rather that they defy reason. This does not imply that they are irrational, but simply that (human, not Divine) reason eludes its grasp.

If you're not saying that miracles are irrational, then there's no contradiction in the notion of Reason incarnate performing them, is there?

I must further note that your biology analogy is flawd: all living things are made up of dead things. Contary to what you´re stating, the laws of physics directly apply to living things; they they are not subject to such arbitrary distinctions as ´Is this thing dead or alive?´

You've misunderstood what I said. Eran explained it much more elegantly than I did. On Leibniz's view, all physical phenomena are subject to the laws of physics. Among physical phenomena, some are also biological, and these are subject to the laws of biology as well. But the laws of biology supervene upon the laws of physics: they operate (upon some entities) only because the laws of physics operate (on all entities, including that subset). The Leibnizian claim is that there exist laws even more fundamental than those of physics, and that the laws of physics have the same relation to these fundamental laws that the laws of biology have to the laws of physics. The laws of physics are not, in fact, completely universal. The fundamental laws are completely universal. Their functioning gives rise to the laws of physics, which apply in most cases. However, in a few cases, the functioning of the fundamental laws give rise to situations where the laws of physics don't apply. These are miracles. But they still follow the fundamental laws of the universe, even if they don't follow the laws of physics. They are, accordingly, rational, although we cannot hope to understand them since we do not understand or even know the fundamental laws of the universe.

 

[Atticus]

Dare I suppose that here's a misunderstanding in language: When Jeelen said that equating Christ with Logos doesn't mean that Logos equates Christ, he actually meant that saying "Christ is Logos" doesn't mean that "Logos is Christ". This would be the standard truth that "Shakespeare is human" doesn't mean that human is Shakespeare. (See post #602).

The word "is" of course can be used in many ways, and it's context dependent whether it means identity or being just part of something. For example saying "Shakespeare was Francis Bacon" would certainly mean that also Francis Bacon was Shakespeare. I'm not sure how it is, but the word Logos is used in such a way that to me it seems like single undividible thing, like Holy Spirit, and thus saying "Christ is Logos" most probably would mean that they are the same thing.

On miracles: Breaking the laws of physics isn't of course irrational, otherwise they would be laws of mathematics and not physics. There's nothing irrational in travelling faster than light, the laws of physics just say that it will never happen. (I suppose this was said already in different words, but multiple ways of saying the same thing isn't necessarily bad)

 

[Dachs]

Question about a specific book that you may possibly have already answered:

If I wanted to learn about Christianity outside the Mediterranean littoral in the first millennium of its existence (you know, the jolly Nestorians and so forth among the Merkits, Naimans, usw.), would you consider Jenkins' The Lost History of Christianity to be a decent starting point (other than, of course, an encyclopedia or something)?

 

[Gogf]

From good to bad:

(1) The modern forms of the teleological argument which appeal to physical laws.
(2) The cosmological argument.
(3) The ontological argument.
(4) The old forms of the teleological argument which appeal to biology.

To be more exact, I’d say that (1) is the only group of arguments with any real credibility today, although I don’t think they work. (2) is not much good, (3) is fun but absurd, and (4) is totally worthless.

Thoughts on fine-tuning, both epistemic and physical?

 

[El_Machinae]

7 During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. 8 Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered 9 and, once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him 10 and was designated by God to be high priest in the order of Melchizedek.

What're some of the thoughts regarding Jesus's fallibility while human? I mean from a Christian perspective, obviously. A lot of people think of Jesus as the perfect role-model, but is that seen as wishful thinking by some Christian thinkers?

Are there those who think that Jesus became perfect after his death, and wasn't perfect before hand?

"Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone."

 

[timtofly]

"Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone."

Is sarcasm considered good or bad?

 

[Tabster]

Simple: gnostics typically regarded the material world as bad, or at least not good, and the spiritual world as good. They also believed that the world was a sort of mixture of good spiritual elements woven into the dominant bad physical matter (and also the neutral psychic matter). In particular, they thought that they, the gnostics, had fragments of the spiritual world lodged inside them.

I still don't understand how this explains why Gnosticism is a fetishisation of death or why this would make Gnosticism distinct from Christianity in general even if it were, I would have thought that the worshipping of the image of a dying man on an instrument of execution, in the understanding that believing that the event that this image represents actually happened, and can enable the believer to gain everlasting life, would be an example of a 'fetishisation of death'

So for the gnostics, salvation is simply death.

I thought they believed you needed some kind of secret knowledge or the spiritual aspect would be trapped in the material world?

That is reflected in their views of Jesus’ death. Most gnostics seem to have thought that the divine Saviour didn’t die at all – he either abandoned the human Jesus before his passion, or he substituted himself for someone else, changing their appearances, and stood by laughing while the other man got crucified in his place. But those who did think that he died believed that his death alone represented salvation – that by dying, Jesus’ spirit escaped its prison of matter, and gnostics can look forward to the same thing.

So they don't believe in the resurrection/ascention or the day of judgement? So this means that they have attached more significance to the actual moment of physical death as this is the only time that the spirit can be saved and return to the pleroma?
How important was this idea to them, did they represent this belief using images and symbols? or perhaps they could be quite indifferent to this, as death was inevitable and salvation was unconditional.

stood by laughing

Which text is this from?

 

[Plotinus]

Dare I suppose that here's a misunderstanding in language: When Jeelen said that equating Christ with Logos doesn't mean that Logos equates Christ, he actually meant that saying "Christ is Logos" doesn't mean that "Logos is Christ". This would be the standard truth that "Shakespeare is human" doesn't mean that human is Shakespeare. (See post #602).

The word "is" of course can be used in many ways, and it's context dependent whether it means identity or being just part of something. For example saying "Shakespeare was Francis Bacon" would certainly mean that also Francis Bacon was Shakespeare. I'm not sure how it is, but the word Logos is used in such a way that to me it seems like single undividible thing, like Holy Spirit, and thus saying "Christ is Logos" most probably would mean that they are the same thing.

Yes, quite right. Justin certainly identifies Christ with the divine Logos, and as far as I can tell identifies the divine Logos with reason in general (this seems to be the general thrust of Middle Platonism, and the logic of his argument about the logos spermatikos surely demands it anyway).

On miracles: Breaking the laws of physics isn't of course irrational, otherwise they would be laws of mathematics and not physics. There's nothing irrational in travelling faster than light, the laws of physics just say that it will never happen. (I suppose this was said already in different words, but multiple ways of saying the same thing isn't necessarily bad)

That's a very good way of putting it. A physical impossibility is not the same thing as a logical impossibility; while it must be irrational to believe in the latter, it is not necessarily irrational to believe in the former.

Question about a specific book that you may possibly have already answered:

If I wanted to learn about Christianity outside the Mediterranean littoral in the first millennium of its existence (you know, the jolly Nestorians and so forth among the Merkits, Naimans, usw.), would you consider Jenkins' The Lost History of Christianity to be a decent starting point (other than, of course, an encyclopedia or something)?

I haven't encountered this book, I'm afraid (it's hidden in the depths of the Bodleian so I can't easily check it out); but judging by the reviews it seems fairly decent, although possibly begging a few theological questions. At any rate there is so little material on this topic readily available I should think you couldn't find many alternatives to it.

Thoughts on fine-tuning, both epistemic and physical?

I've already covered that to some extent - have a look at the index at the start of the thread, or this exchange.

What're some of the thoughts regarding Jesus's fallibility while human? I mean from a Christian perspective, obviously. A lot of people think of Jesus as the perfect role-model, but is that seen as wishful thinking by some Christian thinkers?

Are there those who think that Jesus became perfect after his death, and wasn't perfect before hand?

"Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone."

Already tackled that one too - see here and here.

I think that theologians today would tend towards the view that even if Jesus was divine that wouldn't mean he knew everything, and indeed there are various passages in the Gospels that suggest he didn't. Orthodoxy demands that Jesus was always "perfect", but that's a rather vague term, and it doesn't necessarily involve active omniscience.

Is sarcasm considered good or bad?

That would presumably depend upon the intent with which it was uttered.

I still don't understand how this explains why Gnosticism is a fetishisation of death or why this would make Gnosticism distinct from Christianity in general even if it were, I would have thought that the worshipping of the image of a dying man on an instrument of execution, in the understanding that believing that the event that this image represents actually happened, and can enable the believer to gain everlasting life, would be an example of a 'fetishisation of death'

First, of course Christians (at least orthodox ones) have never worshipped the image of Christ on the cross; they have venerated that image as a means of worshipping Christ himself (as opposed to the image).

More to the point: the difference, to put it bluntly, is that orthodox Christianity has a key role for Christ's death and also Christ's resurrection. According to Romans 6 and 7, the individual Christian, through her union to Christ, integrates his death and resurrection into her own life. That means she can escape sin by "dying" to it (i.e. a non-literal death, made possible by Christ's literal death) and look forward to a future resurrection (a literal resurrection, made possible by Christ's). Gnosticism, however, typically ignores resurrection altogether or "spiritualises" it to mean the escape of the spirit from the body (i.e., not resurrection at all). So for gnosticism, it's death alone that's important, without any resurrection. Moreover, the death that constitutes salvation is literal, rather than non-literal as it is for Paul. It is the literal separation of the spirit from the body, rather than the escape (in this life) from the power of sin, that constitutes salvation.

I thought they believed you needed some kind of secret knowledge or the spiritual aspect would be trapped in the material world?

Yes, that's right, at least I think so. Of course, different groups had different views.

So they don't believe in the resurrection/ascention or the day of judgement? So this means that they have attached more significance to the actual moment of physical death as this is the only time that the spirit can be saved and return to the pleroma?

Pretty much. At least some of them had an eschatological element. The Valentinians, for example, looked forward to a time when the material world would be destroyed, all spiritual people would have returned to the Pleroma, all psychical people would have found their way to the Intermediary heaven, and all the purely physical people would be eliminated. But other groups seem to have completely spiritualised the eschatological ideas away. Certainly any notion of genuine resurrection would be abhorrent to gnosticism, the whole purpose of which is to get as far away from the body as possible, not be trapped in it for eternity.

And we know that some gnostic groups had special rituals, involving anointing with oils, for the moment of death.

How important was this idea to them, did they represent this belief using images and symbols? or perhaps they could be quite indifferent to this, as death was inevitable and salvation was unconditional.

We know very little about the images and symbols of gnosticism, as our sources (both primary and secondary) are dominated by doctrinal issues. However, there's a poem in the Nag Hammadi library called The Hymn of the Pearl, which is an allegory for the incarceration of the spirit in the flesh and its eventual escape: it's about a Persian prince who travels to Egypt to recover a pearl from a dragon, and who disguises himself as a peasant so effectively that he thinks he really is a peasant and forgets who he is. Eventually his parents in Persia write to him to remind him of his real identity, he remembers it, takes the pearl, and returns home.

Which text is this from?

It is a frequent motif in gnostic writings.

For example:

…my death, which they think happened, happened to them in their error and blindness, since they nailed their man unto their death. For their Ennoias did not see me, for they were deaf and blind. But in doing these things, they condemn themselves. Yes, they saw me; they punished me. It was another, their father, who drank the gall and the vinegar; it was not I. They struck me with the reed; it was another, Simon, who bore the cross on his shoulder. It was another upon whom they placed the crown of thorns. But I was rejoicing in the height over all the wealth of the archons and the offspring of their error, of their empty glory. And I was laughing at their ignorance.

Or this one, which distinguishes between four different Christs (only one of whom seems to laugh):

…I saw him seemingly being seized by them. And I said, “What do I see, O Lord, that it is you yourself whom they take, and that you are grasping me? Or who is this one, glad and laughing on the tree? And is it another one whose feet and hands they are striking?”

The Saviour said to me, “He whom you saw on the tree, glad and laughing, this is the living Jesus. But this one into whose hands and feet they drive the nails is his fleshly part, which is the substitute being put to shame, the one who came into being in his likeness. But look at him and me.”

…And I saw someone about to approach us resembling him, even him who was laughing on the tree. And he was filled with a Holy Spirit, and he is the Saviour. And there was a great ineffable light around them, and the multitude of ineffable and invisible angels blessing them. And when I looked at him, the one who gives praise was revealed.

And he said to me, “Be strong, for you are the one to whom these mysteries have been given, to know them through revelation, that he whom they crucified is the first-born, and the home of demons, and the stony vessel in which they dwell, of Elohim, of the cross which is under the Law. But he who stands near him is the living Saviour, the first in him, whom they seized and released, who stands joyfully looking at those who did him violence, while they are divided among themselves. Therefore he laughs at their lack of perception, knowing that they are born blind. So then the one susceptible to suffering shall come, since the body is the substitute. But what they released was my incorporeal body. But I am the intellectual Spirit filled with radiant light. He whom you saw coming to me is our intellectual Pleroma, which unites the perfect light with my Holy Spirit.”

It's often remarked that, in the New Testament, Jesus never laughs, but in the gnostic literature he laughs frequently. But the presentation is not as sympathetic as that implies, since the gnostic Jesus is always laughing at people. In the crucifixion accounts he laughs at the soldiers who think they are crucifying him when they are not, and at the unfortunate person getting killed in his place. He is also frequently represented as laughing at other people for misunderstanding or getting things wrong. Many gnostic texts take the form of a conversation between Jesus and one of the disciples, where he explains his "true" doctrine to that disciple. Most of these are basically monologues with occasional questions from the disciple. Typically, Jesus is represented as frequently laughing at the naive questions of the disciple, or laughing at the beliefs of the other disciples who are incapable of understanding the truth. A good example is the Gospel of Judas, where Jesus is constantly laughing in this way.

…When [Jesus] approached his disciples, gathered together and seated and offering a prayer of thanksgiving over the bread, he laughed.

The disciples said to him, “Master, why are you laughing at our prayer of thanksgiving? We have done what is right.”

He answered and said to them, “I am not laughing at you. You are not doing this because of your own will but because it is through this that your god will be praised.”

Of course, he is laughing at them. The whole motif is part of the "them and us" character of gnosticism: it expresses the gnostics' belief that they are superior to everyone else, and that rival groups are fit only to be mocked, not engaged with seriously.

 

[Veritass]

I have always heard your name in my head as PLAH-tin-ous, but yesterday I heard someone refer to you as Ploh-TINE-ous. Is this correct? Have I been mistaken all this time?