More (NT) Wright Stuff
My blog began as outblog: I wrote for an audience, some of whom I knew. Over time my posts became more introspective, journal notes from my reading or living or thinking (if I can use the last term). This I now call inblog.
My hope is to do both here. To write for myself, still; to use this as a (almost) pathologically-public version (Warhol's fifteen minutes) of the pen and paper diaries I kept for years before I began saving files on my hardrive. But also to write more reader-friendly articles, outblog; even, to indulge a bit, do a little of what I do to pay the mortgage: teach.
Inblog, outblog, both are coming. It's hard. I try to limit my drafting to an hour or less here; I have so many other responsibilities! Outblogging for the (mostly) anonymous web isn't doing work for my real students, those who depend on me to teach them something about English. But it is a hobby I enjoy. Who knows, someday I may get really, really lucky and get to write or talk about the NT as a career.
For now though, inblog, outblog. I begin with the in:
Tahoe was tough. I wish I had a better report, but my anxiety was an issue most of the trip. Sure I manage it, but the So. Cal. vacation was so precious to me and I was angry that I was unable to feel close to my wife for much of the Tahoe time. I prayed for help, which I almost never do (sometimes I feel like I've bought the Christian house, my name is on the deed, but I insist on sleeping outside in the weeds most of the time). I don't know if I can say God answered, he may have, but relief came the final night, the night of the day I finally prayed: the Tahoe production of Twelfth Night was awesome and I felt it, knew it, shared it. That was the beginning of sanity.
I would like to write about that play, about Malvolio in the house-dungeon darkness, the capricious justice of the Fool, but I lack time. I will note Shakespeare's plays can present psychologically developed characters (Hamlet) and characters who lack depth, lovers who fall in love on sight and are supposed to live happily ever after once the barriers to their union are removed. The Bard seems does not write about marital relationships with any depth. But then, I haven't read Antony and TN is certainly a comedy.
Something nearly existential is going on with Malvolio, though, as he is tormented by the Fool.
And I said my blog would get more user-friendly! Here I am writing about a play as if I'm talking to myself.
If you live near Tahoe (and I would be very surprised to receive a comment from anyone who does) see Twelfth Night. It is first-rate.
***
On the outblog:
On N.T. Wright's Critical Realism:
Epistemology is the philosophical study of what can be known. What do we know, what don't we know, what can't we know, how do we know, etc. The link above is a very good, brief introduction (though it doesn't let you view the many linked terms in the article without paying; sorry). For Wright and those he takes the term from (it's not his originally and he openly cites his sources) Critical Realism is a form of epistemology, and for Wright especially, a form of historical epistemology. What can we know about prior centuries considering the fact that none of us can observe them directly? For NTW, CR seems to be a response to the linguistic nihilism of some post-structuralists (language as a symbol-system is too vague to hold any centered meaning) and even more so to the large numbers of skeptical NT critics who refuse to accept most or any of the gospels as historically accurate and instead dig, or seem to dig (one can see the shovel swinging, textual dirt flying) beneath the gospels and epistles for grains of the 'historic Jesus' or 'historic Paul.'
I am convinced the gospels are unique in world literature. I certainly believe them to be unique in ancient literature, and I am unaware of anything at all like them since. This is what makes them such a "riddle" (to use Chesterton again). What are we to make of an apparently multiply-attested miracle worker (more than one ancient source attributes numerous miracles to him, probably within 40 to 60 years of his death)? A man whose followers, even more remarkably, believed he was raised from the dead? Who apparently claimed to be himself the personal fulfillment of Jewish covenantal monotheism? A man who made such an impression he was deified (by monotheists) within decades of his crucifixion, if not sooner?
Already those into NT criticism know which scholars would be smirking at which point, raising a finger, smiling, squirming. But regardless of one's historical view of Jesus, the above concepts are clear in the NT and the NT is considered by almost all current critics to consist of primarily first century texts. What is to be made of such a set of documents and more so, the personality the person they declare they are committed to proclaiming?
Everybody is asking that question.
Some will tell you Jesus never existed or was a political activist rising against Rome or a wandering cynic philosopher or a tragically well-meaning but highly deluded apocalyptic Messiah (Schweitzer's theory, and still the best bet for me if Jesus was nothing but human). Ben Witherington has written a very readable introduction to historical Jesus theory called The Jesus Quest. If you're looking for an intelligent and fair (though Christian) discussion of the major critics of the last few decades and prior, it's a good place to start.
One of the most difficult issues facing NT readers/critics is what to make of all the miracles reported in the gospels--the resurrection, of course, but all the healings and nature miracles also. How could this stuff have happened? Many argue or assume that surely these components are legendary. Also, the first three gospels, called the Synoptics, appear to share much common content. Most (but not all) current scholars have Mark written first, Luke and Matthew using Mark and (probably) a common outside source called Q, plus material 'special' to Matthew and Luke. The (apparent) interdependence of the first three gospels is rightly called the synoptic problem, for problem it is. This is an enormous issue in NT studies even if it's currently on simmer. Also, John's gospel (which actually claims to depend on an eyewitness testimony) is under great critical strain. I'm told the best Christian critic on John is Raymond Brown; he spent a lifetime pondering the puzzles within that gospel, for they are nearly as curious as the entire synoptic issue.
I, for one, welcome the modern critical spirit. The ball bearings may have fallen out of the NT skate-wheel and be rolling over the porch, but surely we must recognize the human nature of the composition of the NT. Degrees of skepticism (among intelligent scholars) vary enormously (and this, truly, must be understood when reading any NT writer: what presuppositions and biases may lie behind this person's point of view?). Some still believe the NT to be divinely written, inspired and controlled word by word, without error of any kind; others believe it to be generally historical, written without intentional deception and based on actual memories of Jesus (it's hard to hold either of these views and not be a Christian); some feel almost all of what we have in the gospels is based on legend, later fabrication, mistake, need; a few, as I said earlier, believe the NT, and early Christianity, is in fact Greek/pagan in origin and Jesus may have not existed at all.
Into this morass walks NTW.
Wright's great strength is clarity. He can express complex ideas easily and organizes his writing well (much better than St. Paul, say, but then he had different drafting technologies).
Wright is attempting (at least in his first book, The People of God) to historically immerse himself as much as possible in the period of Jesus' life. To look at what we now know of Judaism during this time, the Judaism(s) of Jesus' own Israel. He admits (much to my relief) at the outset that the picture he eventually uncovers may differ from orthodox Christianity (though the little I know of his later books suggests Wright can still be called a Christian). Good. That is how I hope I am proceeding on my mini-quest. And Wright, in response to those who say we can know nothing of ancient history, or those who still seem to be, as Schweitzer also noted long ago, investing Jesus with their own political or psychological make-up, argues that we can know some things about Jesus if we work very hard to find them. Knowledge can be had, even it is personal and provisional, through rugged inquiry. Hence, Critical Realism. Reality can touch us if we critically examine all that we have to work with.
That sounds like common-sense, and in a way is. Scientific method (a frighteningly simple term) is supposed to work this way within rigid parameters. But besides being reason-based, even dialectic, CR is also optimistic: mankind can find some truth, and perhaps with it, some meaning. NTW notes that all truth/meaning is ultimately personal, but that truth is often also public. He nods to the post-structuralists and psychoanalytic critics by admitting none of us come to the table without presuppositions and that all human knowledge will be limited/shaped by human faculty (I think of how a bumble bee perceives a flower, my computer, or me) but that we can make assertions about things in a public forum nonetheless. I could create a club, the "Is China Real" club, and we could meet once a week to attempt to determine whether China exists. We could interview those from the country, look at websites, and of course eventually fly there (raising a research budget) and say with (near) certainty: yep, it's real. Fair enough. Wright thinks, with enough work, we can make some nearly certain statements about history also. Imagine the "Did Napoleon Exist" club. Or the "Why did Ceasar Cross the Rubicon" club. Or the "Did Jesus Rise from the Dead" club.
I'm not saying the Christian questions are easy questions. They're not (and Wright is refreshing in his candor here). I envy the person who simply reads John, for example, and places faith in Christ. Based on what I know at this point, it's not a bad faith to have. It surely complicates the gospel "riddle" that these documents have been at the head of a multi-national religious movement for something like 1900 years. If there was no Christianity, or if it had died out in the ancient world without leaving a written record, and the NT as we have it was suddenly discovered under some ancient stone floor, think of the difference! It might be written off as clearly ludicrous, or it might spawn a thousand websites from those looking for alternatives to established faith. Whatever, almost all who write about the NT have memories of church-experiences, have trusted God and felt he heard or he failed them miserably (or both, as in my case). We've all met Christians and that affects our attitudes, good or bad or both.
Sure, these questions are challenging. But what I get from boiling down the first 144 pages of Wright's book, the philosophically chewy chapters, is distilled above. Sure he incorporates literary theory (and I enjoyed his discussion; it's worth the read for English majors if they read nothing else from the book), form-criticism, theories of history and knowing...it's a great, if idea-thick, section; I'd read a few pages each morning, two or twenty, and stew. But where Wright ends up is here: Critical Realism means historical inquiry, even Jesus inquiry (sparse as our materials are, biased as they may be) is not purposeless.
Do I agree? With Critical Realism in general, at least as I understand it, mostly yes. I put it best in my blog title: Look Closer. I still think Wright needs to address/incorporate Kant's epistemology, though perhaps in an offhand way he has, and I admit I don't know how significant Kant's categories would be in historical study. Do I think the NT provides enough content to make real assertions about Jesus? When combined with everything else we have, mostly yes again.
And that's a scary place to be poised. EFM, or Education for Ministry, begins this fall with the NT year. I spent a year reading the OT (and what a ride that is: E-ticket attraction, but rated R, all the poetry, spiritual elation, universal monotheist optimism and profound psychology alongside military aggression, cultic sacrifice, near-obsessive ritual purification, jingoistic nationalism and individual violence). I have to decide by Sunday if I'm doing year two. I want to. I'm doing it on my own time as it is! The outside reading for the entire year may be less than I've already done. But can I slog down the hill one more night a week? We'll see. Prayers for wisdom (if such things work, I'm ashamed to say).
I hope to God they do.
I came to faith in Christ, as I've blogged already, after reading Mark and John with a persistent Christian over several years (and Matthew on my own, first and all at once). I had been in church and left when I decided I rejected Christian culture and that was about all I had in me. It was an honest move (also, I had decided the Bible was not a divine and inerrant product; I should confess I've thought that for fifteen years or more though my reading process was quite naive). Though I was president of Campus Crusade at my University (briefly, but active for several years), emceed the weekly Crusade meetings, taught more than one bible study in my church, led people to Christ door to door in San Jose and in Palm Springs, taught sunday school in a large evangelical church, was in a Christian fraternity...I often wonder as I see those who have fallen away, especially scholars and pastors, who now debunk their old faith online or in books: why do I feel what I have now is qualitatively different from what I had then? Even though I often question my faith and feel close to the edge, live days where I actually think as a non-believer, there seems to be something solid at my core. Something I can't let go of easily. Was it always there, even in my years away from church? Maybe, but I don't think so. I believe God acted in me in a new way in March 2000, in the three years preceding as I was half-coerced to read through the gospels (and allowed to say whatever I wanted about them). For those who have lost their faith I do pray, and may God hear those prayers. We're all trying to make sense of a clearly desperate yet beautiful world, our human condition included.
My hope is to do both here. To write for myself, still; to use this as a (almost) pathologically-public version (Warhol's fifteen minutes) of the pen and paper diaries I kept for years before I began saving files on my hardrive. But also to write more reader-friendly articles, outblog; even, to indulge a bit, do a little of what I do to pay the mortgage: teach.
Inblog, outblog, both are coming. It's hard. I try to limit my drafting to an hour or less here; I have so many other responsibilities! Outblogging for the (mostly) anonymous web isn't doing work for my real students, those who depend on me to teach them something about English. But it is a hobby I enjoy. Who knows, someday I may get really, really lucky and get to write or talk about the NT as a career.
For now though, inblog, outblog. I begin with the in:
Tahoe was tough. I wish I had a better report, but my anxiety was an issue most of the trip. Sure I manage it, but the So. Cal. vacation was so precious to me and I was angry that I was unable to feel close to my wife for much of the Tahoe time. I prayed for help, which I almost never do (sometimes I feel like I've bought the Christian house, my name is on the deed, but I insist on sleeping outside in the weeds most of the time). I don't know if I can say God answered, he may have, but relief came the final night, the night of the day I finally prayed: the Tahoe production of Twelfth Night was awesome and I felt it, knew it, shared it. That was the beginning of sanity.
I would like to write about that play, about Malvolio in the house-dungeon darkness, the capricious justice of the Fool, but I lack time. I will note Shakespeare's plays can present psychologically developed characters (Hamlet) and characters who lack depth, lovers who fall in love on sight and are supposed to live happily ever after once the barriers to their union are removed. The Bard seems does not write about marital relationships with any depth. But then, I haven't read Antony and TN is certainly a comedy.
Something nearly existential is going on with Malvolio, though, as he is tormented by the Fool.
And I said my blog would get more user-friendly! Here I am writing about a play as if I'm talking to myself.
If you live near Tahoe (and I would be very surprised to receive a comment from anyone who does) see Twelfth Night. It is first-rate.
***
On the outblog:
On N.T. Wright's Critical Realism:
Epistemology is the philosophical study of what can be known. What do we know, what don't we know, what can't we know, how do we know, etc. The link above is a very good, brief introduction (though it doesn't let you view the many linked terms in the article without paying; sorry). For Wright and those he takes the term from (it's not his originally and he openly cites his sources) Critical Realism is a form of epistemology, and for Wright especially, a form of historical epistemology. What can we know about prior centuries considering the fact that none of us can observe them directly? For NTW, CR seems to be a response to the linguistic nihilism of some post-structuralists (language as a symbol-system is too vague to hold any centered meaning) and even more so to the large numbers of skeptical NT critics who refuse to accept most or any of the gospels as historically accurate and instead dig, or seem to dig (one can see the shovel swinging, textual dirt flying) beneath the gospels and epistles for grains of the 'historic Jesus' or 'historic Paul.'
I am convinced the gospels are unique in world literature. I certainly believe them to be unique in ancient literature, and I am unaware of anything at all like them since. This is what makes them such a "riddle" (to use Chesterton again). What are we to make of an apparently multiply-attested miracle worker (more than one ancient source attributes numerous miracles to him, probably within 40 to 60 years of his death)? A man whose followers, even more remarkably, believed he was raised from the dead? Who apparently claimed to be himself the personal fulfillment of Jewish covenantal monotheism? A man who made such an impression he was deified (by monotheists) within decades of his crucifixion, if not sooner?
Already those into NT criticism know which scholars would be smirking at which point, raising a finger, smiling, squirming. But regardless of one's historical view of Jesus, the above concepts are clear in the NT and the NT is considered by almost all current critics to consist of primarily first century texts. What is to be made of such a set of documents and more so, the personality the person they declare they are committed to proclaiming?
Everybody is asking that question.
Some will tell you Jesus never existed or was a political activist rising against Rome or a wandering cynic philosopher or a tragically well-meaning but highly deluded apocalyptic Messiah (Schweitzer's theory, and still the best bet for me if Jesus was nothing but human). Ben Witherington has written a very readable introduction to historical Jesus theory called The Jesus Quest. If you're looking for an intelligent and fair (though Christian) discussion of the major critics of the last few decades and prior, it's a good place to start.
One of the most difficult issues facing NT readers/critics is what to make of all the miracles reported in the gospels--the resurrection, of course, but all the healings and nature miracles also. How could this stuff have happened? Many argue or assume that surely these components are legendary. Also, the first three gospels, called the Synoptics, appear to share much common content. Most (but not all) current scholars have Mark written first, Luke and Matthew using Mark and (probably) a common outside source called Q, plus material 'special' to Matthew and Luke. The (apparent) interdependence of the first three gospels is rightly called the synoptic problem, for problem it is. This is an enormous issue in NT studies even if it's currently on simmer. Also, John's gospel (which actually claims to depend on an eyewitness testimony) is under great critical strain. I'm told the best Christian critic on John is Raymond Brown; he spent a lifetime pondering the puzzles within that gospel, for they are nearly as curious as the entire synoptic issue.
I, for one, welcome the modern critical spirit. The ball bearings may have fallen out of the NT skate-wheel and be rolling over the porch, but surely we must recognize the human nature of the composition of the NT. Degrees of skepticism (among intelligent scholars) vary enormously (and this, truly, must be understood when reading any NT writer: what presuppositions and biases may lie behind this person's point of view?). Some still believe the NT to be divinely written, inspired and controlled word by word, without error of any kind; others believe it to be generally historical, written without intentional deception and based on actual memories of Jesus (it's hard to hold either of these views and not be a Christian); some feel almost all of what we have in the gospels is based on legend, later fabrication, mistake, need; a few, as I said earlier, believe the NT, and early Christianity, is in fact Greek/pagan in origin and Jesus may have not existed at all.
Into this morass walks NTW.
Wright's great strength is clarity. He can express complex ideas easily and organizes his writing well (much better than St. Paul, say, but then he had different drafting technologies).
Wright is attempting (at least in his first book, The People of God) to historically immerse himself as much as possible in the period of Jesus' life. To look at what we now know of Judaism during this time, the Judaism(s) of Jesus' own Israel. He admits (much to my relief) at the outset that the picture he eventually uncovers may differ from orthodox Christianity (though the little I know of his later books suggests Wright can still be called a Christian). Good. That is how I hope I am proceeding on my mini-quest. And Wright, in response to those who say we can know nothing of ancient history, or those who still seem to be, as Schweitzer also noted long ago, investing Jesus with their own political or psychological make-up, argues that we can know some things about Jesus if we work very hard to find them. Knowledge can be had, even it is personal and provisional, through rugged inquiry. Hence, Critical Realism. Reality can touch us if we critically examine all that we have to work with.
That sounds like common-sense, and in a way is. Scientific method (a frighteningly simple term) is supposed to work this way within rigid parameters. But besides being reason-based, even dialectic, CR is also optimistic: mankind can find some truth, and perhaps with it, some meaning. NTW notes that all truth/meaning is ultimately personal, but that truth is often also public. He nods to the post-structuralists and psychoanalytic critics by admitting none of us come to the table without presuppositions and that all human knowledge will be limited/shaped by human faculty (I think of how a bumble bee perceives a flower, my computer, or me) but that we can make assertions about things in a public forum nonetheless. I could create a club, the "Is China Real" club, and we could meet once a week to attempt to determine whether China exists. We could interview those from the country, look at websites, and of course eventually fly there (raising a research budget) and say with (near) certainty: yep, it's real. Fair enough. Wright thinks, with enough work, we can make some nearly certain statements about history also. Imagine the "Did Napoleon Exist" club. Or the "Why did Ceasar Cross the Rubicon" club. Or the "Did Jesus Rise from the Dead" club.
I'm not saying the Christian questions are easy questions. They're not (and Wright is refreshing in his candor here). I envy the person who simply reads John, for example, and places faith in Christ. Based on what I know at this point, it's not a bad faith to have. It surely complicates the gospel "riddle" that these documents have been at the head of a multi-national religious movement for something like 1900 years. If there was no Christianity, or if it had died out in the ancient world without leaving a written record, and the NT as we have it was suddenly discovered under some ancient stone floor, think of the difference! It might be written off as clearly ludicrous, or it might spawn a thousand websites from those looking for alternatives to established faith. Whatever, almost all who write about the NT have memories of church-experiences, have trusted God and felt he heard or he failed them miserably (or both, as in my case). We've all met Christians and that affects our attitudes, good or bad or both.
Sure, these questions are challenging. But what I get from boiling down the first 144 pages of Wright's book, the philosophically chewy chapters, is distilled above. Sure he incorporates literary theory (and I enjoyed his discussion; it's worth the read for English majors if they read nothing else from the book), form-criticism, theories of history and knowing...it's a great, if idea-thick, section; I'd read a few pages each morning, two or twenty, and stew. But where Wright ends up is here: Critical Realism means historical inquiry, even Jesus inquiry (sparse as our materials are, biased as they may be) is not purposeless.
Do I agree? With Critical Realism in general, at least as I understand it, mostly yes. I put it best in my blog title: Look Closer. I still think Wright needs to address/incorporate Kant's epistemology, though perhaps in an offhand way he has, and I admit I don't know how significant Kant's categories would be in historical study. Do I think the NT provides enough content to make real assertions about Jesus? When combined with everything else we have, mostly yes again.
And that's a scary place to be poised. EFM, or Education for Ministry, begins this fall with the NT year. I spent a year reading the OT (and what a ride that is: E-ticket attraction, but rated R, all the poetry, spiritual elation, universal monotheist optimism and profound psychology alongside military aggression, cultic sacrifice, near-obsessive ritual purification, jingoistic nationalism and individual violence). I have to decide by Sunday if I'm doing year two. I want to. I'm doing it on my own time as it is! The outside reading for the entire year may be less than I've already done. But can I slog down the hill one more night a week? We'll see. Prayers for wisdom (if such things work, I'm ashamed to say).
I hope to God they do.
I came to faith in Christ, as I've blogged already, after reading Mark and John with a persistent Christian over several years (and Matthew on my own, first and all at once). I had been in church and left when I decided I rejected Christian culture and that was about all I had in me. It was an honest move (also, I had decided the Bible was not a divine and inerrant product; I should confess I've thought that for fifteen years or more though my reading process was quite naive). Though I was president of Campus Crusade at my University (briefly, but active for several years), emceed the weekly Crusade meetings, taught more than one bible study in my church, led people to Christ door to door in San Jose and in Palm Springs, taught sunday school in a large evangelical church, was in a Christian fraternity...I often wonder as I see those who have fallen away, especially scholars and pastors, who now debunk their old faith online or in books: why do I feel what I have now is qualitatively different from what I had then? Even though I often question my faith and feel close to the edge, live days where I actually think as a non-believer, there seems to be something solid at my core. Something I can't let go of easily. Was it always there, even in my years away from church? Maybe, but I don't think so. I believe God acted in me in a new way in March 2000, in the three years preceding as I was half-coerced to read through the gospels (and allowed to say whatever I wanted about them). For those who have lost their faith I do pray, and may God hear those prayers. We're all trying to make sense of a clearly desperate yet beautiful world, our human condition included.
Comments
Your willingness to ask the question you asked here, and your willingness to ask all of the other questions which you ask on a daily basis; your willingness, in other words, to critically engage your own faith, is what makes it so solid.
I have long held that doubt is not only not the opposite of faith, but is in fact a tool through which faith is built up. This doubt, though, is not some sort of existential unwillingness to accept the truth which plainly presents itself to you. It is instead the recognition that truth does not always plainly present itself to you; sometimes it must be sought out, wrestled with, fought for.
One of my favorite Biblical images comes from the story in which Jacob's name is changed to Israel. He grapples all night with a strange man, who may be God or some strange messenger from God. His opponent is obviously bigger than him, stronger than him, faster than him, and a more skilled wrestler than him, but he refuses to let go, desperately clinging to the man who may be God, refusing to surrender until he is blessed.
This wrestling match is, for me, the heart of faith. Jacob does not know with whom he wrestles, nor does he know how the match ends. He has, as best we can tell, no easily identifiable belief system. But he has a hunch, and he clings to his hunch, wrestles with his hunch, all night, beyond his mortal limits, because he knows that maybe, just maybe, he is in fact wrestling with the Ultimate.
If there is a God, that God can take our questions. If there is a God, that God, in fact, gave us the minds which give rise to our questions. Dogmatic clinging to theology is the enemy of faith, for it fears that if we fight with God (or our beliefs about God) then God will lose - that is, our belief in God will be shattered by the realization that our beliefs could not stand up to critical inquiry. Wrestling with God, and our ideas about God - even if it is seen as doubt - is in fact the ultimate faith. In it, even while we question what we believe about God, we cling to the God who is beyond our beliefs, knowing that as we wrestle with this thing which just might be God, if it is God, God will win in the end. But when God wins, if we refuse to let go of God even as we wrestle against God, we win as well, for our match is not some zero-sum game in which there is a single winner and a single loser.
But I've waxed poetic long enough. Good post, and an great ending. It really got me thinking, as you can surely tell.
my sense is you are always thinking. Your comment, as always, is deeply welcome.
Peniel. Yes, wrestling with God. I know the experience. I know it still. Peniel would make a good blog name!
Why is it that some of us wrestle and draw closer, and some farther away, even to the point of atheism? This I don't know. Part of it is the non-rational, even intolerant component in some fundamentalism (and various Christian isms); beyond that, as to what is active in each individual, I can't speculate. Only God knows that answer. May he finally show mercy to us all.
You say that "even while we question what we believe about God, we cling to the God who is beyond our beliefs;" this is insightful. Or perhaps, if one must let go of belief in God the search itself must not end. I think of my own loss of faith in biblical fundmanentalism (though I walked away from the whole pony), and then my drift into Platonism, eventually back to a much more dynamic belief in Jesus...I used to think it was the prayers of my grandmother that kept me moving and perhaps it was. But I do know that I continued to have questions, about the human conscience, about my own mortality, about beauty, about human sacrificial love, about transcendentalism in many forms...and, glory to God, here I am. The materialist answer, while persuasive in many of its pieces, ultimately answers none of the core questions. It tries to explain away the very existence of the questions.
Your comment is very beautiful, C. Sincere thanks again. May we both keep wrestling.
t