I enjoy reading biographies as the figures whose theology I have read or read is put in a new light. This is certainly the case with Moltmann’s remarks on Ernst Käsemann in his autobiography:
Käsemann and his* wife became close friends. Their daughter Elisabeth went to Argentina in order to put into practice what her father had talked about and, after having been cruelly tortured, was shot by the military junta in 1977. Astonishingly enough, her body was released. I had to take the funeral, and Käsemann had impressed on me, “The sermon: no more than 10 sentences!” In his lectures and seminars Käsemann continued the struggle of the Confessing Church, which he had carried on in Gelsenkirchen with a congregation of miners. Unfortunately, during the war he had acquired a sergeant-major’s voice, which was not to the liking of every student. The maxim of his life was the old pirate saying: “the friend of God and the enemy of the whole world”. For truth’s sake, he broke off old friendships, first with Bultmann, then with Fuchs, then with Ebeling, finally, alas, with me, too, because he did not like my dialogue with Judaism. But our ways already began to drift apart a little when I replace his “new obedience” in faith by “liberty in the breadth of the Holy Spirit”. His interpretations of the Epistle to the Hebrews (written in prison) and of the Epistle to the Romans–his great work–were always theological. As a result he roused the criticism of historical scholars in the English-speaking world, who sought for an answer to “the new question about Paul”. As a Christian, Käsemann felt himself to be a “partisan” in a country occupied by foreign forces. He had a powerful theology of the cross, but he had problems with Christ’s resurrection. He was buried with the text of Isaiah 26.13: ‘O LORD our God, other lords besides thee have ruled over us, but thy name alone we acknowledge.” And that characterizes his theology of resistance in the Babylonian captivity of Christianity in this world, its alienation from God.
A Broad Place, 149-50.
*It is unclear whether Moltmann is referring to Käsemann’s wife or the wife of Otto Michel from the previous paragraph. Please comment if you have anything to add.
Thanks to Prof. Dr. Klaus Dietz, from the University of Tübingen, I have added some 20 new items to the list of theses and dissertations. Klaus Dietz is a friend and neighbour of Moltmann’s and provided him with the updated list of theses and dissertations. He informs me that Moltmann knew of around 200, having been notified throughout the years by the authors of the respective dissertations, but had no idea that the list was so large!
I am currently looking at the role Georg Picht plays in the development of Moltmann’s theology. The most important aspect is Moltmann’s concept “the epiphany of the eternal present/presence of being” (die Epiphanie der ewigen Gegenwart des Seins), which is taken from Picht. The other seems to be his tracing of the, according to him, Hellenistic staticity of modern theology (Bultmann and Barth) to Parmenides. Below is what I think is the most important paragraph for Moltmann, demonstrating Parmenides’s influence on Kant and Plato:
Ist aber die bleibende und unwandelbare Zeit, deren innerstes Wesen ewige Gegenwart ist, die Zeit der Geschichte? Wir können diese Frage nur beantworten, wenn wir noch einmal uns der Griechen erinnern. Denn wenn Kant die Zeit durch die Substanz vorstellt, die er als reine Identität und als die Negation alles Wechsels überhaupt begreift, so verweist er uns, ohne sich dessen bewußt zu sein, auf das unwandelbare Sein des Parmenides. Wir müssen es uns versagen, durch eine Auslegung des Parmenides zu zeigen, wie hier im Ansatz der griechischen Ontologie bereits der Entwurf vorgezeichnet ist, in dem sich das Denken von Kant bewegt, sondern erinnern nur an die parmenideischen Seinsprädikate. Das Sein ist ungeworden und unvergänglich (ἀγένητον καὶ ἀνώλεθρον), es ist ohne Ziel (ἀτέλεστον), es war niemals noch wird es jemals sein, da es jetzt ist zumal als Ganzes (οὐδέ ποτ’ ἦν οὐδ’ ἔσται, ἐπεὶ νῦν ἔστιν ὁμοῦ πᾶν,), es ist Eins (ἕν) und zusammenhängend (συνεχές. Von hier aus hat Zenon, der Schüler des Parmenides, die Paradoxien des Kontinuums entwickelt). Wir treffen hier also das ganze Gefüge von ontologischen Prädikaten, das Kant aus der theologischen Metaphysik des Christentums vertraut war; die Epiphanie der ewigen Gegenwart des Seins verstellt bis heute die eschatologische Offenbarung Gottes. Und nur diese Epiphanie ist bei Parmenides Wahrheit, ἀλήθεια. Die Vergänglichkeit, die Vielheit und der Wandel in der Zeit hingegen ist δόξα, ist Erscheinung, in der für den Wissenden doch stets nur das Eine ständig gleiche Sein erscheinen kann. Auf dem Boden der Ontologie des Parmenides hat Platon einen Zeitbegriff gegeben, der ganz aus der Epiphanie der ewigen Gegenwart gedacht ist. Die Zeit ist nach seiner Definition im Timaios (37 D) „der im Einen verharrenden Ewigkeit nach Zahl fortschreitendes ewigliches Abbild“ (μένοντος αἰῶνος ἐν ἑνὶ κατ’ ἀριθμὸν ἰοῦσα αἰώνιος εἰκών). Sie ist Abbild,  weil sie die ewige Praesenz des Seins re-praesentiert. Wenn aber das Wesen der Zeit überhaupt die Re-praesentation des Seins ist, so muß auch das in der Zeit erscheinende zeitlich Seiende ontologisch durch die Repraesentation bestimmt sein. Deshalb ist nach Platon das Sein alles zeitlich Seienden seinem Wesen nach Abbild-Sein. Die Zahl, nach der die repraesentierende Zeit ihren Gang nimmt, ist uns durch die Umläufe der Himmelskörper gegeben; deshalb können wir an der Fixstern-Sphäre das Abbild der ewigen Gegenwart mit Augen sehen. Wie der Tag und das Jahr, so verläuft auch die Zeit im Ganzen in einem zyklischen Umlauf; „die Zeit selbst scheint so etwas wie ein Kreis zu sein“, sagt Aristoteles (Phys. 223 b 29). Auch darin ist sie das Abbild des Einen Seins, von dem Parmenides sagt, es sei „vergleichbar der Masse einer wohlgerundeten Kugel (εὐκύκλου σφαίρης), von der Mitte her gleichgewichtig überall“ (B 8, 43/4).
Georg Picht, Die Erfahrung der Geschichte, 42-3.
For more on Moltmann’s dependence on Picht, see Morse, The Logic of Promise in Moltmann’s Theology, 55-7
Check out the beginning of an open access, online bibliography of Moltmann’s works here. I will slowly be adding content as time permits. At the moment you can get quick information on editions of the major works in English, as well as information on some of the German originals. I hope to tidy up the other books soon and then start adding chapters and articles.
These last few months I have been dabbling in and out of Pannenberg’s earlier theology to get a sense of how Moltmann is influenced by him and attempts to present an alternative to his theology of history in Theology of Hope. This morning I have been looking at some of the responses that Pannenberg offers to Moltmann’s critiques. I came across this insight on patristic theology that I would like to share:
“As a student I was deeply impressed by the unity of faith and reason in patristic theology. Since that time I have considered the age of patristic theology as a model of what Christian theology should achieve in our own time.”
Pannenberg, “A Response to My American Friends,” in Braaten and Clayton, ed., The Theology of Wolfhart Pannenberg, 316.
I was taken by this because I still find pre-modern theologians very difficult to read. I have loved working my way through Augustine’s De Trinitate, though his exegesis is hard to appreciate after having been trained in and constantly exposed to historical-critical methods. For Pannenberg, though, the exegesis of the patristics is not something to be pitied but celebrated, something from which modern theology can learn much.
One of my hobby horses is emphasising the communitarian view of people in Scripture, in an attempt to throw out of balance what I have often seen to be an overly individualistic approach to faith (with some important exceptions!) in contemporary church life. But while I think this horse’s race has is not yet fully run, it is important also to make sure that we get a sense of the whole picture. I found this overview of an article to be interesting:
“Rainer Albertz argues that there is evidence for the religious life of individual persons [in ancient Israel], and that it is notably uncoordinated with the salient features of the so-called ‘national’ religion portrayed in the Hebrew Bible. Individual psalms, for example, hardly mention the great ‘acts of God’ such as the Exodus or the giving of the Land, and concentrate rather on salvation and blessing as known or sought in the personal life of the worshipper, while the wealth of theophoric names [i.e., names that have an element of a divine name in them: Isra-EL, Eli-JAH, Meri-BAAL] concentrate on the divine care for the individual being named. Personal piety was by no means always directed to Yhwh — indeed, the biblical prophets attest that people often prayed to other gods, perhaps in some cases local or household gods, seeing Yhwh as the god of the nation rather than of the individual. (Albertz points out, however, that no theophoric names occur with Asherah or any other goddess as an element — a feature Israel and Judah share with some of their neighbours …) Evidence of personal piety can also be found in wisdom collections, especially Proverbs, which also has scarcely anything to say about the ‘national’ religion. Biblical scholarship has sometimes seen the individual as merely part of a larger collectivity, and has thought it anachronistic to see him or her as having a life apart from the group; but the evidence for individual piety tends in the opposite direction, suggesting that many individuals had a distinctive kind of religious belief and practice, radically different from the national cult and focused on living a good life and trusting in divine power in times of crisis. Archaeology supports this picture, with amulets attesting to the belief in divine aid in trouble and the many figurines of nude women holding their breasts mediating prayers to the divine realm to ensure conception and safe delivery.”
From the introduction to Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah, ed. Francesca Stavrakopoulou and John Barton. Albertz’s essay appears in the same volume.
As is well-known, Hegelian philosophy has canceled the principle of contradiction, and Hegel himself has more than once emphatically held judgment day on the kind of thinkers who remained in the sphere of understanding and reflection and who have therefore insisted that there is an either/or. Since that time, it has become a popular game, so that as soon as someone hints at an aut/aut [either/or] a Hegelian comes riding trip-trap-trap on a horse … and wins a victory and rides home again.
Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific Postscript, ed. and trans. Hong and Hong (1972), 304-5.
Just sharing because I guffawed aloud in my office when reading this. It reminded me of the pride I myself sometimes take in shooting down someone’s arguments over the Internet with reference to some authority, which I have often done in a patronising way. That is to say, I’ve got some work to do there.
As far as I know, Hegel could oppose the law of non-contradiction, e.g., “the two propositions “A is B” and “A is not B” are mutually exclusive,” because such the law overlooks the dialectical nature of propositions in which both a thesis (statement) and antithesis (negation of that statement) are ultimately included in a synthesis (higher unity of thesis and antithesis in which the truths of both are affirmed). Correct me if I’m wrong!
Today I have been searching the works of the Danish Christian philosopher-theologian Søren Kierkegaard for statements on the eternal present, something with which Moltmann takes issue. On quite a different note, I was reading the introduction to the Hong and Hong edition of The Concept of Anxiety when I found this killer insight:
Kierkegaard criticized the Cartesian principle of methodical doubt because it mistakenly gives more weight to reflection (thought) than it does to act (will).
“What skeptics should really be caught in is the ethical. Since Descartes they have all thought that during the period in which they doubted they dared not to express anything definite with regard to knowledge, but on the other hand they dared to act, because in this respect they could be satisfied with probability. What an enormous contradiction! As if it were not far more dreadful to do something about which one is doubtful (thereby incurring responsibility) than to make a statement. Or was it because the ethical is in itself certain? But then there was something which doubt could not reach!”
p.ix, citing Journals and Papers, I, 774.
In my “awakening” to philosophy and theology I went through a Kierkegaardian phase. Apparently this is quite common! He helped me to see the multivalency of symbols and was generally the beginning of my realisation of the ideological nature of truth claims (with some later help from Nietzsche). I began to depart from Kierkegaard when I thought that his philosophy was too individualist and spiritualist, overlooking the community and the concrete. You can empathise with me then when I found that Kierkegaard is a lot closer to Marx here than I had thought: “The philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point, however, is to change it.” Unfortunately I doubt that Kierkegaard’s interest in ethics much resembles that of Marx. Correct me if I’m wrong?
I have just started making my way through the 2015 Wiley Companion to Ancient Israel. Here’s a wee synopsis of the first article by Elizabeth Bloch-Smith, “Archaeology: What It Can Teach Us”:
Because of the vastly different data that the two sources of archaeology and the biblical texts give, there is both an ancient Israel and a biblical Israel. For example,
Physical remains are inclusive, generally not manipulated by subsequent peoples, and immeasurably greater in scope than literary accounts. In contrast to texts, which are limited by religious and royal perspectives and agendas, material remains are generated by diverse human groups including rich and poor, males and females, adults and children, and urban and rural populations (13).
Dating of archaeological remains is also much easier to determine than the dating of biblical texts. Moreover, connections can be made between the remains and the texts, providing more information on the origin and meaning of the texts themselves.
The archaeologist employs a number of different methods in their work. A synchronic approach generally works horizontally at a site to discover different aspects of one particular time. A diachronic approach generally works vertically to discover change over time. Digs can also be undertaken on a macro or a micro level, whether the focus is on the big picture or the relationships between individual remains. Most digs will combine all of these approaches in different ways.
Next, remains are interpreted. This requires looking for relationships between different objects, surroundings, etc at the site. “For example, a particular pot type that typically appears in a basement room of a house or the hold of a ship functions for storage or for transport” (14). Here the Bible and other texts can provide helpful information. Natural phenomena such as geology, flora, fauna, water availability and a host of other things can also give clues as to the inner workings of ancient societies.
There are nonetheless limits to archaeology. Examples include that archaeologists tend to focus on “tells,” i.e., cities and forts, allocating less attention to the likes of villages and farmsteads, for instance. There is much that has been excavated but there is also much that has not. Moreover, while dating methods are helpful, they cannot pinpoint exact years or even decades. Interpretation is also limited. In focussing on patterns in the remains, unique occurrences of phenomena that go against patterns are obscured and marginalised. And, of course, interpretations are always conditioned by the socio-cultural contexts of the interpreters.
Two opposing groups of archaeologists, though not representative of all archaeologists, provide an important picture of some of the difficulties facing how to determine the relationship between the Bible and archaeological remains:
Ethnocentric Biblical Archaeologists consider Israel as central and unique, while Syro-Palestinian Archaeologists view Israel as one of several regional kingdoms. The former stress the uniqueness of ancient Israel and rely heavily on the Bible as history to bolster their position. This approach stems from biblical archaeology of the 1950s (a cultural-historical approach), in which the canonical text had primacy of place and archaeology served to elucidate and verify the Bible. For the latter, Syro-Palestinian Archaeologists, the Bible constitutes a critically important cultural artifact that enhances understanding of the general culture but more specifically of those who composed, edited and transmitted the texts. This is not to minimize but to qualify use of biblical texts. Syro-Palestinian Archaeologists recognize that biblical texts and inscriptions contribute information irretrievable from material culture … Without texts, we might not know that Israelite society was patriarchal, patrilineal, and patrimonial. Both avenues of study, with the Bible either central or supplemental to the archaeological endeavor, contribute to the emerging picture of ancient and biblical Israel. However, the cultural presuppositions of each group, with consequent selectivity of cited data, must be kept in mind when utilizing publications and considering societal reconstructions (16).
Archaeological investigation of ancient Israel generally begins with the Iron Age, around 1200-1125 BCE. This corresponds to the biblical conquest of Canaan attested in Joshua and Judges (though the archaeological record gives a different picture to the biblical one of conquest).
One of the difficulties in identifying early Israelites is the lack of distinctly Israelite material. For example, abstinence from pork not only characterised Israelite existence but that of many Canaanite peoples in the Late Bronze Age (prior to the Iron Age). Philistines or Sea Peoples are generally more distinct but in the Iron Age the amount of evidence that distinguishes Canaanites and other inhabitants of land from Israelites is negligible. Even settlements explicitly designated in the biblical record as Israelite, Jerusalem for example, most likely contained non-Israelites as well.
One of the benefits of archaeology is that it can provide an independent witness to ancient Israel’s religious history. Because biblical texts belong to an editorial tradition which often reinterpreted them for new generations, aspects of later Israelite society and religion were retrospectively read into earlier periods. (This wasn’t absolute. There are many indications in Scripture that show biblical authors and editors’ awareness of the differences between their time and the time before them. Take for example Jacob marrying two sisters, a practice that was banned in the law). Archaeology can provide alternative and extended pictures of ancient Israelite religious life that might otherwise be obscured by the perspectives of biblical writers:
The Tel Arad temple exemplifies a disjunction between text and artifact; it illustrates praxis as opposed to promulgation and provides the context in which texts were written and to which they were responding. According to the Books of Kings, the late eighth-to late seventh-century BCE Judahite kings Hezekiah and Josiah tore down and defiled altars and high places to restrict worship with sacrifice to the Jerusalem temple (2 Kings18:22; 23:5–20). However, the Bible omits mention of the royally sponsored temple with a sacrificial altar constructed within a Judahite military fort on the southern border at Arad. Seventh- to sixth-century BCE correspondence between the local commander Eliashib and his Jerusalem superior confirms both the fort’s official status and Yahweh as the resident deity … Depending on its dates, this temple out-side of Jerusalem, in a royal fort and administrative center, suggests that Hezekiah and Josiah’s alleged cultic reforms perhaps promoted royal oversight of the cult* rather than exclusive worship in Jerusalem (18-9).
*Cult here is used in the general sense of a particular religious practice, rather than the exclusive sense of a sect.
Rather than viewing exclusive worship of Yahweh in the eighth- to sixth-century BCE Jerusalem temple as the norm, this temple illustrates Israelite worship, at disparate sites, of multiple deities manifest in physical forms, including standing stones. Biblical references to Israelites, including kings worshipping Baal, Asherah, the host of heaven, and the Queen of Heaven, in Jerusalem and at shrines throughout the country (2 Kings 23:4–6; Jer. 7:17–8; 44:17), suggest that Israelites of that period worshipped multiple deities. While select voices denounced polytheism as apostasy, it appears to have been common practice among the populace and royalty alike (20).
Archaeological finds can supplement the biblical testimony in revealing just where the biblical authors are coming from. While Scripture tells us that at many times in Israel’s history worship of gods other than Yahweh was practised by certain Israelites, the archaeological record is helpful in showing that it in many cases it seems to have been more of the norm! If this is true, then we can better understand the uniqueness of the perspectives of the biblical writers. Positively, in this instance, although the temple at Arad runs counter to the biblical claim that Yahweh is to worshipped in one place, Jerusalem, it also demonstrates the biblical belief that the land belongs to Yahweh since the temple at Arad is part of a military camp that defends Israel’s borders.
In the fourth chapter, the authors explore NZE vocabulary and related discourse features. Already in the 1679 visit of James Cook to Aotearoa (New Zealand), Māori words such as pā were adopted into the English language. Up until about 1860 though, NZE stopped most of its borrowing from Māori. It wasn’t until the 1970s that new borrowings began again on a larger scale. Māori loanwords can be sorted into three categories: flora and fauna (tōtara and kiwi), society and culture (haka and marae), and proper nouns (mostly place names, such as Whakatāne). (Unfortunately the authors do not use macrons, which I have inserted here. This is perhaps due to how they are represented in NZE, but this does not account for increasing recognition of macrons on the part of speakers of NZE). From the 1970s onwards, new words like Aotearoa, waka, and tangata whenua.
In NZE, various loanwords took on new pronunciations. Waka, for example, often rhymes with NZE rocker rather than NZE sucker. Some place names were shortened. In Canterbury, for example, many speakers of NZE refer to the Waimakariri River as the Waimak, rhyming with back. It is also common to make Māori nouns plural by adding an S to the end, whereas in Māori the plural is indicated by the preceding article or the context. We do not speak of many Māoris but many Māori. The authors note that while innovations such as this are typical of the lives of loanwords, some have also criticised these innovations as insensitive to Māori culture. This is fair and I think the authors would have done well to provide a slightly more extended comment here.
It is not only from external sources that NZE has developed. Languages develop internally too. Unique internal vocabulary developments include words like freezing works, number eight wire, and sausage sizzle. Speakers of NZE show a preference for suffixing words with a -y or -ie, such as in chippy. Speakers of Aus. E. tend to suffix with an -o, such as in smoko, which has also been borrowed by NZers. Slang words include dag (“a lock of wool clotted with dry manure on the rear end of a sheep” [p.80]), cop shop (police station), and Ashvegas (Ashburton a town in Canterbury). I would be interested in learning more about the role of slang among different demographics in NZE, as I wasn’t sure how much a strong distinction could be erected between slang and other language. Although the authors don’t erect such a distinction, neither was it confronted.
Two words used frequently in discourse by some speakers of NZE are eh, more prevalent among Māori, and like, prevalent among young women but not especially unique to NZE. “Yeah, I don’t know eh.” “Like no one does that any more.”