In The Creed, Emory theologian Luke Timothy Johnson explores the historical development and contemporary significance of the Nicene Creed (technically, the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed). It is one of the richer and more engaging texts on Christian faith and doctrine that I have read. In my church growing up, we never recited a creed, and now I confess to wondering during mass how many of us truly believe every statement we are reciting. Johnson takes this anxiety head-on:
We acknowledge that no one of us individually believes as much or as well as all of us do communally. The church always believes more and better than any one of its members. Does this mean that we act hypocritically when we say together "we believe?" Not at all: it is rather that we stand together under these truths, in the hope that our individual "I believe" someday approaches the strength of the church's "we believe."
Johnson also eludes easy capture by either the conservative or liberal theological camps. On the one hand, he resists any suggestion that the Christian faith can be reconstructed from the ground up through rational inquiry, as though the "givens" of the faith are negotiable:
[S]ince the time of the Enlightenment, the longest-running of all Christological heresies has deeply infiltrated the church with scarcely any protest or controversy, much less the calling of a council of bishops to clarify and defend the faith of the church. I mean the replacement of the Christ of faith with the so-called historical Jesus. . . . I speak of the repudiation of the church's faith in the resurrected Lord and the replacement of that faith with a Jesus reconstructed solely on the basis of what history can reliably tell us, as measured by the methods of the modern critical historian. This view has become so widespread and has received so little opposition -- especially in liberal forms of Christianity -- that in some circles it is regarded as the best available theology rather than as a dreadful distortion of the truth of the gospel.
At the same time, Johnson resists any temptation to expand the scope of what is "given":
The simplicity of the creed is notable first in those matters on which it speaks. The creed consistently affirms what without trying to specify how, and thus liberates in two ways: the minds of believers are free to examine and investigate, without constraint, the gaps left within by the creed's propositions, and their minds are not imprisoned by extraneous and possibly unworthy explanations or elaborations. The creed thus provides a stable confession within which the faithful can find a variety of acceptable standpoints and interpretations. . . the creed gives boundaries, not barriers.
Rob
Thomas Hibbs is a Catholic, a philosopher, and the dean of Baylor University's Honors College. Here is a provocative opinion piece by him, about the state of our universities. A taste:
In his classic statement The Idea of the University, John Henry Newman argues that liberal education can be justified only if "knowledge is capable of being its own end." Although Newman defended professional training, he argued forcefully that universities ought to develop in students a philosophical habit of mind, a habit of wonder and an ability to trace the relationships among different parts of knowledge. One of the reasons for the inclusion of all branches of knowledge in the university curriculum is that even though students "cannot pursue every subject, they will still gain from living among those who represent the whole circle."
There are manifold obstacles to realizing Newman's idea in today's university. Given the increasing emphasis on specialization in faculty research, few if any faculty can be said even to approximate representing the "whole circle." And of course students do not "live among" the faculty anyhow. The shared libertarianism of faculty and students results in a diminishing number of contact hours between students and faculty, and even between faculty, who rarely know colleagues outside their departments.
Specialization breeds an inevitable individualism and elevates narrow expertise over breadth of learning. Clearly a university cannot do without rigorous, specialized knowledge in its faculty. The challenge Mr. Lewis and others pose is whether universities can create incentives to balance focus with breadth.
This would entail another sense of liberalism. Such a liberality or generosity of spirit would revive a proper appreciation of amateurism – not in the sense of an absence of serious training but in the etymological meaning of the word "amateur," from the French for "lover."
A thought: It is a mistake to ask and fret about whether a university can remain, or become, "great" if it insists on remaining, or becoming, "Catholic." The real question is, can a university be great -- really -- if it is not -- really -- "Catholic"?
Here at MOJ, we have often discussed and written about urbanism, land use, and community. Here, courtesy of the inimitable The Onion, is a cri du couer from a dedicated new urbanist about the obstacles he faces in his efforts to improve our cities:
When I moved into this neighborhood, I fell in love right away. Not with the actual neighborhood, but with its potential: It's affordable, there are nice row houses all around just waiting to be filled up by my friends, there's lot of open space to be exploited, and plenty of parking. Plus, this area has got a great authentic feel and, with a little work, it could be even more authentic. Perfect, right?
So why am I the only one doing anything about it?
I am always telling my other struggling artist, freelance graphic designer, and independent T-shirt-maker friends that this is the neighborhood to take it to. It's the next big thing. Sure, it's an hour from my day job and right next to a stinky canal and a power station, but that's the whole charm—it keeps the yuppies out.
It's frustrating, though. My friends insist they're happy where they are. But if they only saw the idealized neighborhood I see, where that rundown old health clinic is turned into a tattoo parlor, and that Last Supper mural is replaced with one featuring Radiohead or a stylized corporate octopus, they'd come around.
The problem is that the property owners here are clueless. They fill their yards with pavement and statues of the Virgin Mary, when all they have to do is clear that brush and we'd have a great beer garden or bocce court. They're spending all this money to renovate the old church, when it'd be put to better use split it up into condos. . . .
[This is from Larry Solum's Legal Theory blog:]
Death by a Thousand Cuts:
The Fight over Taxing Inherited Wealth
Michael J. Graetz and Ian Shapiro
To read the entire book description or a sample chapter, please visit: http://pup.princeton.edu/titles/7919.html
This fast-paced book by Yale professors Michael Graetz and Ian
Shapiro unravels the following mystery: How is it that the estate tax,
which has been on the books continuously since 1916 and is paid by only
the wealthiest two percent of Americans, was repealed in 2001 with
broad bipartisan support? The mystery is all the more striking because
the repeal was not done in the dead of night, like a congressional pay
raise. It came at the end of a multiyear populist campaign launched by
a few individuals, and was heralded by its supporters as a signal
achievement for Americans who are committed to the work ethic and the
American Dream.
"This is one of the most interesting books about politics, and
power, and the way the world is going, that you are ever likely to
read. What makes it so fascinating is that it is a mystery story. The
mystery is this: how did the repeal of a tax that applies only to the
richest 2 percent of American families become a cause so popular and so
powerful that it steamrollered all the opposition placed in its way. .
. . This is not simply a story about the United States. . . . [T]he
moral of the tale is far wider than that. . . . Instead this is a tale
about the power of narrative in politics, and the increasing ease with
which individual stories can be made the be-all and end-all of
political debate."--David Runciman, London Review of Books
