Engaging with Paul Tillich’s writing has been refreshing and challenging to my soul. So, as I attempt to do a descriptive review of his chapter on “The Nature of Religious Language,” I am certain that my own enjoyment of Tillich will show through; however, I also will attempt to be as honest and critical of Tillich’s arguments and methods as I would of any other author.
Question: The question for this chapter is illuminated by the title of the essay from which it was collected: “Religious Symbols and Our Knowledge of God” (Tillich 44). Tillich attempts to answer the dilemma that he has created in previous chapters, as he has established that God is the being beyond being, or Being-Itself. If God is beyond being, then how can we speak of God? Tillich writes this piece in 1955, in America, at a time when the world was picking up the pieces from a foundation-shaking war (44).
Answer: Tillich answers this question through his description of symbols over against signs, then through his refinement of the specifically religious symbols. To the author, one obviously cannot understand any reality without some kind of sign or symbol to point to that experienced reality (45). Tillich differentiates between signs and symbols, and this is the key to his answer. A sign can only represent something, but it is arbitrary (45). The letters in this sentence have no internal significance; if they had any originally, it has since been lost. Symbols, however, “participate in the meaning and the power” of the reality which they represent (45). Furthermore, a religious symbol both participates in and points to the “fundamental level … of being itself” (49). Therefore, the concept of God, while insufficient, is the religious symbol for the transcendent reality of the Being-Itself (51). Not only this, but all of the materials that make up our conception of God are from our own experienced reality (52); therefore, our conception of God can only be a symbol, since God, by definition, is greater than all of our experienced reality.
Method: Tillich engages in a philosophical method aptly named dialectic. All of Tillich’s syntheses in this chapter are forged from the theses and antitheses that Tillich brings up. First, Tillich juxtaposes the concepts of sign and symbol (45); his synthesis states that symbols are those concepts that participate in the reality to which they point, and he arrives at this conclusion by illustrating that signs are excluded from this definition, in that they are arbitrary. Next, Tillich holds up symbols to a more specific religious symbol (49). Symbols in general point to a deeper reality, but religious symbols point to the ultimate transcendent reality. Then the theologian holds up the transcendent reality itself as an antithesis to the previous thesis in order to arrive at this synthesis: “participation is not identity; they [the religious symbols] are not themselves the Holy” (49). This kind of logic and approach intermingled with existential language and reasoning drive Tillich’s arguments.
Significance: For all those who have suffered under the yoke of existentialism, and for any and all who feel infinitely distant from a transcendent God, this chapter offers a light unto the path back to speaking of God. We must be careful, Tillich notes, but we must still attempt to point to the deep dimensions of reality with symbols and to the ultimate dimension of Being-Itself with religious symbol. For any and all who have become worshippers of the symbols themselves, this chapter is a warning and a reminder of just how limited our symbols actually are.
Evaluation: Following Tillich’s lead, the thesis is that this chapter logically demonstrates for us how we can and why we should still attempt to speak of the Holy; the antithesis is that the very arguments made are made with signs, rather than symbol. We can then move to our synthesis that this chapter examines language with language, and thus is limited; but Tillich acknowledges this limitation in his tone and structure. One weak point in Tillich’s chain of reasoning is the seemingly simple dichotomies that the author moves through to get to his point. We must ignore all gray in order to clearly delineate the black and white. Sign and symbol, we are led to believe, are the only ways to communicate reality. Conversely, Tillich’s method of differentiating between the two is one of degrees and personal judgment, leaving much open ended and unclear. Furthermore, Tillich appears to work in a world of universals – there is little room in these arguments for different perspectives. Overall, a great chapter that is effective and important; but like all reasoned arguments, it has its flaws.
9.27.2007
Visual Exegesis: Rob Pepper's "Crucifixion"
In this piece of art by Rob Pepper entitled “Crucifixion,” there are several elements that immediately stand out. For one, the piece appears to be a drawing done by black ink, and then colored in with gold paint at selective places. The strokes are very sketchy in nature, and not many lines connect. Due to the nature of the medium, negative space is apparent in almost every portion of the piece. There are many repeated similar strokes, and certain lines seem to be slightly thicker than others. Movement is suggested by the flowing and lengthy nature of some of the lines, and the repeated short strokes imply stillness by their abruptness. The top and middle center of the piece immediately draws your attention, as many of the lines move outward from or inward towards this section. The negative space at the top portion of the piece is blocked off by two parallel arching lines that delimit all eye movement to everything below it. Concentric semicircles facing upward at the top center of the piece imply movement downwards toward the middle center. The piece itself feels very symmetrical and balanced; there is not much pull away from the middle-top center.
The general scene is fairly obvious at first glance (to those familiar with the Christian tradition). The man portrayed at the center of the piece has a beard, what appears to be a crown of thorns, a loincloth, and is very clearly elevated above the observers portrayed on either side, below him. The symbol that centers the piece is a cross-shape behind this elevated man. A clearly delineated cross is not present, but implied by the shape of the elevated man, and two clear lines above at eye level from the man, moving vertically outward to either side from his head. The observers below – four of which are distinct – seem to be downcast, implying grief or shame. The observers are not clearly defined, and leave room for interpreting more observers in the short, abrupt and unclear strokes surrounding them. These elements clearly establish that this is a crucifixion scene.
Several elements that are atypical of depictions of crucifixion, and which seem somewhat out of place, are noteworthy. First, the two arching parallel lines don’t seem to connect with the ground, and therefore don’t appear to be a physical structure in the scene. The left side of this arch has four sketchy block shapes that follow the movement of the arch from bottom left to top middle and do not wildly deviate from their path. The right side of the arch has five sketchy block shapes that seem to be progressively out of the alignment of the arch. In the middle of the arch, the concentric semicircles point downward to the head of the crucified man. Finally, the most eye-catching element of this piece is the golden leaf structure that surrounds the crucified man on both his left and his right. The leaves seem to moving outward from the crucified man, as implied by the strong and smooth strokes that seem to be the branches upon which the leaves are growing. The contrast of the gold on the black and white clearly establishes the importance of these leaves, and consistently draws the viewer’s eyes outward from the crucified man.
At this point, it can be assumed – both from the analysis thus far and the title of the piece – that the crucified man is Jesus of Nazareth, and the scene is the death of Jesus as portrayed in all four gospels. The piece focuses only on Jesus (there are no rebels being crucified on either side), the observers are in mourning, and more importantly, the vine/tree with its golden leaves has sprung forth. The artist has used this primary element to establish what the artist believes was accomplished, or begun, on the cross by Jesus. It is clear that this bright, glowing plant receives its beginning and nourishment from the man on the cross. It is also evident that this plant is moving outward and growing; it is growing downwards as well, as it is beginning to reach the heads of the mourning observers. It should be noted here that the four distinct observers do not seem to be aware of the movement of life that has sprung out of the crucified man.
Another interesting key to this piece is the arch across the top. It does not seem to be arbitrary; indeed, it echoes the prophecies about capstones and rejected stones. Jesus on the cross becomes the capstone that the builders rejected. This element is implied by the unfinished nature of the arch, as well as the placement of Jesus in the middle of the arch. Furthermore, the concentric semicircles also seem to be pointing down at Jesus, and the semicircles are in the spot where the capstone would go. The arch is also in the heavens, implying an eternal nature. The semicircles also seem to symbolize God’s movement from heaven to act in Jesus Christ.
Taking these two elements together, the leaves and the arch, the viewer can come to the conclusion that the artist believes Jesus’ death on the cross to have accomplished something that is eternally important and life giving. The concept of Jesus as the capstone contains the understanding that Jesus’ life and death was essential to the architecture of creation. The concept of Jesus’ death as a life-giving moment means that Jesus began a New Creation through his death and resurrection. This New Creation, as the painting implies, begins on the cross, but grows outward and downward to creation, and to all of us.
Overall, this piece does an excellent job of capturing two beautiful and powerful meanings in the crucified God. Rob Pepper, the artist, stunningly captured one of the most essential elements of our Lord’s death: the breaking in of a New Creation. He did so by using the very images that Jesus uses in his parables and are found in prophecies throughout the Hebrew Bible: the vine, the capstone, and the tree of life, among others.
If any criticism presents itself, it is the criticism that is inherent to any artist attempting to point at religious depths; there are infinitely more meanings to the cross of Christ than are portrayed in this piece. The darkness and bitterness of the death of Jesus is delimited in order to highlight his saving work. Part of the power of the cross is the suffering Savior. Furthermore, only two persons of the trinity are present in the piece. The implied breaking in of God and the incarnate Son are easily found, but the Spirit is not hinted at in this work.
The medium of the art, the artist’s intention, and the subject matter itself all combine to form a striking and moving rendition of one of the most important moments in human history.
9.24.2007
Old Testament Exegesis Paper #1
In the Hebrew Bible, not all narratives feel as realistic as the Jacob cycle. Full of brotherly betrayal, fear of destruction, trickery and cunning, the story has the feel of a modern day soap opera. In spite of the gritty nature of the narrative, or more accurately, alongside of this trait, another characteristic is evident. The narrator of the text tells this story in such a way as to display to the implied reader the emergence of Israel in accordance with the promise to Abraham, as well as to exhort the implied reader to trust in the same promise. I will demonstrate this purpose as it is woven into the text of Genesis 32:3-33:17 by first establishing the context of the written text; second, I will illustrate the importance of the place of the story within the larger narrative; and finally, I will engage in a detailed analysis of the passage, explicating the elements of the text that support my thesis.
The text of Genesis is, in part, a patchwork quilt of old legends and narratives woven into a larger, seamless meta-narrative. We have no records of these stories and legends independent of the text, however the stories carry the character of many differing folktales and legends. Therefore, the narrator (probably some in the sixth century BCE or later ) seems to have consciously attempted to draw varying sources together to help the reader understand this meta-narrative at work. Here, we are examining a section of the Jacob cycle. This narrative contains obvious etymological , ethnological and ceremonial elements; these will not be fully explored, as they are inherent in the legendary material but not urgently tied to the two-fold purpose of the narrator.
The story of Genesis so far has shown the emergence of humanity, the emergence of the patriarchs and the covenant with Abraham. This covenant promise is the primary unifying strand in the stories. The Jacob cycle is part of this narrative; it lasts from Genesis 25:19-37:1. The story of Jacob and Esau is the primary framework within the narrative. Jacob was the younger of the twins, but receives a prophecy that “the elder will serve the younger” Jacob then steals Esau’s birthright, receives great wealth without ‘earning’ it, and leaves a foreign land with wealth and children (sign of promise) to return to the Land of promise.
Gen 32:3-6: introduction // Gen 32:7-23: conflict and response
The players in the story are quickly identified and characterized in the first few sentences. Jacob is marked as a man who is reentering a familiar land (he knows where Esau is), has gained wealth and prosperity in a foreign land, and is subservient to Esau. The story then moves quickly into conflict, as the messengers return with word of Esau; the elder brother is coming, with 400 men, and Jacob is “greatly afraid and distressed.” Jacob has stolen Esau’s blessing and birthright, and now Esau is coming in power to reclaim them.
Jacob’s response is threefold. It is clear that Jacob has only two options: return to the land from which he had just fled, or face Esau and find a way to reconcile with his estranged brother. He rises to the challenge by first dividing his camp into two, so that if one is destroyed, “then the company that is left will escape.” To the implied reader, this division echoes and foreshadows the future division of the kingdom of Israel, as it too was divided and only one “company” was left to escape. At this point in the story, it is still not clear whom Jacob is going to turn out to be. As Brueggemann notes, “it is not known whether Yahweh … will be faithful.”
Next, Jacob responds to the oncoming wrath through a prayer. This prayer reminds the reader that this whole situation is about the promise. God is re-introduced into the narrative, and the reader is reminded that the only reason Jacob returned home is that God promised greater blessing. And finally, Jacob responds to the conflict through a “present” to Esau. It seems clear that Jacob is returning Esau’s stolen birthright to him, as the droves are very clearly shown to be fertile and of high value. Jacob, as far as the text shows, seems to be clearing his conscience by sending to Esau what might be rightfully his; this act is accompanied by a reminder that Jacob is second to Esau, and that Jacob has no desire to usurp power or wealth (any further) from Esau.
The repeated word/image “face” comes into play here, as Jacob declares his hope of appeasement. The word “pen” (face) is repeated five times in verse XX, and it has many layers of meaning. Most importantly, it signifies how completely Jacob is at Esau’s mercy. Finally, it seems clear from the text that Jacob has ceded his original blessing back to Esau. This leaves Jacob in the precarious position of returning to the land without the promise of a blessing. The question of Jacob’s inheritance is now at stake.
Gen. 32:24-32: intercalated legendary material
Jacob was left alone. He then, apparently, wrestles with a man. This legend presupposes the myths of the numen, and the implied reader most likely does not question the supernatural essence of this encounter. The wrestling ends with Jacob and the being in a draw; Jacob has clung to the man, and the man has granted Jacob a new blessing. Henceforth, Jacob’s blessing has been earned through his tenacity, rather than his deceit. This is a major turning point for Jacob, although it does not fully resolve the conflict with his brother, Esau. Heather McKay notes that similar legends implied that the hero “defeats the god, and then is entitled to take possession of the land.” Therefore, it seems implicit that Jacob’s near-victory ensures his continuance in the land he enters into.
More importantly, to the implied reader, this moment reveals the true nature of Jacob. In the renaming to Israel , the listener can now clearly see Jacob as the one whose progeny will inherit the land they long to return to. The hints and foreshadowing (earlier, the names of the tribes) all culminate in this climactic moment. Jacob/Israel is now ready to cling to the promise as he clung to the wrestler.
Gen. 33:1-3: repetition of conflict and response // Gen. 33:4-11: climax and resolution
This section reiterates to the reader what exactly is going on. Lest we forget, Jacob must be reconciled fully to his brother before he can claim the promise. The land will always be at risk if Esau is always looming to the South. The section reminds us that Jacob is still afraid, the companies are still divided, and Jacob is still subservient to Esau. This subservience is made full by Jacob’s “complete” submission and bowing to Esau.
Jacob has passed the birthright back to Esau. Esau now greets Jacob with an emotional embrace. To those in exile wishing to return home, this is a message of hope. Jacob then further establishes his inheritance by ensuring that Esau accepts his rightful sacrifice. Jacob’s declaration that seeing Esau’s face is like seeing the face of God is the inclusio that signals the end of the Jacob-Esau conflict.
Gen. 33:12-17: denouement
Jacob is now shown to move into the land itself, rather than follow Esau further south into what is obviously not the land of promise. Jacob is now free from constraint or guilt, no longer haunted by his past deceit, but now able to fully embrace the promise and inheritance given to his forefathers, Abraham and Isaac. In Jacob, the promise will be fulfilled.
Jacob’s clinging to the promise in spite of the odds being against him is both ethnological in that it displays the kind of tenacity the nation of Israel needed to come into its own in the land of Canaan; this story also is an exhortation to the listener to lay claim to the same promise in spite of fear of rejection, failure or destruction.
In my personal journey, I have encountered many times of fear and distress. Like Jacob, I have set out on my way with the best of intentions, determined to follow the calling on my heart, and have run into many obstacles, often of my own creation. Like Jacob, I often find myself alone at the most critical junctions. This story is a challenge to me to continue to cling to the covenant, to do what I can to reconcile with those I have injured, and to follow through to the very last the commitment to the promise of hope and restoration.
Unfortunately, I often fail at this level of commitment. I aspire to join with others in the great task of bringing the hopeful message of God’s kingdom to the world; I, and my brothers and sisters, often get too wrapped up in self-concern and self-pity to put ourselves at risk. If we are to take this story seriously, and believe its implications, then we, as the community of Christians, must engage those who seem bent on our destruction with humility and hope. We must wrestle with and cling to the promises of hope and inheritance that seem out of our grasp.
Furthermore, we must not forget that our hope comes not from strength, but from weakness. As Brueggeman notes, it is this “same theology of weakness in power and power in weakness [that] turns this text towards the New Testament and the gospel of the cross.” If we put each other first, and do not claim power or arrogant strength over each other, perhaps we will see the face of God in each other’s faces.
The text of Genesis is, in part, a patchwork quilt of old legends and narratives woven into a larger, seamless meta-narrative. We have no records of these stories and legends independent of the text, however the stories carry the character of many differing folktales and legends. Therefore, the narrator (probably some in the sixth century BCE or later ) seems to have consciously attempted to draw varying sources together to help the reader understand this meta-narrative at work. Here, we are examining a section of the Jacob cycle. This narrative contains obvious etymological , ethnological and ceremonial elements; these will not be fully explored, as they are inherent in the legendary material but not urgently tied to the two-fold purpose of the narrator.
The story of Genesis so far has shown the emergence of humanity, the emergence of the patriarchs and the covenant with Abraham. This covenant promise is the primary unifying strand in the stories. The Jacob cycle is part of this narrative; it lasts from Genesis 25:19-37:1. The story of Jacob and Esau is the primary framework within the narrative. Jacob was the younger of the twins, but receives a prophecy that “the elder will serve the younger” Jacob then steals Esau’s birthright, receives great wealth without ‘earning’ it, and leaves a foreign land with wealth and children (sign of promise) to return to the Land of promise.
Gen 32:3-6: introduction // Gen 32:7-23: conflict and response
The players in the story are quickly identified and characterized in the first few sentences. Jacob is marked as a man who is reentering a familiar land (he knows where Esau is), has gained wealth and prosperity in a foreign land, and is subservient to Esau. The story then moves quickly into conflict, as the messengers return with word of Esau; the elder brother is coming, with 400 men, and Jacob is “greatly afraid and distressed.” Jacob has stolen Esau’s blessing and birthright, and now Esau is coming in power to reclaim them.
Jacob’s response is threefold. It is clear that Jacob has only two options: return to the land from which he had just fled, or face Esau and find a way to reconcile with his estranged brother. He rises to the challenge by first dividing his camp into two, so that if one is destroyed, “then the company that is left will escape.” To the implied reader, this division echoes and foreshadows the future division of the kingdom of Israel, as it too was divided and only one “company” was left to escape. At this point in the story, it is still not clear whom Jacob is going to turn out to be. As Brueggemann notes, “it is not known whether Yahweh … will be faithful.”
Next, Jacob responds to the oncoming wrath through a prayer. This prayer reminds the reader that this whole situation is about the promise. God is re-introduced into the narrative, and the reader is reminded that the only reason Jacob returned home is that God promised greater blessing. And finally, Jacob responds to the conflict through a “present” to Esau. It seems clear that Jacob is returning Esau’s stolen birthright to him, as the droves are very clearly shown to be fertile and of high value. Jacob, as far as the text shows, seems to be clearing his conscience by sending to Esau what might be rightfully his; this act is accompanied by a reminder that Jacob is second to Esau, and that Jacob has no desire to usurp power or wealth (any further) from Esau.
The repeated word/image “face” comes into play here, as Jacob declares his hope of appeasement. The word “pen” (face) is repeated five times in verse XX, and it has many layers of meaning. Most importantly, it signifies how completely Jacob is at Esau’s mercy. Finally, it seems clear from the text that Jacob has ceded his original blessing back to Esau. This leaves Jacob in the precarious position of returning to the land without the promise of a blessing. The question of Jacob’s inheritance is now at stake.
Gen. 32:24-32: intercalated legendary material
Jacob was left alone. He then, apparently, wrestles with a man. This legend presupposes the myths of the numen, and the implied reader most likely does not question the supernatural essence of this encounter. The wrestling ends with Jacob and the being in a draw; Jacob has clung to the man, and the man has granted Jacob a new blessing. Henceforth, Jacob’s blessing has been earned through his tenacity, rather than his deceit. This is a major turning point for Jacob, although it does not fully resolve the conflict with his brother, Esau. Heather McKay notes that similar legends implied that the hero “defeats the god, and then is entitled to take possession of the land.” Therefore, it seems implicit that Jacob’s near-victory ensures his continuance in the land he enters into.
More importantly, to the implied reader, this moment reveals the true nature of Jacob. In the renaming to Israel , the listener can now clearly see Jacob as the one whose progeny will inherit the land they long to return to. The hints and foreshadowing (earlier, the names of the tribes) all culminate in this climactic moment. Jacob/Israel is now ready to cling to the promise as he clung to the wrestler.
Gen. 33:1-3: repetition of conflict and response // Gen. 33:4-11: climax and resolution
This section reiterates to the reader what exactly is going on. Lest we forget, Jacob must be reconciled fully to his brother before he can claim the promise. The land will always be at risk if Esau is always looming to the South. The section reminds us that Jacob is still afraid, the companies are still divided, and Jacob is still subservient to Esau. This subservience is made full by Jacob’s “complete” submission and bowing to Esau.
Jacob has passed the birthright back to Esau. Esau now greets Jacob with an emotional embrace. To those in exile wishing to return home, this is a message of hope. Jacob then further establishes his inheritance by ensuring that Esau accepts his rightful sacrifice. Jacob’s declaration that seeing Esau’s face is like seeing the face of God is the inclusio that signals the end of the Jacob-Esau conflict.
Gen. 33:12-17: denouement
Jacob is now shown to move into the land itself, rather than follow Esau further south into what is obviously not the land of promise. Jacob is now free from constraint or guilt, no longer haunted by his past deceit, but now able to fully embrace the promise and inheritance given to his forefathers, Abraham and Isaac. In Jacob, the promise will be fulfilled.
Jacob’s clinging to the promise in spite of the odds being against him is both ethnological in that it displays the kind of tenacity the nation of Israel needed to come into its own in the land of Canaan; this story also is an exhortation to the listener to lay claim to the same promise in spite of fear of rejection, failure or destruction.
In my personal journey, I have encountered many times of fear and distress. Like Jacob, I have set out on my way with the best of intentions, determined to follow the calling on my heart, and have run into many obstacles, often of my own creation. Like Jacob, I often find myself alone at the most critical junctions. This story is a challenge to me to continue to cling to the covenant, to do what I can to reconcile with those I have injured, and to follow through to the very last the commitment to the promise of hope and restoration.
Unfortunately, I often fail at this level of commitment. I aspire to join with others in the great task of bringing the hopeful message of God’s kingdom to the world; I, and my brothers and sisters, often get too wrapped up in self-concern and self-pity to put ourselves at risk. If we are to take this story seriously, and believe its implications, then we, as the community of Christians, must engage those who seem bent on our destruction with humility and hope. We must wrestle with and cling to the promises of hope and inheritance that seem out of our grasp.
Furthermore, we must not forget that our hope comes not from strength, but from weakness. As Brueggeman notes, it is this “same theology of weakness in power and power in weakness [that] turns this text towards the New Testament and the gospel of the cross.” If we put each other first, and do not claim power or arrogant strength over each other, perhaps we will see the face of God in each other’s faces.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
