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Scripture teaches that God saves humanity through God's own actions and sufferings in Christ, thereby raising a key theological question: How can God use his own human actions and sufferings to bring about those things that he causes through divine power? To answer that question, J. David Moser here explores St. Thomas Aquinas's teaching that Christ's humanity is an instrument of the divinity. Offering an informed account of how Christian salvation happens through the Incarnation of Christ, he also poses a new set of questions about the Incarnation that Aquinas himself did not consider. In response to these questions, and in conversation with a wide range of theologians, including John Duns Scotus and Matthias Joseph Scheeben, Moser argues that the instrument doctrine, an underexplored and underappreciated idea, deepens our understanding of salvation that comes through the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. He also defends the instrument doctrine as a dogmatic theological topic worthy of consideration today.
This essay examines the sermons of St. Augustine (mainly nos. 184–96, ranging in date from 391 to 420) where he preaches on the nature as well as the effects of Christ’s birth. Augustine relates this revolutionary event to the festivities of January 1 as well as to the Solemnity of the Epiphany. As argued herein, Augustine’s homilies for each of these celebrations (1) stress how they fall and relate to the rest of the liturgical year, (2) focus on how the lowliness of God’s birth achieves humanity’s salvation, and (3) highlight Mary’s role in uniting heaven and earth.
The story in Genesis 38 about the salvation of the line of Judah by Tamar inspires the Widow and the Unjust Judge parable. The widow in the parable evokes the oppression experienced by the widow Tamar, who was the victim of Judah’s failure as head of family to implement the levirate duty to reestablish her dead husband’s estate. The Pharisee and the Tax Collector parable depicts a Pharisee extolling his own virtue who would not be “acquitted of his sins,” and a tax collector who berates himself for his sinfulness who would “be exalted.” In the background is Judah’s acknowledgment that Tamar had been more righteous than he because he had not compelled his son Shelah to fulfill the levirate requirement, a neglect that, in turn, prompted her to prostitute herself with Judah to attain a much desired child.
Since Buddhism does not include a belief in a personal god instrumental to the creation of the world or to human salvation, it is often assumed that gods play no part in Buddhism at all. This Element complicates the simplistic assessment of Buddhism as an 'atheistic religion' and discusses the various roles deities play in Buddhist texts and practice. The Problem of God in Buddhism includes a comprehensive analysis of the Buddhist refutations of a creator God, the idea of salvation without divine intervention, the role of minor deities in Buddhism, the question of whether Buddhas and Bodhisattvas can function as gods in certain forms of Buddhism, and the notion of the sacred as apart from the divine in Buddhist traditions.
Chapter 6 sets out in detail Paul Tillich’s formulation of the doctrine of salvation. Particular focus is placed upon Tillich’s existentialist framing of fallenness and his understanding of personal salvation as a transformation from Old Being to New Being.
Chapter 7 contains Qureshi-Hurst’s articulation of the problem of salvation in the block universe and explores in detail her original solution. She argues that salvation is best understood as a subjective transformation.
Biblical authors used wine as a potent symbol and metaphor of material blessing and salvation, as well as a sign of judgement. In this volume, Mark Scarlata provides a biblical theology of wine through exploration of texts in the Hebrew Bible, later Jewish writings, and the New Testament. He shows how, from the beginnings of creation and the story of Noah, wine is intimately connected to soil, humanity, and harmony between humans and the natural world. In the Prophets, wine functions both as a symbol of blessing and judgement through the metaphor of the cup of salvation and the cup of wrath. In other scriptures, wine is associated with wisdom, joy, love, celebration, and the expectations of the coming Messiah. In the New Testament wine becomes a critical sign for the presence of God's kingdom on earth and a symbol of Christian unity and life through the eucharistic cup. Scarlata's study also explores the connections between the biblical and modern worlds regarding ecology and technology, and why wine remains an important sign of salvation for humanity today.
Does time really pass? Should theology mould itself to fit with the findings of physics and philosophy? How should the interdisciplinary dialogue between science and religion proceed? In Salvation in the Block Universe, Emily Qureshi-Hurst tackles these important questions head-on. She offers a focused treatment of a particular problem – the problem of salvation in the block universe – and a broader exploration of a theological methodology that makes 'science and religion' not only possible but desirable via Paul Tillich's method of correlation. By bringing time and salvation into dialogue, Dr Emily Qureshi-Hurst's original insights move the 'science and religion' conversation forward into new and productive territory. Qureshi-Hurst also provides tools for other theologians and philosophers to do the same. Essential reading for anyone interested in the interactions between philosophy, religion, and science, she asks: without the reality of change, is personal salvation during one's lifetime even possible?
Chapter 9 suggests how Hinduism and Confucianism may be understood in relation to the construct of transcendentalism in order to set up a discussion of India and China in the final chapter. (Unearthly Powers had largely taken Christianity, Islam and Buddhism as the main examples of transcendentalist traditions.) This involves a consideration of distinct forms that the Axial Age took in both regions and the religious and philosophical traditions that emerged from them. The diverse traditions coming under the umbrellas of Hinduism and Confucianism represent very substantial continuity with the immanentist pre-Axial past, especially in a fundamental emphasis on the role of ritual action. However, they also incorporated Axial elements, particularly an emphasis on liberation/salvation in the case of Hinduism and ethical rectitude in the case of Confucianism. Confucianism remains the most awkward fit within the mould of transcendentalism because of the absence of a soteriological imperative.
While we call programs that are new and exciting ‘artificial intelligence’ (AI), the ultimate goal – to produce an artificial general intelligence that can equal to human intelligence – always seems to be in the future. AI can, thus, be viewed as a millenarian project. Groups predicting the second coming of Christ or some other form of salvation have flourished in times of societal stress, as they promise a solution to current problems that is delivered from outside. Today, we project both our hopes and our fears onto AI. Utopian visions range from the personally soteriological prospect of uploading our brains to a vision of a world in which AI has found solutions to our problems. Dystopian scenarios involve the creation of a superintelligent AI that slips from our control or is used as a weapon by malicious actors. Will AI save us or destroy us? Probably neither, but as we shape the trajectory of its future, we also shape our own.
We saw at the outset of the book that Thomas Aquinas considers reason a preamble to faith. But to faith in what? Human life is triply haunted, by the specter of absurdity, by the burden of brokenness and guilt, and by the dread of mortality and incompleteness. Can there be meaning, can there be healing and forgiveness, can we be everlastingly fulfilled? According to St. Thomas, the answers to these three questions are provided in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, who bore our sins and opened the path to the Father. This scandalizes us because if the Gospel is true, then the facile and comforting proposal of “many roads to heaven” is false. It scandalizes us even more because it asks something of us. And so the Treatise on the One God is not the end of our investigation, but the beginning.
The once-popular thesis that non-Christians who are inculpably ignorant of the gospel can be saved through ‘implicit faith’ in Christ has fallen on hard times. In this paper, we consider objections raised against this position by a range of Catholic critics, including Thomas Crean, Augustine DiNoia, Gavin D’Costa, and Stephen Bullivant. In our judgement, criticisms of ‘implicit faith’ often suffer from a lack of clarity about the nature of such faith, although admittedly this ambiguity was present even in original Scholastic uses of the term. However, in the past few decades, analytic philosophers have explored many forms of belief, which one might call ‘implicit’. Accordingly, we draw on both Scholastic and analytic epistemology to arrive at a more attractive characterisation of implicit faith. We argue that once implicit faith is understood in this way, recent objections to the claim that non-Christians can be saved soluble.
This essay considers Gregory of Nazianzus’ allusion to ‘divine deceit’, a motif related to the so-called ‘Christus Victor’ theory of atonement. This allusion is curious when we recall that for Gregory, the devil, not God, is the master of deception. When we treat On the Lights (Or. 39) as a literary unit – which commentators have yet to do – we see that Gregory makes several doctrinal affirmations before alluding to what is known as ‘divine deceit’. In this doctrinal discussion, Gregory draws upon the Platonic distinction between the orders of being and becoming as described in the Timaeus. He then alludes to ‘divine deceit’ with respect to the order of ‘becoming’, which bears the possibility of being misapprehended because it is ‘grasped by opinion’. The devil's ‘opinion’ of himself and of Christ, therefore, is suspect. Death – or rather, Christ's vanquishment of it – is the moment of reckoning. Since God alone can defeat death, Christ's putting death to death is the only certain way for the devil to recognise that the ‘Son of Man’ is, after all, the ‘Son of God’. The ‘devil's delusion’, then – not ‘divine deceit’ – best summarises Gregory's understanding of this moment in the history of salvation.
For many anti-Calvinists, including the Cambridge Platonists, the Calvinist doctrine of double predestination entailed unacceptable conclusions about the character of God. Inspired by the fractious political climate, seventeenth-century English anti-Calvinists frequently accused the Calvinists of making God into an ‘arbitrary tyrant’, one who imposed his arbitrary will upon a hapless creation, unbound by any principles of justice or goodness. After considering the political and theological background from which this anti-tyrannical discourse emerges, this chapter examines the ways in which, in their attacks on the doctrine of double predestination, Benjamin Whichcote, Henry More, Ralph Cudworth and John Smith all appeal to an explicitly Platonic notion of God’s unwavering intention to communicate his goodness to creatures as far as they are able to receive it.
Exploring debt's permutations in Middle English texts, Anne Schuurman makes the bold claim that the capitalist spirit has its roots in Christian penitential theology. Her argument challenges the longstanding belief that faith and theological doctrine in the Middle Ages were inimical to the development of market economies, showing that the same idea of debt is in fact intrinsic to both. The double penitential-financial meaning of debt, and the spiritual paradoxes it creates, is a linchpin of scholastic and vernacular theology, and of the imaginative literature of late medieval England. Focusing on the doubleness of debt, this book traces the dynamic by which the Christian ascetic ideal, in its rejection of material profit and wealth acquisition, ends up producing precisely what it condemns. This title is part of the Flip it Open Programme and may also be available Open Access. Check our website Cambridge Core for details.
The gospel promoted by Paul has for many generations stirred passionate debate. That gospel proclaimed equal salvific access to Jews and gentiles alike. But on what basis? In making sense of such a remarkable step forward in religious history, Jason Staples reexamines texts that have proven thoroughly resistant to easy comprehension. He traces Paul's inclusive theology to a hidden strand of thinking in the earlier story of Israel. Postexilic southern Judah, he argues, did not simply appropriate the identity of the fallen northern kingdom of Israel. Instead, Judah maintained a notion of 'Israel' as referring both to the north and the ongoing reality of a broad, pan-Israelite sensibility to which the descendants of both ancient kingdoms belonged. Paul's concomitant belief was that northern Israel's exile meant assimilation among the nations – effectively a people's death – and that its restoration paradoxically required gentile inclusion to resurrect a greater 'Israel' from the dead.
The connections between senses and morality are located in politics, religion, music, food, and other practices and metaphors of consumption. Such associations point to desired or positive values that are demonstrated through particular sensory behaviour. These together form social structures that reflect propriety and moral decorum. The governance of good behaviour and subscription to moral codes similarly extend to the metaphysical world of spirits through a variety of corporeal and cognitive modalities. Building upon the phenomenological anthropology of morality, I show how the senses serve as intermediaries of moral binaries. Cases are drawn from myths, legends, folktales, poetry, and ethnographies. Overall, varying sociocultural associations of the different senses with morality, virtue, and disposition present a type of sensory attunement to apprehend moral economies and social structures. I argue that sensory moral economies are, in effect, the product of specific sensory action. Social actors are expected to perform particular ways of being that actualise alignment with ideal, righteous states or dispositions mediated through the senses. The outcome of such sense acts is a combination of immaterial interests and moral sentiments. As sociocultural arbiters, the senses bring to light the moral organisation of society.
The conclusion reemphasizes some of the main points of the book: that sectarian identities are not fixed, but remain fluid and adaptable to different situations. As such, they present grand narratives that human beings can emplot themselves within, and orient themselves accordingly. The chapter also notes how sect and school narratives seem to encompass notions of salvation. Similarly, human beings might adapt and develop the grand narratives to fit their own situations, thereby contributing to the history and accumulating tradition of any given sect or school. The medieval figure of al-Ghazālī is given as an example of such a reformer.