I have invested quite a bit of thinking (this is the thirteenth post of this series) around the notion of philosophia as a way of life (with obvious reliance on Pierre Hadot's works Philosophy as a Way of Life and What is Ancient Philosophy?), and of Christianity as a philosophia. That ancient philosophy understood itself differently from present day academic philosophy would seem to go without saying (though the implications of that assertion are surely much more controversial), and that several important second century Christian documents present Christianity as a philosophia, similar though superior to ancient philosophiai, ought also be relatively uncontroversial. But whether one ought to invest in advocacy of the notion of Christianity as a philosophia is surely less obvious. What is important is to simply live the Christian faith as it has been passed down from the incarnate ministry of our Lord to today.
That is to say, the imposition of the structures of ultimate principles (logoi), a distinctive discourse (dialogos), and soulish exercises (askeses) is the imposition of external classificatory categories and structures that it is not clear arise naturally from within Christianity itself. That is to say, while the Holy Trinity, the Divine Liturgy and prayer (logoi, dialogos, and askesis, respectively) are in themselves entirely Christian, the organization of these realities along the lines suggested above is arguably questionable. One could argue that these are Hadot's own classification of aspects of ancient philosophical schools, which schools themselves might well not classify themselves in this way, and that further, to apply Hadot's structures on Christianity via ancient philosophy is suspect at best.
But as a heuristic device, at very least, these categories and structures can prove helpful in reflecting on the Christian Faith and its practice, and I hope these reflections have made this evident.
As I hope I have demonstrated, there can be no compartmentalizing of the Christian Faith and life, for the divine call is total and radical, and in this way it brings wholeness and unity to otherwise fractured human existence. That is to say, the way of life, the philosophia that is Christianity cannot be added to one's existence, as though a weekend hobby. It is, rather, the entirety of that which revolves around the Holy Trinity, the center of one's existence.
There are at least two implications of this which ought be obvious. First, the organic wholeness of Christianity makes impossible any division away from the way of life transmitted without interruption from Pentecost as well any division within the way Christians have always lived. That is to say, there can be no spontaneous generation of the Christian philosophia. One cannot affirm the fundamental Christian realities or principles, nor can one study and imitate the unique Christian discourse and askeses, without taking on the Christian way of life from within that life Christians have practiced from the beginning. That is to say, Christianity cannot be franchised. One must become a part of the only philosophia that is Christianity if one is to truly have that way of life that is Christian. I will say it bluntly. The some purported twenty-odd thousand Protestant groups worldwide seek this very impossibility: to make the Church over from scratch as from theory. I know whence I speak, for my heritage churches' raison d'etre was to “restore the New Testament Church in our day,” leap-frogging over some seventeen hundred years of the life of the Church to “start anew.” But this is little better than schism, well-intentioned though it be. There is only one New Testament Church, and true to Christ's promise, it has never ceased to exist. This is the Church with the original and life-giving philosophia. All others, simply by virtue of failing to live the Christian way of life from within, ultimately create other philosophiai which are not that which comes from Christ in the Holy Spirit and Pentecost.
Nor can any of the fundamental structures which organize Christianity as a philosophia be isolated from or emphasized out of proportion to the rest. By this I mean that one cannot elevate the elements, say, of dialogos over those of askesis. Doctrine cannot replace practice. (Nor, for that matter, practice doctrine.) Having spent nearly my entire life as a Protestant (which, formally, I still am, though I have been pursuing Orthodoxy for three years and hope soon sacramentally to become Orthodox), I can tell you that while Protestantism arguably pursues the fundamental principles of the Christian Faith, in most instances various Protestant groups focus either on doctrine--and too often a particular doctrine derived apart from the mind of the Church--over the way of life that that doctrine entails, or they focus on practice over the living doctrine needed to justify and support those practices. What results is on the one hand a sort of neo-gnosticism, in which as long as one believes correctly (witness the various confessional documents and statements of faith of Protestant bodies and groups), one has done the primary thing necessary, and the practice of that doctrine, though not unimportant, is given much less focus. On the other hand there is the imposition of practices that are hardly conformed to historic Christianity, and are justified ad hoc either through the purported ends sought or achieved, or through a superficial prooftexting of Scripture and doctrine which deviates from the objective and historic Christian norm (witness many of the practices that go on in “discipling” ministries and charismatic groups).
Further, the way of life of the Christian Faith will necessarily and essentially put us in opposition to our non-Christian neighbor, our culture and society, and all that which opposes Christ. That is to say, by virtue of living the Christian Faith, we will have enemies, human and demonic. If there is one overriding rebellion of the ecumenical/interfaith movements against biblical and historic Christianity it is this: the Church has enemies. “Do not be surprised,” St. John tells us, “that the world hates you” (1 John 3:13). This is the same St. John who says “Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life” (1 John 5:12). And: “Everyone who goes on ahead and does not abide in the teaching of Christ, does not have God. Whoever abides in the teaching has both the Father and the Son” (2 John 9). Indeed, St. John is merely being faithful to the Lord who Himself said:
"If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you: 'A servant is not greater than his master.' If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you. If they kept my word, they will also keep yours. But all these things they will do to you on account of my name, because they do not know him who sent me. If I had not come and spoken to them, they would not have been guilty of sin, but now they have no excuse for their sin. Whoever hates me hates my Father also. If I had not done among them the works that no one else did, they would not be guilty of sin, but now they have seen and hated both me and my Father. But the word that is written in their Law must be fulfilled: 'They hated me without a cause.' (John 15:18-25)
Thus, as much as it offends the sensibilities of the world, even and especially the religious world that claims Christ's name, Christians must be steadfast in maintaining their Lord's exclusive claims: He is the way the truth and the life (John 14:6), and there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved (Acts 5:12). Indeed, He who fills the universe has chosen to inhabit His unique dwelling place, the household of God, the Church (Ephesians 1:22-23; 1 Timothy 3:15).
This is not to say that there is no good at all in one's non-Christian neighbor or in human society--for the Church has never believed that the image of God has been utterly destroyed in mankind--but it is to say that fragmented revelations of the divine image do not constitute the whole. Just because some religious teaching may participate in an incomplete way with the truth of which the Church is pillar and ground does not mean that such a religion or its teaching is Christian. It simply means that on this or another point which converges with the Christian Faith, Christians can affirm this specific teaching, while also obligating themselves to the clarity of love that reiterates Christ's exclusive claims. But in affirming these fragmentary truths, we also affirm the fullness which the Church alone possesses.
None of these truths are comfortable, nor are they given to the making of social friendships. But that is the way of things in the life that is Christianity. That we find these truths uncomfortable ourselves, or find ourselves resistant to them, may only illustrate how far we are from the Christian philosophia. Please God that all of us may be more and more conformed to the life of Christ in His Church.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
I had intended for this to be my final post (at least for some time) on Christianity and philosophia. But my own recent experiences and a request from a fellow parishioner have prodded me to focus my attention on Christian philosophia and the Sacrament, or Mystery, of Marriage and concomitant fatherhood. So my concluding thoughts will have to come next time.
It should go without saying that if one wants to know deeper and more worthwhile thoughts than mine on Christian fatherhood, one should talk to the sort of Christian man who has seen daughters enter the convent or become khourias, matushkas and presbyteras and has seen sons become priests and monastics, who has seen his grandchildren baptized, and whose wife embodies Proverbs 31. That is the sort of man St. Paul envisions in 1 Timothy 3:4 and Ephesians 5:21-6:9.
Further, one must also be adamant about that fact that marriage and fatherhood are subsumed within the Christian philosophia, within the Christian way of life, and are not ends to themselves, or separate ways of life. One should be cautious about using such terms as “balancing” marriage or parenthood and a career since this gives rise to the sort of compartmentalizing thought that fragments life and fractures that which should be whole. One does not add marriage and fatherhood to one's life as though to one's resume. Rather, marriage and fatherhood, if they are to be full, complete and joyful, must be grounded in and arise from within the Christian philosophia. For only the philosophia that is Christianity can give them life and meaning.
We see this precisely in the haustafel passage in Ephesians 5:21-6:9. It must not be forgotten that Ephesians 5 follows Ephesians 4, and that Ephesians 4 itself comes from Ephesians 1-3. For if
In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace which He made to abound toward us in all wisdom and insight, having made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His good pleasure which He purposed in Himself, for an administration of the fullness of the times, He might bring together all things in Christ, those in heaven and those on the earth--In Him. (Ephesians 1:7-10)
and if
He subjected all things under His feet, and gave Him to be head over all things to the church, which is His body, the fullness of Him filling all things in all. (Ephesians 1:22-23)
and if
you are no longer strangers and aliens, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, being built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone, in whom the whole building, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord, in whom you also are being built together for a habitation of God in the Spirit. (Ephesians 2:19-22)
and if
There is one body and one Spirit, just as also you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all, and through all, and in us all. (Ephesians 4:4-6)
then when St. Paul writes about the Christian household in Ephesians 5:21-6:9, it is clear that such a household comes out of the reality of the Church, the household of God, founded in and on Christ.
This means, of course, that marriage and fatherhood will be grounded in the same logoi, or principles, the same dialogos, or discourse, and the same askeses, or soulish exercises, that form the philosophia that is Christianity. Just as the Holy Eucharist is the central Sacrament of the Church's life, so, too, is the Holy Eucharist the central Sacrament of marriage and fatherhood. Just as Christian discourse is grounded in the Creed, so, too are marriage and fatherhood grounded. Just as fasting, prayer and almsgiving are the “ good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10), so, too, do these mark out the formation of Christians husbands for their wives (and wives for their husbands) and of Christian fathers for their children.
For the Christian husband, the procreation and nurture of children is both the natural and concomitant obligation and responsibility that accompanies this one-fleshed covenant. That children are no longer thought of as an obvious and integral part of marriage in our society is surely a strong indication of its fallenness into the demonic hatred of life. This does not negate the legitimate, though rare, vocation of a couple toward married celibacy, nor does it entail a condemnation and judgment on those couples who are infertile. The one is a calling that must be confirmed by the Church and has produced not a few saints, the other is pathway that must be ministered to by the Church and has likewise produced not a few saints. But both of these are exceptions that prove the rule. Children are the natural procreative end of the union of man and wife, and the embodiment of the conjugal fidelity, trust, love and joy which knit the two lives together.
That is to say, for the Christian husband, marriage is not about individual satisfaction and fulfillment, but about giving himself up for wife and children, as did Christ for the Church, in an act of love that accomplishes the presentation of his family before God in holiness (Ephesians 5:25-33). That is to say, a Christian husband and father sees his marital and paternal duties to be not the mere physical provision necessary to his home (though this is not discounted in any way), but rather that even the procurement of physical provision is focused on and in the life of repentance and sanctification Christ makes real for his Church. This may very well mean that the Christian husband and father sets aside the career he once envisioned for himself, or his various pursuits and desires, as a hindrance and obstacle to the salvation of his wife and children. In a very real sense, the headship of the Christian husband and father embodies for his family--and the watching world--St. Paul's words to the Corinthians: “But I want you to understand that the head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is God” (1 Corinthians 11:3). If for Christ to do the will of his Father and to accomplish his work was his food (John 4:34), then the Christian husband and father will not find life and peace anywhere else.
Perhaps the one distinctive feature of marriage and of Christian fatherhood, especially as these reflect the way of life, the philosophia of the Church, is the understanding that our Lord's is a Kingdom “not of this world” (John 18:36). This means that the concerns of a Christian husband and father, reflective as they are of the Christian philosophia, are oriented not toward this-worldly satisfaction and success, but toward the Kingdom that has already broken into this world and is our inheritance and home. For the Christian husband and father, this may well mean crucifying his own deep and natural longings for grandchildren and a paternal legacy to foster and encourage a monastic vocation in his children. It will certainly mean the most difficult task of inculcating in his children a holy distaste for the ungodly aspects of our culture, particularly its deadly self-absorption, gluttonous consumption and unbridled lust. It will mean that from the wedding and from conception onward, he will have to build into his marriage and his children an identification with the Church and her Lord that is as deep and as natural as breathing. All this of course is predicated on the fact that the Christian husband and father is himself living a life of repentance characterized by this Kingdom orientation.
In other words, Christian marriage and Christian fatherhood are themselves particular embodiments of a distinctive way of life that both silently condemns the surrounding culture and embodies for it the good news of life in Christ, the way of life that sets of Christianity from all other philosophiai.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
To reiterate from my previous post: Christianity as a philosophia has three important components: a fundamental principle (or principles), or logos(-oi); in which is rooted a distinct discourse and discursive method, or a way of speaking and thinking; around which are built specific "soulish exercises," or askeses, which serve to inculcate the fundamental principle(s) and to further the communal discourse. Apologia, or defense, is certainly part of a way of life, but is not necessarily a dominant feature of such discourse, and in any case is meant as a defense more than as a proselytizing method. Proselytization of converts occurrs via the public nature of the way of life in which a particular philosophia is lived. Potential disciples "drop in" as it were on the dialogoi and instruction that goes on in philosophia (which philosophia is an embodiment of the three primary components noted above) and in an existential pre-theoretical choice, attracted by the beauty and goodness they perceive in that philosophia, enter the community as a disciple and take up that way of life, its principles and its particular disourse.
Modern Christianity, and modern society in general, has lost this conception of a particular philosophy (or religion, or, more broadly, worldview) as a way of life. Belief has been so separated from life-ways, that one can hold any number of beliefs, even systematically, which are in conflict with the way one lives ones life, and yet still be considered a faithful adherent of the belief system one espouses. Take, for example, the affluent Buddhism of various celebrites, or consumerist Christianity, or what have you. This may well be why a statistically large percentage of the American population thinks of themselves as Christian, but whose lives do not significantly resemble the way of life that has been Christianity through two millennia. It is certainly how it is that members of our society can, over a period of a lifetime, adhere to any number of differing belief systems without significantly altering the way they live.
Modern evangelization efforts tend to feed rather than correct this phenomenon, centered as they all too often are on a change of belief prior to a change of life. In methodology that reflects more a market consumerism than historic evangelization, modern attempts at witnessing focus on "relevance," and therapeutic solutions to life critical scenarios (all oriented toward the improvement of one's own life) that will inexplicably occur simply by changing one's belief system.
This is backward from the practice of ancient Christianity wherein converts were first inculcated in a way of life and then were catechised in the more systematic beliefs and doctrines that Christians held. Whereas today we seek salvation prior to conversion, ancient Christianity sought salvation through conversion. One did not register a "decision," later to be instructed in the faith. One first took on the way of life the Church lived as an inextricable part of the process of conversion. Ancient Christianity understood salvation not as a point in time but as a life-process extended through time and into eternity.
That is to say, if Christianity is primarily a way of life rather than a confession, then evangelization will be by way of that way of life. It will be incarnational, and centered around and in the community that is the Church. Indeed, no evangelization could take place apart from the Church. Potential converts will be "won" to the faith in and through the very means by which the life of the Church is expressed: the Liturgy; the devotion to the apostle's teaching; the Sacraments; communal fellowship from home to home, with each home an ecclesiola, or "little church"; prayers around the table and at the undertaking of various tasks, especially the utilization of the Jesus prayer and the tchotki; the care of the widows, the orphans, the poor; the commitment of each home to care for its extended members, especially the old and infirm; the emphasis on procreation and the celebration and protection of the new life; and on and on.
It is through the intersection and intertwining of non-Church members with the life of the Church of her members that the beauty and goodness of the Christian philosophia will open pathways for the listening and the reception of Christian discourse in the Scriptures and Liturgy, the sermons and catechetical instructions, the written texts of doctrine and the lives of the saints. Only in the context of a way of life will Chrisitan discourse make any sort of sense or in any way be warranted. Not even pragmatic arguments meant for the secularized public square can provide justification for Christianity's unique principles, or Logoi, and the revelation that proceeds from them.
Regrettably, modern Christianity resembles too much the various philosophiai which oppose it, and the explication of its doctrines are then at intuitive variance with the ways of life presented to found those teachings. The judgment of those outside the Church on us as hypocrites is only too well-matched. It is not for us to strengthen our discourse so much as it is for us to strengthen our way of life in the life of the Church.
Specifically this means, of course, daily repentance from being conformed to the mind of the society outside the Church and the daily offering of our bodies as our reasonable act of worship. That is to say, the incarnate embodiment of our faith. Pragmatically, this means inviting non-Christians into the circles of our way of life, to allow them to see this Faith embodied. On the strength of the beauty and goodness they see, like the disciples of antiquity, they will make the pre-theoretical existential choice to take on this way of life and be inculcated in its principles and discourses.
I will, in the next reflection, draw these posts to a close with some concluding thoughts.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
If Christianity is, indeed, a philosophia, then it will also have three important components: a distinct discourse and discursive method, or a way of speaking and thinking; this discourse will be rooted in a fundamental principle (or principles), or logos(-oi); around which are built specific "soulish exercises," or askeses, which serve to inculcate the fundamental principle(s) and to further the communal discourse. Though a defense of a particular philosophia in antiquity was part of that way of life, apologia was not necessarily a dominant feature of such discourse, and in any case was meant as a defense more than as a proselytizing method. Proselytization of converts occurred via the public nature of the way of life in which a particular philosophia was lived. Would-be disciples "dropped in" as it were on the dialogoi and instruction that went on in the Academy, the Lyceum, the Stoa and the Garden, that were embodiments of their respective philosophiai, and in an existential pre-theoretical choice, attracted by the beauty and goodness they perceived in that particular philosophia, entered the community as a disciple.
This was true as well, with regard to Christianity. The public display of the Christian philosophia was primarily centered on the way of life they shared: care of the poor, the orphans and the widows; mutual love exhibited in the concrete life shared among them, for example, the sharing of possessions and care for the sick; the devotion to the apostles' teaching and to the gathered worship (though not on public display was the portion of the Liturgy dealing with Holy Eucharist), and other visible demonstrations of Christian lived faith.
Christianity certainly has fundamental principles: the Holy Trinity, God the Father, the incarnate Logos, and the Holy Spirit. And the discourse rooted in these principles is also distinct: sin, repentance and judgment; grace, new creation and resurrection; and so forth. This discourse has its own forms: liturgy, preaching, confession, catechesis, etc.. And this way of life has its own askeses which further this way of life: fasting, prayer, almsgiving, confession of sin, the Sacraments, and others.
Modern society, too, has its own philosophiai, though these are far less formal than the schools of antiquity. Think for example of modern Western consumerist society. It has its organizing principle: the “free” market and capitalist economies; its discourse: Gross National Domestic Product, inflation, unemployment, income, sale, discount, and so forth; and its askeses: advertising, shopping venues, and entertainment. I claim that these are not formalized, but that is only to say, there is not an overall philosophia that is articulated (the “consumerist way of life” say) in a systematic way. But that is not to say that certain aspects of this informal philosophia are not formalized; advertising, for example, is extremely formalized, as is consumer spending patterns (induced by such gimmicks as semi-annual, holiday, and seasonal sales, and the behavior modification and manipulation that accompanies these contrived sales). There is a particular outlook and thinking, and public discourse if you will, that is shaped by these economic principles and their respective askeses such that one finds ones identity strongly associated with particular buying decisions (which also feed into other consumer driven mythologies and identifications such as buying organic foods and environmentally friendly products).
Concomitant with such consumerism is the cult of celebrity and its religious ascetical component of entertainment. Much of what drives consumerism is the notion of entertainment (think of the mutliform uses to which home computers are put, as well as the uses to which most technological advancement is put) and the manipulative power of celebrity, both in identification as well as in consumer endorsements.
One may very well identify other modern day philosophiai, though in the affluent West, one is hard pressed to find one more influential, if less formally conceptualized. But clearly this identification of consumerism as the West's primary philosophia clarifies and juxtaposes some extremely important implications.
One can very well note at least two important realizations: consumerism is both an anti-christ, preaching a demonic and rival philosphia to that of Christianity, and consumerism is an extremely powerful and potent philosophia which is both its own way of life and parasitic upon others. Not even Christianity is immune from its influence.
Consumerism is anti-christ and demonic precisely because it opposes nearly every major principle of Christianity. It is thoroughly monistic in its materialism; there is no other reality than economic production. It replaces love of God and neighbor with quantitative manipulation of human beings and utter servitude to self-interested profitability. And instead of self-denying sacrifice for the good of one's neighbor is substituted passive acceptance of any and all forms of self-gratification. (I should note that in speaking of consumerism and identifying one of its principles as capitalism, I am not saying that Marxist, or other forms of, socialism aren't as equally anti-christian and demonic. These, though of a different form, are consumerisms just as insidious as the Western capitalist variety.)
Clearly, consumerism is its own way of life as can be objectively observed pervasively throughout Western society. But it is parasitic as well: it will infect its host and drain away its life, assimilating the lifeless shell into itself. One need look no further than the cult of celebrity and marketing that is rife in modern Western Christianity. All that is left of these hollowed out husks of what may once have been Christian is a thin veneer covering over a way of life that is exactly identical to godless consumerism.
One must be clear here: consumerism is not the same things as consumption. The difference is that between consumption as a way of life, and consumption subsumed within a way of life. All humans consume, and necessarily so. Not all consumption must be strictly utilitarian, either; for utilitarianism is its own philosphia. The wasteful plenitude of beauty crafted into life and the universe is testimony enough for the proper place of non-utilitarian consumption, such as that of celebration.
But the philosophia that is Christianity is at diametrical odds with the philosophia of pervasive consumerism. This is easily told by simply comparing the opposing ways of life. A consumerist will not fast, unless such a fast is for self-gratification such as weight loss. A consumerist will not pray, unless such prayer is simply the self-hypnotic mantra utilized to acquire those things one wants. A consumerist will not give alms, unless such giving will decrease the amount of taxes owed or the amount of tax refunded. Worship for a consumer is entirely subjective and focused on the gratification of the self. Christian worship is utterly objective and focused on the Holy Trinity. A consumerist seeks for security in this life, and measures such in terms of portfolios, insurance policies and possessions. A Christian places all his trust in the Holy Trinity he has never seen, nor will see apart from holiness. These comparisons do not presume to assert that there are no subjective benefits that sometimes come from fasting, prayer and almsgiving, nor that the subjective gratification that one often receives from true worship is somehow to be deplored, nor that a Christian cannot make godly use of his finances, insurance policies and possessions. But he knows that all these benefits are undeserved and not to be sought in themselves and that all wealth and possessions are matters of stewardship and are as transitory as the morning fog. To be sure, the Christian way of life is attacked on all sides by consumerism's structures and disciples and its pernicious capacity as a parasite, and Christians do well to handle such consumerist tools and products with a great deal of wisdom and perspicacity. And this can only be done if a Christian is thoroughly formed in and supported by the Christian philosophia.
This formation and support can only come from the Christian philosophia that is still lived in the community directly descended from the apostles. Only that philosophia that has been handed down by one living generation to the next and that can be organically traced to Christ through his apostles is the Christian philosophia, and therefore only that one which can make real both the living of the Christian faith and the combating of the philosophiai, especially that of consumerism in the West, that would suck the life out of the individual Christian and his community, leaving only an empty shell, a thin veneer that is Christian in name only.
I have spent the entirety of this post dealing with the opposition between the Christian philosophia and the philosophia of consumerism. In my next reflection on this series I will think about what it means to proselytize (or in Christian terminology, to evangelize) within the rubrics of a philosophia.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
Contemporary Christians concerned about authentic Christianity usually see philosophy and Christianity as incompatible. They usually cite the following as their authority:
Βλέπετε μή τις ὑμᾶς ἔσται ὁ συλαγωγῶν διὰ τῆς φιλοσοφίας καὶ κενῆς ἀπάτης, κατὰ τὴν παράδοσιν τῶν ἀνθρώπων, κατὰ τὰ στοιχεῖα τοῦ κόσμου καὶ οὐ κατὰ Χριστόν· ὅτι ἐν αὐτῷ κατοικεῖ πᾶν τὸ πλήρωμα τῆς θεότητος σωματικῶς, καὶ ἐστὲ ἐν αὐτῷ πεπληρωμένοι, ὅς ἐστιν ἡ κεφαλὴ πάσης ἀρχῆς καὶ ἐξουσίας.Be wary lest there shall be anyone who leadeth you captive through philosophy and vain deceit, according to the tradition of men, according to the elements of the world, and not according to Christ. For in Him dwelleth all the fullness of the divinity bodily, and ye are made full in Him, Who is the head of all principality and authority. (Colossians 2:8-10; Orthodox New Testament)
It is true that some philosophy is, or rather that certain philosophiai are, indeed, incompatible with Christianty: those "according to the tradition of men" and "the elements of the world" and not "according to Christ." In other words, if Christianity itself is a philosophy, a philosophia, then philosophy per se is not hostile to Christianity, but certain philosophiai cannot be reconciled to the philosophia that is Christianity.
This is an important, though often overlooked, distinction. Philosophia is a quintessentially human activity: the attempt to search out that which is "really real," to speak meaningfully about it, and to live a life that conforms to that reality. We are exhorted by Solomon: "ראשׁית חכמה קנה חכמה ובכל־קנינך קנה בינה׃ Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding" (Proverbs 4:7). Clearly, if that which is really real for the Christian is none other than the Holy Trinity, then all our attempts to search out this reality, to speak meaningfully of Him, and to live our life in conformity to Him is the most sacred of philosophia. Each Christian is a philosophos or philosophe, a "friend of Wisdom." Of course, the caveat is that no human can seek out the things of God apart from His divine revelation of Himself to us, and most especially His true being, so far as we can but barely speak in ways that approximate the truth, as Holy Trinity.
But there are rival philosphiai that compete for the allegiances of all persons. And in this sense, then, St. Paul warns us to beware those who "[know] not God through [their] wisdom" (1 Corinthians 1:21) and have "a form of piety, but [deny] the power of it" and are "always learning and never able to come to a full knowledge of the truth" (2 Timothy 3:5,7). Plato himself has said, "τὸν μὲν οὖν ποιητὴν καὶ πατέρα τοῦδε τοῦ παντὸς εὑρεῖν τε ἔργον καὶ εὑρόντα εἰς πάντας ἀδύνατον λέγειν Now to discover the Creator and Father of all is indeed a hard task, and having discovered him, to declare him to all men is quite impossible" (Timaeus 28c). So only that philosophy is sure with regard to the knowledge of God that comes from divine revelation and not simply human reason.
Indeed, this is offensive to those who wish to speak of God apart from His revelation of Himself. For
ποῦ σοφός; ποῦ γραμματεύς; ποῦ συζητητὴς τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου; οὐχὶ ἐμώρανεν ὁ Θεὸς τὴν σοφίαν τοῦ κόσμου τούτου; ἐπειδὴ γὰρ ἐν τῇ σοφίᾳ τοῦ Θεοῦ οὐκ ἔγνω ὁ κόσμος διὰ τῆς σοφίας τὸν Θεόν, εὐδόκησεν ὁ Θεὸς διὰ τῆς μωρίας τοῦ κηρύγματος σῶσαι τοὺς πιστεύοντας.Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer of this age? Did not God make foolish the wisdom of this world? For since in the wisdom of God, the world knew not God through its wisdom, it pleased God through the foolishness of the preaching to save those who believe. (1 Corinthians 1:20-21)
The wisest of the wise cannot know God precisely because God is not known outside His divine self-revelation, but further because "without [sanctification] no one will see the Lord" (Hebrews 12:14). This is why St. Paul, in another context, sets up the struggle not just as a battle of mere ideas, but one that results in opposite ways of living, between that of obedience to God and disobedience.
Εν σαρκὶ γὰρ περιπατοῦντες οὐ κατὰ σάρκα στρατευόμεθα· τὰ γὰρ ὅπλα τῆς στρατείας ἡμῶν οὐ σαρκικὰ, ἀλλὰ δυνατὰ τῷ Θεῷ πρὸς καθαίρεσιν ὀχυρωμάτων· λογισμοὺς καθαιροῦντες καὶ πᾶν ὕψωμα ἐπαιρόμενον κατὰ τῆς γνώσεως τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ αἰχμαλωτίζοντες πᾶν νόημα εἰς τὴν ὑπακοὴν τοῦ Χριστοῦ, καὶ ἐν ἑτοίμῳ ἔχοντες ἐκδικῆσαι πᾶσαν παρακοήν, ὅταν πληρωθῇ ὑμῶν ἡ ὑπακοή.For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds, overthrowing reasonings and every high thing which lifteth itself up against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ, and holding fast in a readiness to avenge all disobedience, whenever your obedience should be fulfilled. (2 Corinthians 10:3-6)
This is why, in part, St. Paul warns of being taken captive by philosophy: it is not merely that Christians do well to avoid heretical and false understandings, but that attendent on these false notions are ways of living incompatible with the Christian Faith. In the case of the Colossians above, those inimical ways of life involved:
Μὴ οὖν τις ὑμᾶς κρινέτω ἐν βρώσει ἢ ἐν πόσει ἢ ἐν μέρει ἑορτῆς ἢ νεομηνίας ἢ σαββάτων, ἅ ἐστι σκιὰ τῶν μελλόντων, τὸ δὲ σῶμα τοῦ Χριστοῦ. μηδεὶς ὑμᾶς καταβραβευέτω θέλων ἐν ταπεινοφροσύνῃ καὶ θρησκείᾳ τῶν ἀγγέλων, ἃ μὴ ἑόρακεν ἐμβατεύων, εἰκῇ φυσιούμενος ὑπὸ τοῦ νοὸς τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ, καὶ οὐ κρατῶν τὴν κεφαλήν, ἐξ οὗ πᾶν τὸ σῶμα διὰ τῶν ἁφῶν καὶ συνδέσμων ἐπιχορηγούμενον καὶ συμβιβαζόμενον αὔξει τὴν αὔξησιν τοῦ Θεοῦ. Εἰ οὖν ἀπεθάνετε σὺν τῷ Χριστῷ ἀπὸ τῶν στοιχείων τοῦ κόσμου, τί ὡς ζῶντες ἐν κόσμῳ δογματίζεσθε, μὴ ἅψῃ μηδὲ γεύσῃ μηδὲ θίγῃς, ἅ ἐστι πάντα εἰς φθορὰν τῇ ἀποχρήσει, κατὰ τὰ ἐντάλματα καὶ διδασκαλίας τῶν ἀνθρώπων; ἅτινά ἐστι λόγον μὲν ἔχοντα σοφίας ἐν ἐθελοθρησκίᾳ καὶ ταπεινοφροσύνῃ καὶ ἀφειδίᾳ σώματος, οὐκ ἐν τιμῇ τινι πρὸς πλησμονὴν τῆς σαρκός.Let no one therefore judge you in food, or in drink, or in part of a feast, or a new moon, or sabbath days, which are a shadow of things to come, but the body is of Christ. Let no one deprive you of the prize, delighting in humility of mind and religious worship of the angels, intruding into things which he hath not seen, in vain being puffed up by the mind of his flesh, and not holding the head, from Whom all the body, by the joins and ligaments being supplied and knit together, increaseth with the increase of God. If then ye died with the Christ from the elements of the world, why, as if living in the world, do ye subject yourselves to regulations--"Do not touch, neither taste, nor handle," which things are all for corruption in the using--according to the injunctions and teachings of men, which things indeed are having a reputation of wisdom and self-devised worship, and humility of mind, and unsparing treatment of the body, not showing any honor for gratification of the flesh? (Colossians 2:16-23)
Note here: These rival philosophies were not obvious demonic practices. No, they masqueraded as light. After all, isn't humility a quintessential Christian character trait? Isn't self-denial (fasting and asceticism) also thoroughly Christian? Aren't there festivals and sabbaths the Christians do well to observe (or, conversely, refrain from observing)?
But the point is that these things were rooted not in Christian discourse or living, but in ways of life and specific discourses that were inherently opposed to Christianity.
And this is precisely the point of Christianity's offense to the world: It calls its wisdom foolish, its holiness corruption and its religion false. Christianity's claims is that only the Church has the true philosophia. The understandings of St. Justin the Philosopher and St. Clement are still valid: Hellenic philosophiai were and are precursors to the Gospel. But, and here is the point both St. Justin and St. Clement strongly affirmed, these philosophiai are not THE philosophia of Christ. Each needs fulfillment in the Wisdom who is Jesus. This does not sit well with the secularist who places all his trust in human wisdom, nor with the consumerist materialist who gives thought only to the god of the belly, nor with Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, or neopagans who all claim their own paths to God.
But offensive or no, it is Christianity's claim, her unequivocal claim to exclusive participation in the divinely revealed God.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
It has been my intent, in this series of reflections, to do two things: to draw a sharp distinction between how philosophy is understood in our (presumably late) modern context and how it was understood in antiquity, and to demonstrate the strong similarities between the ancient understanding of philosophy (as philosophia) and of Christianity's own understanding of itself as a philosophia, indeed as the true philosophia. In turn, I want to draw a sharp distinction between how Christianity is currently understood in our present-day context and how Christianity understood itself in antiquity.
Present-day Christianity is rife with grammatique, with grammarians rather than philosophers. I mean by this, a perspective that focuses on analysis, definition, and dogma rather then humility, obedience and repentance. Grammatique, as I am using this term here, should be seen as the technique of the grammarian, the hermeneutical orientation, the intellectualization of belief.
Grammatike is, in many ways, safer than philosophia. Socrates was not sentenced to die, after all, for grammar or inflammatory speeches, but for inculcating a way of life, an examined life, that was a threat to the conventional mode of living of the Athens of his day. The Apostles were persecuted for sake of the Word, not for words. The seven martyred brothers whom we celebrate today (the soldiers Orentius, Pharnacius, Eros, Firmus, Firminus, Cyriacus and Longinus) were martyred not for an intepretation of Scripture, but for failing to adhere to the way of life of the Roman military: sacrificing to the gods after a victory.
Once the perspective shifts from philosophia to grammatike, however, definition becomes paramount, hermeneutics and discourse are separated from virtue and struggle. Once this divorce happens, what it means to be Christian will inevitably shift from performance to concept, from the ecclesiola, the "little Church" in the home, to the academy and those with the skills to argue and define in plausibility. With this shift, what it means to be Christian amounts to what one defines Christianity to be, and apostolicity is rendered in rhetoric.
This is little more than gnosticism. A select cadre of hermeneuticians and lawyers are allowed to render the measurements for what Christianity is by virtue of its plausible content. Another group makes their arguments, and the jury of onlookers each decide whom they think is right. The intellect is tickled and reason satisfied, but there's little or no justification for why any of this makes any real difference.
But the Christianity that is philosophia, while it must give attention to words and interpretation, gives primary attention to the ways of living that have been passed down from grandparents to parents to children. The Councils of the ancient Church did not convene so as to define the doctrines that must be believed, but met because the way of life Christ had handed to the apostles--and the apostles to the rest of the Church--was being threatened by grammarians who were at work changing words and arguing definitions, the consequences of which grammatique would fundamentally alter the Christian way of life. Arius was not a threat merely because he interpreted Scripture differently from the Church, but because the consequences of his belief would change the prayers which sustained the Church in daily life and would radically gut the bowels of common liturgy.
Dogma and belief do not change, but not because the faithful retain, like automatons, a mere conformity to the exact words. After all, in the historic Church the Faith and its worship were translated into a multitude of languages and cultures. Rather, dogma and belief remain unchanged because they are guarded and preserved in a particular way of living that does not change in its substance. Dogma is "defined" for the sake of the life of the Faith, to the end of guarding the hidden treasure and keeping the great-priced pearl.
It is because Christianity is a way of life that its unity can be manifested. If one bases unity on mere words, then unity is subject to rhetoric, and can only be preserved in political power. To be sure, unity grounded in a way of life will be manifested in institutions and authority and hierarchy (even if such authority and hierarchy arise from mutual submission), but such things serve unity, rather than unity the institution.
Christian groups today remain fractured in large part because they have failed to maintain the historic way of life that marks out authentic Christianity. They have allowed their faith to become grammatical. This grammatique has its own way of life, of course, and that way of life is at odds with that of the ancient Church. Modern Christianity is awash with names--the origin of denominations--which seek to lay claim to the Faith of the Apostles. But one cannot lay claim to that which one does not have. That is to say, anyone can define terms and argue that one's beliefs fit those terms, and that therefore one is "apostolic." But if one wishes to claim a particular way of life, one must receive it from those who can give it. A way of life is not cobbled together from spare parts. Christianity is not bricolage. A way of life is an organic whole, each part serving the rest, the sum greater than its parts. To make it up anew is to create something alien, a knock-off of the real thing. There is no "reformation" or "restoration" of ancient Christianity, as though one can determine an original blueprint and tear out a wall here and install a new wing there. There is no tinkering with the Faith. There is only the receiving of it.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
I have been drawing strong identifications and similarities between the understandings of the philosophiai of the six ancient schools and that of the Christian philosophia. However, a caution is in order. Christianity is a philosophia in many of the same ways as the ancient schools. But it is also radically different. In this reflection I will highlight some of those differences and what that means to Christianity as a philosophia.
One of the clearest differences can be seen in St. Clement of Alexandria's Stromateis (or, Miscellanies):
He then, who of himself believes the Scripture and the voice of the Lord, which by the Lord acts to the benefiting of men, is rightly [regarded] faithful. Certainly we use it as a criterion in the discovery of things. What is subject to criticism cannot be a first principle. Therefore, as is reasonable, grasping by faith the indemonstrable first principle, and receiving in abundance, from the first principle itself, demonstration in reference to the first principle, we are by the voice of the Lord trained up to the knowledge of the truth. (Stromateis Bk 7 Ch 16)
St. Clement's "indemonstrable first principle" is a clear echo of Aristotle in the Posterior Analytics:
It follows that there can be no scientific knowledge of the first principles. (Posterior Analytics II.19 100b11)
That is to say, first principles are those things which we cannot demonstrate by argument, but are, indeed, those things that make argument possible. For example, how would one prove by demonstration the contention that knowledge is even possible? To prove the principle logically begs the question, for one already assumes that knowledge is possible in the very act of demonstration.
As the saint notes, one of the first principles of Christianity is that God has specifically revealed himself, first in the covenant with the Jews, which was fulfilled and completed in the Person and work of Christ. Part of this revelation involves the written Scriptures which also testify to the work that God has done among the Jews and the Church. So while one might argue that Scripture and the witness and life of the Church are, in fact, the revelation of God to all mankind, that God reveals himself to mankind cannot be proven: it is a first principle that is assumed, or taken on faith, and from which other demonstrations follow (i. e., that Scripture is part of God's revelation, for example).
It is precisely on the terms of first principles that Christianity differs from the other philosophical schools. For example, Christianity affirms that the cosmos is the special creation ex nihilo of the Holy Trinity. Epicureanism, by way of contrast, affirms that the cosmos is not created, it merely is, and that all reality is a natural monism (i. e., everything is composed of indivisible physical entities called atoms).
Furthermore, the tenor of the way of life consonant with these first principles will also fundamentally differ. I assert this in contention with Pierre Hadot in his Philosophy as a Way of Life where he affirms that the similarity of practices between the ancient philosophiai affirm a common end, namely an attentiveness to the present and the transformation of the soul. But while some might see enough similarity between Epicurean and Stoic ataraxia (or quietude of soul) but such similarity is superficial at best. For Epicurean ataraxia is one of a relaxation of tension, where as Stoic ataraxia is one of an active conformity to reality in the present moment, which is not relaxation but tensive praxis. Similarly, between the Platonic contemplation of the ideas and the Christian theosis is a great gulf of difference, even if both resort to memorization of sacred texts in the practice of conform mind, heart and act.
In other words, first principles give a radically different content to their end toward which a person's soul is oriented for transfiguration. St. Clement ties knowledge based on first principles to the forming of good men.
[F]irst, speculation; second the performance of the precepts; third, the forming of good men;--which, concurring, form the Gnostic. Whichever of these is wanting, the elements of knowledge limp. (Stromateis Bk 2 Ch 10)
Again, St. Clement links the comprehension of the "really real" with what he calls "good habits of conduct."
[P]hilosophy is an effort to grasp that which truly is, and the studies that conduce thereto. And it is not the rendering of one accomplishd in good habits of conduct, but the knowing how we are to use and act and labour, according as one is assimilated to God. (Stromateis Bk 2 Ch 9)
That is to say, those fundamental beliefs that organize the knowledge our mind gains through both sensory impressions as well as the noetic impressions communicated by Christ the Paedegogue through the master (the Gnostic, i. e., the mature Christian) to the student. Those beliefs, then, structure knowledge, which in turn is embodied in act. Thus despite the surface similarities of soulish exercises that Christians might share with others (Stoic self-analysis--a la Marcus Aurelius' Meditations--or observance of the hours of prayer with Jews and Muslims), the content of those exercise radically conform to the first principles and thus are fundamentally different from one another.
Christianity claimed to be true in a way that other philosophiai did not: on the basis of the direct revelation of God. This is not a principle that can be argued. It is either accept or not. But similarly neither could Epicureans argue for the truth of their first principle of naturalistic monism. Such a principle must also be accepted on faith.
The demonstration of the truth or falsity of these various ways of life, then, was predicated on something other than an objective demonstration of first principles. Rather the truth or falsity of a philosophia was argued existentially; that is to say, it is not only rationally coherent, but more to the point, it results in a tangible transformation of soul that fulfills the promise of the way of life it announces. Or, it was both rationally and pragmatically coherent, embodying a wholeness of thought and life that resulted in an active condition of soul (a hexis) empirically testifying to the transformation the particular way of life enacted on the soul.
In light of these things, then, according to ancient Christianity, what was important about the philosophia that is the Faith of the Church, was not primarily its capacity for rational explication and defense. Rather the fundamental quality of Christian philosophia was its fulfillment of the promise of generation the new man. The proof of the veracity of the faith was not its apologetic in rational terms, but its existential witness to the transforming grace which energizes its adherents.
This is radically important and something we ought not miss in our own day. Ours is not to prove Christianity true by way of rational argument. Ours is to witness to the truth of Christianity via the theosis Christ accomplishes in us by the Holy Spirit. Rational defenses of the faith, the commending of the faith as intellectual coherent and noetic generative, are not unimportant. But theirs is an importance that is secondary. We do not read, in the historical martyrologies of the Church, of conversions from the reading of St. Justin the Philosophers Apologies. We do, however, read time and time again, of accounts of non-Christians converted on the spot of the martyrdoms of the saints, more often than not being baptized in blood before they could be baptized in water. We know that the Stoic way of life accepted suicide by one's own hand if the conformity to the fundamental reality of the cosmos was too much for a Stoic adherent to bear. Not believing in the after life or in the care of the gods for the cosmos or their efficacy or justice in aiding mankind, a Stoic could without guilt commit suicide in the face of irresoluble despair. Not so, Christianity. Christianity presumed a cosmic struggle in which the Christian was engaged, and the imperative to wrestle against the spiritual forces at work in darkness was pervasive. Thus Christians endured in the face of torture and unutterable suffering, with joy and hymns in radical difference to Stoic resignation and suicide.
A philosophia proves its truth in its way of life. This is as true of Christianity as it is of any other philosophia. And Christianity further commends itself as only true, and all others false, precisely on its matyric form of witness.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
Philosophy is normally the English word that translates the Greek philosophia, which itself means "love of wisdom," or, better in this context, "friendship with wisdom." I have avoided using "philosophy" in this series of reflections, using instead the (transliterated) Greek equivalent, philosophia so as to also avoid the academic and professionalized connotations that latch on to "philosophy." For present day understandings of philosophy are generally those exhibited by first year undergraduates on the completion of their intro course: a bunch of opposing arguments on a whole lot of topics resulting in no definitive answer to questions that are largely irrelevant to my daily life.
But philosophia in the ancient world was something else altogether. There were, of course, competing arguments between and among the various schools on various topics. But all the schools shared at least the choice of a way of life centered around the pursuit of wisdom for the purpose of the transformation of the soul. Platonists might posit reality as the realm of ideas, while Epicureans might hold a naturalistic monism, but both held that one's beliefs and actions should be conformed to these realities. Aristotelians might posit a life of virtue in pursuit of the ultimate end of eudaimonia, while Stoics might adhere to a vision of life in which the pursuit of quietude of soul, ataraxia, was gained by a ruthless search for conformity of the self to reality without illusions, but both sought a transformation of the soul. Though the Stoic conception of the Logos differed from the Platonic idea of the Good, they shared the conviction that there was an ordered principle pervasive through the cosmos. To be sure, there were convictions and arguments that put one at odds with one's own school. One could not hold to atomistic monism and claim to be a faithful Aristotelian, nor could one be convinced of and argue for Platonic ideas and be a Pyrrhonian skeptic. Some beliefs and practices put one at odds with one's school and called into question one's commitments. Even so, the various schools had their commitments attendant upon the choice to become a disciple of a particular school.
Broadly speaking, then, the ancient philosophiai shared these basic components: A pre-reflective choice for a particular way of life embodied in a particular school; a community engaged in that particular way of life which formed the fundamental institution of that philosophia; an orientation to a singular principle which ordered the cosmos (a Logos-orientation); the practice of dialogue, a body of shared doctrines, and, usually, a set of more or less standard texts that played a role supplementary to the practice of dialogue and the body of shared doctrine; and the search for the transformation of the soul through the practice of "soulish exercises" that furthered the communal structures and practices.
A potential Aristotelian disciple, for example, would happen by chance one day to go by the Lyceum and overhear a lecture or dialogue open to the public. There he would find a community of juniors and seniors (or disciples and masters) engaged in conversation over some matter of consideration--say the nature of pleasure. One might argue Speusippus' viewpoint, another Empedocles', but the community might settle on a position that rejects them both. These conversations would be based on, or perhaps captured in, a set of lecture notes written by Aristotle or another one of the community. But these texts, though later held in importance, were not the singular authority in the school, but shared in the authority of the community's own gathered deliberations.
The would-be disciple might first find himself somewhat lost among all the arguments, questions and counter-arguments, but would be attracted by the way of life exhibited by the community and reflected in their gathered search for wisdom. He would quickly see that the community was oriented around one particular principle of reality, and together engaged in communal and personal practices that both reinforced and furthered the first principles upon which community life was based and which also resulted in the personal transformation of the soul. These considerations would not at first be systematically ordered in the potential disciple's mind such that he objectively considered all these things and measured them against rival schools. Rather, he would find himself attracted to the way of life presented to him, choose to enter that way of life, and subsequent to that choice reflective order these considerations in his own mind. It was only from the place of conviction, not the nowhere of unaligned objectivity, that he would be able later to evaluate competing schools, but, even more importantly, would be able to engage reality in such a way so as to transform his soul. That is to say, the ancient philosopher knew that reality could not be engaged apart from pre-reflective convictions.
The way this maps on to Christianity ought be obvious.
In early Christianity, the potential disciple would be attracted to the community and its way of life first, and only later instructed in its doctrines. The commitment would be, for the most part, a pre-reflective existential choice predicated on the would-be disciple's unique experience. After some time spent in living with the Church and taking on specific practices of her way of living, the disciple would enter the catechumenate (or would, as part of the catechumenate, take on specific practices) where he would be more formally instructed in the doctrines of the Faith. And only after initiation, full commitment to Christ in baptism, would the disciplina arcana of Holy Baptism and Holy Eucharist be further explained. As can be seen from the catechetical lectures of St. Cyril of Jerusalem (delivered c. A.D. 347).
The Christian disciple would find in the community to which he'd attached himself, the communal practices of corporate worship in the Eucharist and the daily office, the having of all things in common, the devotion to the apostles' teachings, and the sharing of common life and faith from house to house. He would also be inculcated in the "soulish exercises" that would begin bringing about his transformation of soul: fasting, prayer, almsgiving, the hearing and memorizing of Scripture and hymns, the battle against the passions. He would find the community reflecting together on the Scripture (both the Greek Old Testament and the Apostolic Books), led by the bishop, and would conform to the authority manifested in the Church and the Holy Writings. All these components of the Christian way of life would be personally transmitted in the lives of the community from each living generation to the next, in unbroken communion. One did not need to consult mouldering papyrus scrolls to know what sort of life Christians lived, one simply joined the community.
It should be clear, too, that becoming a member of one of the philosophiai, whether pagan or Christian, entailed first a commitment and only later an understanding. One chose the philosophia before one understood it. One lived the life of a particular philosophia before one was taught it's doctrines. This is not to deny the very real work of the apologists or that Christians did not defend and explain their way of life to "seekers." But neither did they consider it necessary to fully explain the faith. In fact, it was more necessary to strictly guard the most important doctrines (Baptism, the Eucharist, the Trinity) from all but the fully initiated. Their faith was a way of life that was not an intellectual exercise, but something that must be lived. Indeed, only once the transformation of one's soul had begun in living the life of the community could one properly understand the doctrines of that community.
Christianity was about the faithful life as a transformation of the soul, not a course of conceptual objects to be mentally digested. Thus a child could live the way of Christian philosophia as well as the most gifted intellectual, and, indeed, perhaps could do so more effectively. And this is why heretics and schismatics were (and are) so inimical to the Faith; not that simply that they promoted a non-Christian gospel, but that they lived in such a way so as to undermine the particular way of life that is the Christian philosophia. The life that gives Life. Christian philosophia is absolutely exclusive: Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life; there is no other name under heaven, given to men, by which we may be saved. To promote a life other than the Christian way of living is to promote death, for no other way of life can give Life.
Arius might well argue that his interpretation best exegeted Scripture, but he could not point to the larger way of life of the Church to substantiate his claims. To be sure he cited authorities, as did all the heretics, but there was not the continuity of the Church's living to back it up. The Church could be swayed in opinions, and for some decades forms of Arianism were dominant in the majority of the Church, but such heresies were always ultimately judged by the way of life the Church kept. This, indeed, is the point of St. Athanasios' On the Incarnation, St. Basil's On the Holy Spirit and other Christian documents explicating the true way of life and faith over impostor heresies.
It is also precisely why the historic Church was, and is, suspicious of innovations. Make no mistake, the Divine Liturgy as it is now celebrated in its rich fullness was not in every detail that celebrated by Paul and the Church at Troas. The Tradition is not an ossified and desiccated relic, but a living and dynamic way of life, a way of life that adapts without substantive change to the various exigencies of history, geography and culture. But true innovations which depart from the way of life the Church has always lived will always ultimately be rejected, no matter the eloquence or elegance of the argument or its claim to biblical fidelity (a claim which only the Church can judge anyway). For ultimately it must always be consonant with the way the Church lives. And this is also why such adaptions are so incremental in the Church: everything must conform to the whole of her way of life.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
The transmission of a philosophia from one generation to the next was, of necessity, fundamentally personal. One did not need to study texts to gather the requisite knowledge on how to live one's philosophia, one just simply imitated one's teacher or master. The genuine transmission of the tradition of a philosophia was not accomplished by exegesis, but by dialogue and common life. Very few of the originators of various schools left any substantive writings. Socrates did not. We have nothing Zeno wrote initiating Stoicism. So, too, for Pyrrho of Ellis. If the tradition of a philosophia was the whole of a way of living, including beliefs and the understanding of sacred texts, then the transmission of that tradition could have only taken place personally in an unbroken, and thus living, chain of relation.
The ancient Hellenic philosophiai understood this, and this is why Plato's Academy, as a primary example, was in existence for more than a millennium (from 387 B.C. until A.D. 529 when Justinian closed down the schools). The leadership of the Academy--aside from practical matters such as organization and funding--was passed down personally (though voted on, it seems, by the members of the Academy): from Plato to his nephew Speusipus (which some speculate was the reason for Aristotle opening his own school in the Lyceum) to Xenocrates and so forth. Indeed, even though the beliefs and doctrines of the Academy changed over that millennium (thus reflected into the various “eras” of the Academy: Old, Middle and New), the continuity from Plato to A.D. 529 was maintained via the personal way of life passed down from one generation of Socrates' disciples to the next. In fact, Plato's followers, such as Aristotle, and others, have made references to Plato's teachings such that there seems to have been not only Plato's published works but certain so-called “unwritten doctrines” that one would know only from personal contact with Plato and his school. This is bolstered by the reference in the Seventh Letter (341c), which is generally thought to have been penned by Plato himself, though not all scholars agree on this, where he states,
There is no writing of mine about these matters [which Plato taught Dion], nor will there ever be one. For this knowledge is not something that can be put into words like other sciences; but after long-continued intercourse between teacher and pupil, in joint pursuit of the subject, suddenly, like light flashing forth when a fire is kindled, it is born in the soul and straightway nourishes itself. [tr. by Glenn R. Morrow, in Plato: Complete Works, ed. by John M. Cooper, (Hackett: 1997)]
Admittedly, the notion of Plato's unwritten doctrines is viewed askance by modern scholarship, in part because it seems "unwritten doctrines" is a phrase pregnant enough to generate dozens of theories. But that this was a fairly broad belief in the ancient world is likewise true. Still, even if various theories regarding Plato's unwritten doctrines founder, the notion of personal transmission of a philosophia remains. In other words, the philosophia Plato had received from his teacher, Socrates, could not be passed on merely in texts. It could only be done so personally, in the teacher-student relationship. Not that there weren't texts. There most definitely were. But even Plato's texts are dialogues, not treatises, in which the various characters personally spur one another toward wisdom and embody this as a way of life.
This means of personal transmission of the ways of life of the various philosophiai was also true of Christianity. Take for example the several exhortations of the Apostle Paul. We have his farewell to the Ephesian elders:
From Miletus he sent to Ephesus and called for the elders of the church. And when they had come to him, he said to them: "You know, from the first day that I came to Asia, in what manner I always lived among you, serving the Lord with all humility, with many tears and trials which happened to me by the plotting of the Jews; how I kept back nothing that was helpful, but proclaimed it to you, and taught you publicly and from house to house, testifying to Jews, and also to Greeks, repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. (Acts 20:17-21 NKJV)
He exhorts the Corinthians in two places to imitate him.
I do not write these things to shame you, but as my beloved children I warn you. For though you might have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet you do not have many fathers; for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel. Therefore I urge you, imitate me. For this reason I have sent Timothy to you, who is my beloved and faithful son in the Lord, who will remind you of my ways in Christ, as I teach everywhere in every church. (1 Corinthians 4:14-17)
Imitate me, just as I also imitate Christ. (1 Corinthians 11:1)
To St. Timothy, he writes:
But you have carefully followed my doctrine, manner of life, purpose, faith, longsuffering, love, perseverance, persecutions, afflictions, which happened to me at Antioch, at Iconium, at Lystra--what persecutions I endured. And out of them all the Lord delivered me. Yes, and all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution. But evil men and impostors will grow worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived. But you must continue in the things which you have learned and been assured of, knowing from whom you have learned them, and that from childhood you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. (2 Timothy 3:10-15)
In addition to St. Paul, there is also the author of the letter to the Hebrews:
But, beloved, we are confident of better things concerning you, yes, things that accompany salvation, though we speak in this manner. For God is not unjust to forget your work and labor of love which you have shown toward His name, in that you have ministered to the saints, and do minister. And we desire that each one of you show the same diligence to the full assurance of hope until the end, that you do not become sluggish, but imitate those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. (Hebrews 6:9-12)
Clearly the transmission of the Christian philosophia, the way of life, took place personally, from life to life, as the Christian way of living was lived and imitated.
This personal transmission of the philosophia also emphasizes another important point: one does not claim a philosophia apart from the living transmission of it. One does not reconstruct a tradition, rather, one receives it, guards it, and passes it on. A philosophia is not something for which we can mine ancient texts. It is not something the would-be disciple can somehow remanufacture in the privacy of his study late at night. He cannot go back to ancient texts and “start over.” The way a philosophic disciple is to live has to be received from those who are already living it. Philosophia cannot be gained by reading and interpreting texts and canons and creeds. One acquires a philosophia only from those who already have it.
In this way, ancient Christianity was a philosophia. The Church had her God-called apologists and her guardians of the faith. She had her doctors of the Church. But Christianity was not preserved on the basis of a fidelity to certain texts, even canonical ones, nor on requisite interpretations. After all, all texts must be interpreted, and heretics utilized the inspired texts as did the orthodox. But a way of life is received prior to any sort of coherent intellectual grasp of it. Indeed, an attempt to grasp a way of life by means of one's intellect alone instead of by simply “putting into practice” what one sees done by one's fellow disciples can positively alter and morph beyond recognition the way of life one is to live. That is to say, the transmission of tradition is first and fundamentally a pre-reflective embodiment of a way of living. And it was this that set off most heretics from the orthodox: not different beliefs per se, but rather that they lived differently. (That of course, included opposing beliefs, but the evidence for heterodoxy and heresy was empirical: heretics don't live like orthodox.)
Fidelity to a philosophia's tradition, then, is not simply the mouthing of the same liturgical and credal words. It's not parroting the same interpretations of Scriptures and canons. Fidelity to the tradition of Christian philosophia is primarily a lifestyle. If one wants to claim to be Christian, to be the Church, one must live in the way Christians have always lived and do things the way the Church has always done.
The question is obvious: How does one know one is living the Christian philosophia? So, too, is the answer.
[The remainder of the posts in this series can be found here.]
I have, in my previous posts, been assuming a self-understanding of early Christianity as a philosophia, a way of life similar in many respects to the ancient philosophiai of the Six Schools (Platonism, Aristotelianism, Cynicism, Epicureanism, Stoicism, and Skepticism). But while this makes sense in an intuitive way, it may well be helpful to provide some evidence for this assumption. That is the purpose of this present post. I will here demonstrate that the earliest understandings of ancient Christianity, dating from the second century, is that the Faith was a philosophia, indeed, the only true philosophia, containing the whole of that Truth of which the other rival philosophiai possess only parts.
It seems perhaps likely that the early Christians who spoke of the Faith as a philosophia derived their notions not only from the ancient schools of philosophy but from their Jewish predecessors, Philo of Alexandria (20 BC-AD 50) and Josephus (AD 37-100). Two texts from Philo will be illustrative for us. The following, from the Life of Moses, is perhaps clearest of all.
[F]or it was invariably the custom, as it was desirable on other days also, but especially on the seventh day, as I have already explained, to discuss matters of philosophy; the ruler of the people beginning the explanation, and teaching the multitude what they ought to do and to say, and the populace listening so as to improve in virtue, and being made better both in their moral character and in their conduct through life; in accordance with which custom, even to this day, the Jews hold philosophical discussions on the seventh day, disputing about their national philosophy, and devoting that day to the knowledge and consideration of the subjects of natural philosophy; for as for their houses of prayer in the different cities, what are they, but schools of wisdom, and courage, and temperance, and justice, and piety, and holiness, and every virtue, by which human and divine things are appreciated, and placed upon a proper footing? (Life of Moses 2, 215-216)
He also speaks of the Essenes in terms of philosophia in On the Contemplative Life.
[B]ut the deliberate intention of the philosopher is at once displayed from the appellation given to them [the Essenes]; for with strict regard to etymology, they are called therapeutae and therapeutrides, either because they process an art of medicine more excellent than that in general use in cities (for that only heals bodies, but the other heals souls which are under the mastery of terrible and almost incurable diseases, which pleasures and appetites, fears and griefs, and covetousness, and follies, and injustice, and all the rest of the innumerable multitude of other passions and vices, have inflicted upon them), or else because they have been instructed by nature and the sacred laws to serve the living God, who is superior to the good, and more simple than the one, and more ancient than the unit . . . . (On the Contemplative Life 2)
Josephus speaks in two parallel passages from the Antiquities and the Wars of the various sects of Judaism as different though related sorts of philosophiai.
The Jews had for a great while had three sects of philosophy peculiar to themselves; the sect of the Essens, and the sect of the Sadducees, and the third sort of opinions was that of those called Pharisees . . . . But of the fourth sect of Jewish philosophy, Judas the Galilean was the author. (Antiquities of the Jews 18.2, 6)
For there are three philosophical sects among the Jews. The followers of the first of which are the Pharisees; of the second, the Sadducees; and the third sect, which pretends to a severer discipline, are called Essens. These last are Jews by birth, and seem to have a greater affection for one another than the other sects have. These Essens reject pleasures as an evil, but esteem continence, and the conquest over our passions, to be virtue. They neglect wedlock, but choose out other persons children, while they are pliable, and fit for learning, and esteem them to be of their kindred, and form them according to their own manners. They do not absolutely deny the fitness of marriage, and the succession of mankind thereby continued; but they guard against the lascivious behavior of women, and are persuaded that none of them preserve their fidelity to one man. (Wars of the Jews 2,8)
Whether or not Philo and Josephus had any direct influence on the early Christian writers who also conceive of Christianity as philosophia is perhaps impossible to determine with certainty. But that the understanding of Christianity as philosophia was widespread can be seen in the number of authors who do so. I begin first with St. Justin the Philosopher (AD 100-165).
But straightway a flame was kindled in my soul; and a love of the prophets, and of those men who are friends of Christ, possessed me; and whilst revolving his words in my mind, I found this philosophy alone to be safe and profitable. Thus, and for this reason, I am a philosopher. (Dialogue with Trypho 8)
St. Justin, in fact, is depicted in icons wearing the philosopher's robe, a distinctive form of dress that marked out his way of life.
Tatian (AD 110-180), too, though posthumously condemned as a heretic, understood Christianity as a philosophia, indeed as the way of life more ancient and true than all the other rival philosophies.
But now it seems proper for me to demonstrate that our philosophy is older than the systems of the Greeks. (Address to the Greeks 31)
Tatian makes this claim on the basis of much personal exploration and investigation.
The things which I have thus set before you I have not learned at second hand. I have visited many lands; I have followed rhetoric, like yourselves; I have fallen in with many arts and inventions; and finally, when sojourning in the city of the Romans, I inspected the multiplicity of statues brought thither by you: for I do not attempt, as is the custom with many, to strengthen my own views by the opinions of others, but I wish to give you a distinct account of what I myself have seen and felt. So, bidding farewell to the arrogance of Romans and the idle talk of Athenians, and all their ill-connected opinions, I embraced our barbaric philosophy. (Address to the Greeks 35)
That "barbaric" philosophy, of course, was the non-Greek philosophy derived from the Jews. St. Clement of Alexandria will say more for us about that below. But in commending the Christian philosophia, Tatian notes that it is a particular way of living, not just a set of intellectual data.
These things, O Greeks, I Tatian, a disciple of the barbarian philosophy, have composed for you. I was born in the land of the Assyrians, having been first instructed in your doctrines, and afterwards in those which I now undertake to proclaim. Henceforward, knowing who God is and what is His work, I present myself to you prepared for an examination concerning my doctrines, while I adhere immoveably to that mode of life which is according to God. (Address to the Greeks 42)
The saintly bishop of Sardis, Melito (d. AD c. 180), similarly describes Christianity as a philosophia. In his letter to the Stoic Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, he writes:
For our philosophy formerly flourished among the Barbarians [i.e., the non-Greeks]; but having sprung up among the nations under thy rule, during the great reign of thy ancestor Augustus, it became to thine empire especially a blessing of auspicious omen. For from that time the power of the Romans has grown in greatness and splendor. To this power thou hast succeeded, as the desired possessor, and such shalt thou continue with thy son, if thou guardest the philosophy which grew up with the empire and which came into existence with Augustus; that philosophy which thy ancestors also honored along with the other religions. (cited in Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 4.26,7)
Near the end of the second century, or the beginning of the third, St. Clement of Alexandria (d. AD c. 215), tutor of Origen, wrote his Miscellanies (or, Stromateis), a great portion of the first book of which sets out to explicate the nature of true Christian belief and life. To do so, he is at pains to show both the preparatory nature of Hellenistic philosophy and its consonance with that which fulfills it, the Christian philosophy divinely revealed in the Logos, Christ.
Accordingly, before the advent of the Lord, philosophy was necessary to the Greeks for righteousness. And now it becomes conducive to piety; being a kind of preparatory training to those who attain to faith through demonstration. “For thy foot,” it is said, “will not stumble, if thou refer what is good, whether belonging to the Greeks or to us, to Providence.” (Pro[verbs] 3:23) For God is the cause of all good things; but of some primarily, as of the Old and the New Testament; and of others by consequence, as philosophy. Perchance, too, philosophy was given to the Greeks directly and primarily, till the Lord should call the Greeks. For this was a schoolmaster to bring “the Hellenic mind,” as the law, the Hebrews, “to Christ.” (Gal[atians] 3:24) Philosophy, therefore, was a preparation, paving the way for him who is perfected in Christ. (Stromateis I.5)
The saint recognized that these ancient schools each had portions of the truth, but that only in the Christian philosophy would the mature Christian (i.e., in St. Clement's terms, the true Gnostic) find the whole truth.
Since, therefore, truth is one (for falsehood has ten thousand by-paths); just as the Bacchantes tore asunder the limbs of Pentheus, so the sects both of barbarian and Hellenic philosophy have done with truth, and each vaunts as the whole truth the portion which has fallen to its lot. But all, in my opinion, are illuminated by the dawn of Light. Let all, therefore, both Greeks and barbarians, who have aspired after the truth, - both those who possess not a little, and those who have any portion, - produce whatever they have of the word of truth. . . . For we shall find that very many of the dogmas that are held by such sects as have not become utterly senseless, and are not cut out from the order of nature (by cutting off Christ, as the women of the fable dismembered the man), though appearing unlike one another, correspond in their origin and with the truth as a whole. For they coincide in one, either as a part, or a species, or a genus. . . . So, then, the barbarian and Hellenic philosophy has torn off a fragment of eternal truth not from the mythology of Dionysus, but from the theology of the ever-living Word. And He who brings again together the separate fragments, and makes them one, will without peril, be assured, contemplate the perfect Word, the truth. . . . He who is conversant with all kinds of wisdom, will be pre-eminently a gnostic [i. e., the mature Christian](Stromateis I.13)
Though Lactantius (AD c. 250-325)--himself a terrible theologian, more often inadvertently heterodox perhaps than sound--brings us into the third century, he echoes St. Clement's comments:
But different persons brought forward all these things, and in different ways, not connecting the causes of things, nor the consequences, nor the reasons, so that they might join together and complete that main point which comprises the whole. But it is easy to show that almost the whole truth has been divided by philosophers and sects. . . . But if there had been any one to collect together the truth which was dispersed amongst individuals and scattered amongst sects, and to reduce it to a body, he assuredly would not disagree with us. But no one is able to do this, unless he has experience and knowledge of the truth. But to know the truth belongs to him only who has been taught by God. For he cannot in any other way reject the things which are false, or choose and approve of those which are true; but if even by chance he should effect this, he would most surely act the part of the philosopher; and though he could not defend those things by divine testimonies, yet the truth would explain itself by its own light. . . . [N]o philosophy existed which made a nearer approach to the truth, for the whole truth has been comprised by these in separate portions. . . . Therefore the philosophers touched upon the whole truth, and every secret of our holy religion; but when others denied it, they were unable to defend that which they had found, because the system did not agree with the particulars; nor were they able to reduce to a summary those things which they had perceived to be true, as we have done above. (Divine Institutes 7.7)
From the above, then, it is absolutely clear that among the earliest self-understandings of Christianity was that of a, or rather the, philosophia. A set of beliefs that were true in a perfect way, and a way of life conducive to piety, or respectful concourse with God.
This understanding of Christianity (or as in some writers monasticism), as philosophia seems to have carried over into later Christianity (especially among St. John Chrysostom and the Cappadocians). But the point is this: early Christianity knew itself as a way of life similar, though superior, to any of the ancient philosophical schools.
[Note: I have begun collecting these various posts on the theme of philosophia under a topical link: True Philosophia, the Way of Life. You can click on the link to see all the posts, present and future, gathered in reverse chronological order under this theme.]
When looking at the six historical schools of philosophy in antiquity--Platonism, Aristotelianism, Cynicism, Epicureanism, Stoicism, and Skepticism--one is quite impressed with the absence of a particular mental condition that one takes for granted today. Becoming a disciple of one or another of these ancient schools was not a matter of first calmly, rationally and unbiasedly weighing the merits of all of them and then settling on that one which had the most objectively rational claim to truth. Rather, becoming a disciple of one or another of these schools entailed first an existential choice, following which one's mind viewed reality through the philosophic lenses of one's respective school. Certainly each school argued, on the basis of reason and truth, for its superiority over the others. Certainly a disciple might become an adherent of one school, only to leave it later for another, or even several others, as did St. Justin the Philosopher. And just as certainly, one became a disciple, in part, on the basis of good reasons. But this quest for the view from nowhere, absent all presuppositions and preconceptions, was not part of the ancient disciple's mental framework. Rather, knowing that he came with presuppositions and preconceptions, the disciple sought to be transformed in his thinking and living by the way of life of a particular school so that he might more surely and more completely unite himself with wisdom. In other words, the ancient disciple came to a school not to judge it as true or not, but to first learn from it. If that school's way of life "lived well" for the disciple, he was apt to continue with it. If, for whatever reason, a particular way of life did not live well, or another beckoned more winsomely, a disciple would leave it for another, for that more beautiful way of life.
Modern religious seekers have, to a certain extent, lost this ancient view in two ways. In the first place, modern seekers seem more intent on staying the same than on the transformation of their own souls. If there is a sense of transformation that they seek it is more along the lines of being confirmed as the persons they already are; to become even more like what they are now, only without the stuff that currently displeases them about themselves. Secondly, modern religious seekers seem more intent on finding comfort than on the transformation of their souls. They seek escape more than askesis. If they seek a form of transformation it is not one that goes very deep toward the soul, but focuses on appearance and externals: losing weight, having a better job, becoming financially secure, having children that are respectful, obedient and successful, having a spouse that is affirming, supportive and loving. Religious seekers make demands on the institutions they encounter; they do not very often come to religious institutions seeking a demanding way of life.
Not so for the ancient disciple. For the "friend of wisdom," becoming a disciple of a particular philosophia naturally and logically entailed transformation of the soul and the rigorous asketical demands a particular philosophia made on one's own choices and behaviors. It was not a matter of seeking comfort or confirmation of one's present way of living. The disciple intuitively, if not consciously, grasped that if he had the truth, if wisdom was his, then he wouldn't be seeking out this particular philosophia. Rather, conscious of his own lack of wisdom, conscious of his need of inner transformation, the philosophic disciple came to the Academy, or the Lyceum, or the Garden, or the Stoa, ready not to judge but to listen, ready not to demand but to submit to demand, ready to find not the fulfillment of personal desires but the remaking from the inside-out that wisdom, Sophia, brought to those ready to learn and live.
The ancient disciple knew, too, that even if the greatest happiness, as in Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics X.7, was in the act of intellectual contemplation, of union with the divine intellect, such happiness was gained by way of rigorous and life-long askeses, soulish disciplines that made one ever more capable of both receiving wisdom and maintaining the transformation that wisdom brought. What were these askeses, these disciplines of the soul, differed from school to school. But each was a daily and lifelong practice that brought home the principle dogmas of the particular school in such a way that one's behavior and thinking were united in the transforming center of wisdom. For Aristotle, this was the habitual practice of the virtues and of close attention to reality. For the Stoics this was the daily practice of divesting oneself of illusion so as to conform oneself with that which is (as can been seen in the journaling left to us in Marcus Aurelius' Meditations). For the Platonists and Pythagoreans it was a paedegogy, inculcated from youth, that trained body for death and the soul for union with the One, or the Good, in the contemplation of the One, or number. And so forth.
The analogies with historic Christianity are, to my mind, obvious. The ancient Christian disciple came seeking Him Who is Wisdom, Him Who is the Way, the Truth, the Life, not a set of spiritual laws or a body of coherent doctrine. The ancient disciple came to be changed, not confirmed in their present way of life. This process of becoming a disciple was not an intellectual one, or not primarily an intellectual one. Nor were seekers shielded from the more rigorous demands of Christianity first, only later to have explained to them the demanding nature of the Christian walk. Indeed, we know that in the earliest centuries of the Church, catechumens were first inculcated to this most rigorous and demanding way of living before they were sacramentally united to the Church and trained in the dogmas and doctrines of the Faith. One was first baptized, then, after baptism, one was given the explanation of what all that baptism, fasting, and prayer was meant for and whence it came.
This can only make sense. For if the Christian disciple in antiquity came seeking new life, it would not do to give him "mere" doctrine. If the Christian disciple in antiquity came seeking wisdom, it would not do to have him put off doing the very things one must do to gain that wisdom. If the Christian disciple came seeking life, it would not do to fail to show him how that life was lived and engage him in its practices. Life, after all, is not a concept but an act. If Christianity is a way of living, then to give a seeker everything but the very life that Christians live, would be to bear false witness. It would be giving serpents for fish, and stones for bread.
Make no mistake, no Christian discipl