Are Forgiveness and Justice Incompatible?

Consider the following propositions:

(1) We should always treat others justly.

(2) We should always forgive others for their wrong-doings.

(3) If we forgive someone, we do not treat them justly.

Each of these propositions seems intuitively correct, but they also seem to form an inconsistent set. (1) and (3) entail the denial of (2); (2) and (3) entail the denial of (1). It seems we can only accept at most 2 of the 3 propositions.

Let's call the acceptance of (1) and (3) RETRIBUTIONISM.

Let's call the acceptance of (2) and (3) ANTI-RETRIBUTIONISM.

Do either of these two view seem attractive to the Christian? Retributionism implies that we should not forgive people when they wrong us or others. Everyone, all the time, should reap what they sow. Anti-retributionism implies that we should always forgive people when they wrong us or others. Wrong actions should never be punished and justice is an out-dated, draconian concept. Neither of these seems wholly satisfying.

Can we somehow reconcile the three propositions? Let's call the acceptance of (1) and (2) the HARMONY VIEW. Now two questions arise: (a) does this entail the denial of (3)? and (b) does this commit us to a logical contradiction or at least an incoherence?

Let's look at the first question. Does the conjunction of (1) and (2) entail the denial of (3)? It does if we define 'justice' in a certain way. The common sense understanding of justice seems to be 'returning like with like," or "treating equals equally and unequals unequally." But perhaps justice is a richer concept than this and refers instead to a way of always treating people in the appropriate way. There are two ways we could go at this point: (i) we could say that the just person knows how to respond to each person on a case-by-case basis -- sometimes retribution and sometimes absolution; or (ii) we could say that forgiving someone of their wrong-doing does not preclude the prospect of punishing them. It seems that (i) won't work, because the conjunction of (1) and (2) demands that we always forgive and always act justly. It simply won't do to say that we may sometimes do one or the other. What about (ii)? This seems the most promising way to harmonize forgiveness and justice.

Consider an illustration. Smith has assaulted Jones and injured him. Smith is apprehended by the authorities, and brought before Jones and a judge. Smith decides that, in order to obey the command of Christ, he must forgive Jones and give up any moral claim against him. However, Smith also believes that the best thing for Jones would be to spend time in jail in order to help him face the consequences of his actions and see his need for change. (Is this too naive?) So, Smith may will both forgiveness and justice (in the legal sense) toward Jones.

So this kind of proposal suggests that the Harmony View does not entail the denial of (3), which answers our first question (a). It also seems to give a felicitous answer to the second question (b) and avoids any logical incoherence. (This is because justice, as defined above, does not preclude forgiveness.)

Whether or not this works, it seems that there should be some way to harmonize (1) and (2), because I think Christianity contains both of these principles. As followers of Jesus, I think we have strong intuitions in both directions. Perhaps my proposed harmonization is a good starting point for this project. Are there passages of Scripture that would provide insight? (I'm sure theologians have written tomes on this topic, but I'm new to it.)

Is Friendship Selfish?

Consider the following two statements:

(A) All friendships are fueled solely by self-interest.

(B) There are some frienships, virtuous friendships, which are motivated by a mutual desire to promote the interests of the other.

(A) and (B) cannot both be true, can they?

I think that (A) certainly has some intuitive pull. Let me give two reasons we might accept it. First, it seems true that all our actions and pursuits, including friendships, are ultimately fueled by a desire for our own happiness. Suppose you are currently reading this blog. Why are you reading it? You might say, "In order to become wise." (Purely hypothetical.) Then I can ask why you want to become wise. You might say, "Because it will help me make better choices." Why do you want to do that? "Because then I will be happier*." Why do you want to be happy? There is no answer to that question that cannot in turn be analyzed in terms of happiness (or shalom). You can ask a series of "whys" about any action you perform, and it will lead to the same final answer: in order to be happy. So, (A) seems true in that sense.

Second, (A) seems true because this is exactly the type of reasoning that is often (implicitly) employed in discussing the importance of friendship. Consider the benefits of friendship cited in the Bible:

(1) Friends can help me in times of need. (Eccl. 4:9-12 suggests this sort of reason.)

(2) I can learn from my friends and become a better person. (Prov. 27:17 points this out -- "as iron sharpens iron")

(3) I am less likely to perform bad actions (and more likely to do good) when I am with my friends. (This is the idea of Heb. 10:24-25)

(4) I take pleasure in the company of my friend. (Just as Jonathan delighted in David, 1Sam. 19:1)

Perhaps there are other, more altruistic, reasons given in the Scriptures for pursuing friendship, but I will leave that to my readers to explore.

So (A) seems to have some reasons in its favor. But I think it is impossible to deny (B). We all have either seen examples of or experienced virtuous friendship. David and Jonathan seem to be a paradigm case, even considering the "delight" that was involved. Jesus talks of a man laying down his life for his friends. Surely such an act could not be motivated by self-interest. So how do we solve the puzzle? It would be simple to reject (A), and yet it seems to have some truth in it. For the sake of argument, let's postpone the rejection of (A) and try a different path.

Aristotle, in his Nicomachean Ethics, Book IX, chapter 9 suggests a potential strategy for reconciling the two claims (A and B). Aristotle proposes that when we are in a close friendship, our friend is really a second self. How do we make sense of such a claim? Richard Kraut, in Aristotle and the Human Good, suggests that we might think of this in terms of our friends actions and our friends fortunes. Aristotle may mean that when we have a profound influence over the formation of another's character, their actions become, in an extended sense, our own. He may also mean that a friend's good or bad fortune is also our good or bad fortune, by extension. When we consider the connection and influence between a parent and a child, this seems plausible. And while it is not quite as clear with regard to friends, we can still conceive of how such a connection might work.

So how does this help us? Well, suppose that my friend is really a second self, and that his good is therefore my good. Thus, when I promote his interests, I promote my own. So, (A) can be true, and yet I may very well have unselfish motives for promoting the interests of my friend. It just turns out that in loving my friend, I am in fact loving myself. Is this sort of deep metaphysical connection between friends plausible?

As an illustration from Scripture, take David and Jonathan (again). It says that Jonathan was immediately struck with David on their first meeting: "When David had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." (1 Sam 18:1) Later the authorwrites that Jonathan loved David "as he loved his own life." (20:4) This sort of soul-joining language seems similar to what Aristotle has in mind, even though this passage suggests that such a bond can be formed rather quickly. Similar language is used elsewhere: in Genesis 2, speaking of the intimate relationship between a husband and wife; in Romans 12 and 1Cor. 12 speaking of the bond between believers.

So not only do we see the "extended self" idea in Scripture, but we also see the sorts of moral implications suggested by Aristotle. Reflecting on the Genesis 2 passage, the apostle Paul says "so husbands ought also to love their own wives as their own bodies. He who loves his own wife loves himself; for no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes is, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of His body." (Eph. 4:28-30) So, in a sense, Christ's love for the church is also self-interested! However, Christ is not selfish in loving the church (love is not selfish!). Thus, it seems that husbands are not selfish in loving their wives, and friends are not acting selfishly in pursuing frienships of virtue. So both (A) and (B) can be true at the same time with regard to the same individual.

Does this solution seem plausible?

* When I use the term 'happy,' I am refering to the classical sense of the word. In our culture, it has come to mean something like "experiencing pleasure" or some superficial concept of that sort. I take happiness to be analagous to the concept of "blessedness" Jesus referred to in the Sermon on the Mount.

Who Am I When No One's Looking?

"Who am I when no one's looking?" That question has haunted me for years, because I am often not at my best when beyond the gaze or knowledge of others. Can you relate?

I'm starting to wonder, though, if this sentiment is just wrong-headed. When Bill Hybels penned this phrase in his book of the same name, he was obviously imagining a situation where no human is looking. But I am beginning to suspect that when I am neither in the presence nor the thought of any human being, I am not fully human.

I think most theologians (and psychologists as well, I imagine) would agree that human beings are created to live in relationship. If God exists necessarily in relationship (being a Trinity), and we are created in his image, it would seem to follow that relationships are necessary for our flourishing. I would even go so far as to say that we are not fully human when in isolation from one another.

The necessity of relationship for the life of makarios, or blessedness, permeates the Scriptures. Consider the following passages -- but resist the temptation gloss over their familiarity.

"Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up. Furthermore, if two lie down together they keep warm, but how can one be warm alone? And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him." (Eccl. 4:9-12)

"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:34-5)

"Bear one another's burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ." (Gal. 6:2)

"We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brethren. He who does not love abides in death. . . The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love." (1John 3:14; 4:8)

To be a Christian is to love, and to love is to be in relationship. But this love, this relatedness, must be of a certain sort -- it must be Christ-love. What would it mean to love as Christ loved? It could not be done from a distance, in the abstract. To love as Christ loved is to "share your salt" as it were. Christ-love is enfleshed -- it is sweaty and mortal and down-in-the-dirt. It is near enough to grab a falling hand, to warm the other with its warmth.

To be alone, outside the love of a friend is to be less than fully human. What do I mean by "fully human?" Well, I certainly don't mean that we can somehow lose or possess less humanity than other humans. What I mean is that our humanity is not fully expressed or realized. Just as a guitar that languishes perpetually in its case is not fully a guitar, in some sense, we are not fully human when we are chronically alone.

One application of this truth is that our goal should never simply be to achieve some level of "independent integrity." In other words, the man who needs the steady, persistent love and accountability of his friends in order to maintain his integrity is no weaker than the man who needs the regular nourishment of food and water to maintain life. In fact, it is only in coming to grips with this neediness that there is hope for holiness.

So, maybe instead of asking, "Who am I when no one's looking?" we should be asking, "Who am I when in the love of a friend?" That is when I am fully human. That is when I am living the Christ-life.

A Definition of Prayer

What is prayer? Simone Weil's definition is one of the more intriguing ones I've come across. I'll put it in a philosophical format. I'll call her definition the "Attention Thesis" (AT).

(AT) A subject S is praying if and only if S's attention is oriented toward God.

Is this an adequate definition? First let's get clear on an important term: attention. First, attention refers to an intentional mental state in which a person chooses to make some particular thing the object of his thought. When I choose to watch the second hand of my clock move, my attention is on the movement of the second hand. I am attending to the movement of the second hand. When I choose to imagine a cube in my mind, I am attending to the image of the cube. When I choose to think about the concept of humility, I am attending to that concept. If a thought pops into my head involuntarily, or if an insect flies across my visual field, I may notice or see it, but I am not attending to it.

Second, attenting is an action, it is something we choose to do. I cannot give my attention to something without doing so on purpose. In the case of the insect, once I have noticed it I may then choose to direct my attention to it.

Now there is an important difference between attending a thing and attending to my concept of a thing. To attend to a thing is not merely to think about it, put to pay attention to it. I cannot pay attention to the Mona Lisa if I am not in the Louvre. I can attend to my memory of it, or my concept of it, but not the thing itself. Thus, in the case of persons, I do not think we can pay attention to someone who is not present or engaged in communication with us. And even if the person is present, attention is more than merely looking at them or hearing them. We see this phenomenologically with human communication. It is possible to hear what a person says with out paying attention to them. We all know the difference, and we consider ourselves slighted when our interlocutor fails to pay attention to us in an important conversation.

So given this understanding of attention, how does AT hold up? Well, let's break it into two pieces.

(AT1) S is praying only if S's attention is oriented toward God.

(AT2) S's attention is oriented toward God only if S is praying.

To refute AT, we must show that either AT1 or AT2 is false by way of a counter-example. Can we think of a counter-example for AT1? Is there a scenario where someone is praying (to God), and yet their attention is not oriented toward God? Consdier the following: Smith is reciting the daily prayers prescribed by his church, and yet he is thinking about a report he must give at the office on Monday. Smith's attention is on his report. Is Smith praying? Intuitively, no.

Now, one might object by claiming that God's hearing a person's prayer-like words is sufficient for prayer to occur. I.e., a person can perform an utterance of certain prayer-like words ("deliver me O, Lord") without any thought of God whatsoever, and God will count that as a legitimate request. But consider the following case. Brown is watching a football game on TV. Black, who has recently committed an egregious wrong against Brown, enters the room, sits down and begins to watch the game. Brown says, "Aren't you going to apologize?" A few minutes later, Black utters the phrase, "I'm sorry," all the while gazing intently at the TV. Does this count as an apology? If not, then neither does a mere prayer-like utterance count as prayer. If someone would defend this as a legitimate apology, then I don't know what to say to them.

So then, it seems that AT1 stands up to our brief inquiry. But what of AT2? Can we imagine a counter-example where someone is focusing their thought upon God, and yet is not praying? this seems less clear. In fact, this is the key to Weil's view of prayer. She thinks any such attention would count as an act of prayer.

One objection to AT2 might go like this: I can think about God without praying in the same way that I can think of my wife without talking to her. But as I have already pointed out, thinking about a person is not necessarily the same as paying attention to them. If my wife is in Rome, and I am in Kansas City, and we are not communicating in any way, then thinking about her amounts to thinking about my memory of her or my idea of her (I am pining for her). If my wife is before me, and I am thinking of her while looking at her intently, then I am attending to her. Can I do this without any communication whatsoever? That seems unlikely, given the significance of body language, facial expression, etc. Just the mere fact that I am paying attention to her so intently communicates something, e.g., adoration or anger. I am bound to give away my thoughts by looking at her in a certain way, or being silent.

So if attending to a human being in this manner makes it extrememly likely that communication is occurring, then attending to God in this manner entails that prayer is occurring. This is because God can know my very thoughts. And if, ex hypothesi, I am thinking about him, his knowing my thoughts amounts to communication, i.e., prayer. So AT2 seems true.

Given the truth of AT1 and AT2, it follows that AT itself is true. Thus, Weil's definition stands. This is only my first pass at a philosophical treatment of prayer, so comments are appreciated.

On Fasting

Fasting. You might as well suggest to people that they jab a sharp stick in their eye. "Here everyone, here's a stick -- now, ready, jab!" This is so unfortunate. In my case, I was pretty green in my Christianity when I first heard of fasting. I had no negative preconceptions, so I dove right in. This has proven to be a rewarding and life-altering practice for me, though I'm embarassed to say I've fallen out of habit.

My introduction to fasting came by way of Richard Foster and his seminal book Celebration of Discipline (an absolute must for every Christian leader's library). I found the chapter on fasting to be an indispensible guide. He gives simple instructions and advice for beginners about short and long fasts. Foster says that while the primary purpose of fasting is always intimacy and worship of God, there are secondary purposes as well, and these are the formative ones. Fasting has a way of revealing what is truly in our hearts. Pride, idolatry, jealousy, sensuality or whatever you have been covering up with food and other good things will come to the surface. Fasting can also bring "breakthroughs in the spiritual realm that will never happen in any other way." (p. 60) I can attest to this first hand! (For a great video-nugget on corporate fasting by Foster, go here.)

Other books and writings that have guided my idea and practice of fasting are Dallas Willard's The Spirit of the Disciplines, Bill Bright's The Transforming Power of Fasting and Prayer, and John Piper's A Hunger for God. A friend once gave me a reading from Augustine on fasting, but I can't remember its source. Augustine spoke of fasting as a way to subdue the body and direct it to do God's will, as one might withhold food from an unruly horse.

I have personally found that fasting is a way of removing the haze that obscures my spiritual eyes and ears. During my (extended) fasts, I have sensed God's voice and direction in unmistakably powerful ways. These transformative fasts have generally been between 3 and 7 days. There is an important distinction between the short fast (one meal to 24 hours) and the long. Short fasts can never produce certain kinds of experiences. Here is a journal entry from an extended fast several years ago:

"The feeling I had on Sunday evening [the day after a 6 day fast] was so amazing -- I felt I would explode because God's power seemed to be coursing through my veins & body!! My eyes of faith were so strong -- I could believe Him for anything!"

You may ask, as I have, whether I am violating a Scriptural injunction by talking about my fasts. "Beware of practicing your righteousness before men . . . [let your fasting] not be noticed by men, but by your Father who is in secret." (Matt. 6:1, 18) I don't think I've transgressed here -- as far as I can tell, I am writing in the Spirit of Jesus' words. I didn't fast to get praise from men and I don't expect any for my having written about it.

It is curious that Jesus assumed we would fast (cf. Mt. 6:16). The practice has fallen out of favor in the prostestant church only in the last century. Perhaps it is time we recovered it.

This brief ramble on fasting is just pieced-together and leaves so many roads unexplored. If it generates some good discussion, I'll do a follow-up. If not, then I guess you got enough.

What Does It Mean to "Know" God?

"'Let not a wise man boast in his wisdom, and let not the mighty man boast of his might, let not a rich man boast of his riches; but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me, that I am the LORD who exercises lovingkindness, justice and righteousness on earth; for I delight in these things,' declares the LORD." (Jeremiah 9:23-24)

In the work of ministry, if we trust in our numbers, our strategies and our gifts rather than in our knowledge of/relationship with God, we are headed in the wrong direction. This was essentially the point (I think) of a message I recently heard during an all-day seminar on campus ministry. At this point in the day, I had both feet on board the train, ready to roll. But I soon began to wonder if we were on the right track.

What followed the inspired exposition of Jer. 9 was a lengthy discussion about strategy, numerical growth, and methodology. In fact, at one point, the speaker offered five key terms that should permeate any discussion of ministry:

WIN (evangelism)
BUILD
SEND
MOVEMENT
WORLD

But how can "knowing the LORD" be our highest value, when "BUILD" is only 1/5 of what defines us? (I take "build" to refer to the spiritual development of disciples.) Let me clarify the problem.

There are at least two senses of what it means to "know" God. The first sense is simply the idea of being in a saving relationship with God -- justification by faith. Those who "know" God in this sense are just those who are "saved." The second sense is a deeper, more relationally robust sense. Those who "know" God in this sense are a subset of the "saved" -- those who have entered deeply into their relationship with God and grown into spiritual adulthood. I'll call the first sense know1 and the second sense know2.

The problem is that the speaker seemed to understand Jeremiah 9 as referring to "know1," rather than "know2." But I don't think Jeremiah was encouraging us to boast in mere justification, or mere membership in the covenant community. He was talking about a deepening, maturing kind of knowledge -- know2.

The context of Jer. 9:23-24 gives some support to my view. In the following verse (25), the Lord says he will punish those who are "circumcised, and yet uncircumcised." Similarly, in v.26, he says that "all the house of Israel are uncircumcised of heart." Is this saying that certain individuals are not "saved?" Or is it saying that certain individuals (or perhaps the entire nation) may be "saved" (they "know1" the Lord) and yet do not "know2" the Lord? In my view, the New Testament analog would be immature Christians, such as those Paul refers to in 1Cor. 2-3.

So here's my point: if we really want to make knowing the Lord our highest value, then "building" people, or helping them to develop spiritual depth in their relationship with God, should be a HUGE part of what we do. But it isn't! This is a problem. Does this mean we stop doing evangelism or movement planting/building? No. But it does mean that the distinguishing mark of any minister of the gospel should be her intimacy with God, not the size of her ministry. Similarly, our goal with those we minister to should be first and foremost to lead them into deeper love with God, not to get them to grow our ministries.