20th-Century Theology: God and the World in a Transitional Age by Stanley J. Grenz | Goodreads

20th-Century Theology: God and the World in a Transitional Age by Stanley J. Grenz | Goodreads

20세기 신학   

스탠리 J. 그렌츠,로저 E. 올슨 (지은이),신재구 (옮긴이)IVP1997-03-10

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576쪽

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책소개

20세기의 주요 신학자들의 신학 사상을 소개하고 비판적 평가를 시도한다. 칸트, 슐라이어마흐, 헤겔, 리츨 등 20세기 신학의 기초를 놓은 이들과 바르트, 불트만, 브루너, 틸리히,니버 , 라너 , 큉 , 몰트만,판넨베르크에 이르는 20세기 신학의 거장들을 중심으로 20세기에 진행된 신학 운동들을 체계적으로 정리했다.

신학 안내서로서 객관적인 분석과 날카로운 비평이 돋보인다는 평가를 받았으며, 미국에서는「Christianity Today」의 우수도서로 선정된 바 있다.

목차

역자 서문

머리말

서론

제1장 계몽주의:고전주의적 균형의 파괴

제2장 초월성의 재건:19세기 신학에서의 내재성

제3장 내재성에 대한 반란:신정통주의의 초월성

제4장 내재성의 심화:자유주의적 전통의 재편

제5장 세속 안에 내재하시는 하나님:급진주의 운동

제6장 미래의 초월성:희망의 신학

제7장 억압의 경험 속에 내재하시는 하나님:해방신학의 여러 유형들

제8장 인간 정신의 초월성:새로운 가톨릭 신학

제9장 이야기 내에서의 초월성:설화 신학

제10장 내재성과 초월성의 균형을 향하여:복음주의 신학의 성숙

결론 초월성과 내재성의 신학에 대한 전망

주

참고도서

인명색인

주제색인

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책속에서

신학은...엄연히 상황적 학문이다...결국, 신학은 성경적인 복음, 교회의 유산 그리고 현대 세계의 사상 형태라는 세 가지 축을 중심으로 움직여야 한다...우리는 이러한 과도기적 세기에 신학의 다양성과 통일성에 빛을 비춰 줄 해석학적 도구가 되는 중요한 주제는, 하나님의 초월성과 내재성이라는 이중적 진리가 만들어 내는 창조적인 긴장이라 믿는다. 7,8p  접기 - 좋음

계몽주의 사상은 인간의 위치를 격상시키기도 했지만 역설적으로 인간의 상실을 의미하는 것이기도 했다...인간은 거대한 실재라는 수레바퀴속에 들어가 있는 하나의 작은 톱니바퀴에 불과하다고 보았다.. 22p - 좋음

칸트는 피조물인 인간의 한계에 대한 매우 영향력 있는 통찰을 제공한 것인데, 이것은 이후의 모든 신학이 심각하게 볼 필요가 있는 통찰이었다. 42p.

헤겔은 실재는 활동적이고 발전하는 것이라고 가르쳤다...하나의 지속적인 진행 과정이라는 생각이다. 46p. - 좋음

감정을 강조하는 낭만주의로부터 슐라이어마흐는 현대문화의 근본정신과 갈등을 빚지 않을 기독교 재편의 단서를 발견했다. 62p - 좋음

슐라이어마흐에 따르면 정통주의 접근 방법은 권위적 신학이 되게 해서 인간의 창의력을 질식시키고 하나님에 대한 교회의 교의와 하나님 자신을 혼동케 했다는 것이다. 64p - 좋음

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저자 및 역자소개

스탠리 J. 그렌츠 (Stanley J. Grenz) (지은이) 

스탠리 J. 그렌츠(Stanley J. Grenz, 1950-2005)는 침례교 전통에 충실한 기독교 신학자이자 윤리학자이다. 1950년 1월 7일 미국 미시간 알페나에서 출생하여, 2005년 3월 11일 캐나다 밴쿠버에서 이른 아침에 뇌출혈로 소천하였다. 55년의 짧은 생애 동안 2005년 11월 출간된 유고작 Named God and the Question of Being을 포함하여 26권이나 집필하였다.

1973년 미국 콜로라도 볼더 소재의 콜로라도 대학교에서 학사 학위를, 1976년 콜로라도 덴버신학교에서 M.Div 학위를, 1978년 독일 뮌헨대학교에서 볼프하르트 판넨베르크의 지도 하에 신학박사 논문을 쓰고 D.Theol. 학위를 받았다. 1976년 목사 안수를 받고, 콜로라도 덴버 소재 노스웨스트 침례교회의 청소년부 사역자 및 부목사로 섬기다가 1979년부터 1981년까지 캐나다 마니토바 위니펙 소재 로완데일 침례교회 목사로 섬겼으며, 그 외에도 여러 곳에서 임시 목사로 섬겼다. 교수가 된 후에도 강의실에 기타를 들고 와서 직접 연주하며 찬양을 인도하는 것으로 강의를 시작하였다. 그의 아내가 예배담당 목사로 재직하는 교회의 성가대와 찬양팀에서 기타리스트로 혹은 트럼펫 주자 등으로 교회를 섬기기도 하였다.

위니펙시에서 목사로 섬기면서 동시에 위니펙 대학교와 위니펙 신학교(현, Providence Seminary)에서 강의했으며, 이후 1981년부터 1990년까지 사우스다코타 수 폴스(Sioux Falls) 소재 North American 침례 신학교에서, 그 이후에는 맥도날드 석좌교수(Pioneer McDonald Professor of Baptist Heritage)로 1990년부터 2005년 소천시까지 밴쿠버 소재 캐리 신학대학교(Carey)와 리전트 대학(Regent)에서 조직신학 및 기독교 윤리학을 가르쳤다. 밴쿠버 재직 기간 중간에 2002-2003년에는 텍사스 웨이코(Waco) 소재 Baylor대학교와 George W. Truett 신학교의 신학 석좌교수(Distinguished Professor of Theology)로 1년간 외유하였으며, 1996-1999년에는 일리노이 롬바르드 소재 Northern Baptist 신학교 신학과 윤리 교수(Affiliate)로, 2004년 가을부터는 워싱튼 시애틀 소재 Mars Hill대학원에서 신학 교수로 가르치기도 하였다.

1987-1988년에는 풀브라이트 장학금으로 독일 뮌헨에서 안식년을 보냈으며, 1993년에는 미국 신학교 협의회(ATS)의 신학연구펠로우십을, 1999-2000년에는 헨리 루스 3세 신학 분야 펠로우십을 받았다.

26권의 저서 외에도 20여권의 학술서에 논문을 게재하였으며, 100여 편의 소논문(article)와 80여 편의 서평을 학술지에 기고, 출판하였다. 26권의 저서 중에 한국어로 번역된 책으로는 『20세기 신학』, 『기독교 윤리학의 토대와 흐름』(이상 IVP), 『교회와 여성』(CLC), 『기도』(SFC), 『누구나 쉽게 배우는 신학』(CUP), 『성 윤리학』(살림), 『신학 용어 사전』(알맹e & 도서출판 100), 『윤리학 용어 사전』(알맹e & 도서출판 100), 『조직신학: 하나님의 공동체를 위한 신학』(CH북스), 『포스트모더니즘의 이해』(WPA), 『환영과 거절 사이에서』(새물결플러스) 등이 있다.

저자에 대한 더 자세한 정보는 stanleyjgrenz.com에서 확인할 수 있다. 접기

최근작 : <윤리학 용어 사전>,<조직신학>,<환영과 거절 사이에서> … 총 51종 (모두보기)

로저 E. 올슨 (Roger E. Olson) (지은이) 

미국과 독일에서 신학을 공부하고 라이스 대학교에서 “삼위일체와 종말론”(Trinity and Eschatology, 1984)으로 박사 학위를 받았으며, 베일러 대학교의 조지 트루엣 신학교에서 신학을 가르치고 있다. 「크리스천 스콜라스 리뷰」(Christian Scholar’s Review)의 편집자였으며, 미국신학회(American Theological Society)의 회장을 지냈고(Midwest Division), 「크리스천 센추리」(Christian Century), 「크리스채너티 투데이」(Christianity Today) 등에 많은 글을 기고해 왔다. 미국종교학회(American Academy of Religion)의 복음주의 신학 분과에서 2년간 공동 대표를 역임하기도 했다. 역사 신학 전문가로서 지역 교회들과 기관들에서 설교자, 교사, 강연자로 섬겨 왔다.

저서 『이야기로 읽는 기독교신학』(대한기독교서회)은 미국 복음주의 기독교 출판협회(Evangelical Christian Publishers Association)의 금메달을, 스탠리 그렌츠와 함께 쓴 『20세기 신학』(IVP)은 「크리스채너티 투데이」의 신학/성서학 분야 최우수 도서상을 받았다. 『신학 논쟁』(새물결플러스), 『복음주의 신학의 역사』(한들), 그리고 『이야기로 읽는 기독교신학』의 축약 개정판으로 애덤 잉글리쉬와 함께 쓴 『신학의 역사』(도서출판100)를 통해 역사 속에서 펼쳐진 다양한 신학적 갈등을 이해하고 평가하려는 관심을 이어 왔으며, 그 외에도 『삼위일체』(대한기독교서회), 『보수와 자유를 넘어 21세기 복음주의로』(죠이선교회), 『오두막에서 만난 하나님』(살림), 그리고 스탠리 그렌츠와 공저한 『신학으로의 초대』(IVP) 등의 저서가 있다. 접기

최근작 : <현대 신학이란 무엇인가>,<신학의 역사>,<복음주의 신학사 개관> … 총 58종 (모두보기)

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신재구 (옮긴이) 

연세대학교에서 영어영문학을 전공했으며, 한국기독학생회(IVF) 간사로 사역한 후, 호주 시드니 무어 신학교에서 목회 훈련을 받았다. 한인 2세들을 위한 대학생 사역을 했고, 귀국한 후 수년간 목회했다. 지금은 시드니의 맥쿼리앵글리칸 교회에서 사역하고 있다. 옮긴 책으로 『IVP 성경배경주석』 『소그룹 운동과 교회 성장』 『20세기 신학』 『예수님의 제자훈련』(이상 IVP), 『제임스 패커의 생애』(CLC) 등이 있다. 블로그 ‘사이와 경계’(https://blog.naver.com/blogbetween)를 운영하고 있다.

최근작 : … 총 15종 (모두보기)

 

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공감순 

     

하나님의 초월성과 내재성의 관점에서 계몽주의 이후의 현대 신학을 개관하기에 좋은 책. 시대와 상황의 요청에 반응하여 나름의 최선을 다했던 신학자들의 몸부림에 감사를 표한다. 

꿈꾸는학생 2017-05-01 공감 (1) 댓글 (0)

마이리뷰

      

현대신학입문을 위한 필독서 새창으로 보기

그렌츠와 올슨은 이 책으로 그들의 신학적 능력을 인정받기 시작했다. 신의 초월과 내재라는 일관된 주제로 현대신학을 분석, 평가하는 시도는 종래의 저명 신학자들을 아무런 주제없이 그들의 신학적 공헌도만 기술하는 형태를 벗어난 새로운 발전이라고 볼 수 있다. 이들은 이 책을 위해서 오랜 기간동안 현대신학의 주류를 이루는 신학자들을 깊이 연구해왔음을 확인할 수 있다. 따라서 이 책은 현대신학을 이해하고자 하는 신학생들에게는 필독서가 될 것이 틀림없다.

단점이라면 19세기 영미신학을 좀 더 자세하게 소개하고 있지 않다는 점과 20세기에 혜성처럼 등장해서 전 세계를 휩쓸고 있는 오순절운동의 신학에 대한 소개가 전무하다는 사실이다. 이런 중요한 사실을 간과하고 있기 때문에 현대신학에 대한 상세한 지식이 없는 이들이 이 책을 접할 경우 마치 20세기 신학이 신의 초월과 내재라는 주제로 총괄되어진다는 생각에 빠져들기 쉽다는 점은 반드시 지적되어야 할 사항이다. 그렇지만 저자들이 이 책에서 시도한 바는 전체적으로 높히 평가될만하다고 여겨진다.

- 접기

이신열 2002-08-22 공감(2) 댓글(0)

Thanks to

 

공감

     

신학에 대한 공평한 평가가 빛나는 작품 새창으로 보기

흔히들 보수주의로 통칭되는 교계에서는 현대 신학 자체를 터부시하는 경향이 있어왔다. 칼 바르트와 같은 신학자를 자유주의 신학자라 매도하는 웃지못할 상황이 벌어지기도 했다. 누구나 알다 시피 칼 바르트는 자유주의의 종언을 맞게한 신학자임에도 말이다. 귀를 막은채 무조건적 거부만 해온 것이 우리의 신학적 풍토요, 신앙적 풍토였다.

그러나 복음주의 운동이 활발해지면서 현대 신학과의 대화가 이루어지고, 그것들에 대한 적극적인 변증이 형성되면서 보수주의 진영에서는 새로운 신학적 부흥을 맞이하게 된 듯 하다.그것을 상징적으로 보여주는 것이 '20세기 신학'이라는 책을 출간하게 되었다는 사실이 아닐까?

이 책은 복음주의적 관점을 잃지 않으면서도 현대 신학의 공헌과 신학적 통찰의 정당함들을 객관적으로 존중하고 있음을 보게된다. 뿐만 아니라 나름의 일관성, 즉 초월성과 내재성의 차원에서 현대 신학의 흐름을 분석해준다. 이를통해 수 많은 곁가지의 논의들이 근본적으로는 어떤 줄기에서 파생되었는지를 파악하게 하며, 이로써 신학적 이해의 폭을 더욱 깊게 해주는 것이다. 여러 말이 필요하지는 않다.물론 각 신학자의 원서를 읽어보는 것 만큼은 아니겠지만, 이 책만으로도 각 신학자가 어떤 생각을 해왔는지는 잘 이해하게 되리라 믿는다.훌륭한 저서이다.

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20th-Century Theology: God and the World in a Transitional Age

by Stanley J. Grenz, Roger E. Olson

 3.84  ·   Rating details ·  265 ratings  ·  25 reviews

Recipient of a Christianity Today 1993 Critics' Choice AwardNow in paperback! Stanley Grenz and Roger Olson offer in this text a sympathetic introduction to twentieth-century theology and a critical survey of its significant thinkers and movements. Of particular interest is their attempt to show how twentieth-century theology has moved back and forth between two basic concepts: God's immanence and God's transcendence. Their survey profiles such towering figures in contemporary theology as Karl Barth, Rudolf Bultmann, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Reinhold Niebuhr, Paul Tillich, Jurgen Moltmann and Wolfhart Pannenberg. It critiques significant movements like neo-orthodoxy, process theology, liberation theology and theology of hope. And it assesses recent developments in feminist theology, black theology, new Catholic theology, narrative theology and evangelical theology. An indispensable handbook for anybody interested in today's theological landscape. (less)

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Don Bryant

May 28, 2012Don Bryant rated it really liked it

This is a textbook genre. It covers the territory and gives the information in a clearly organized format. This is what textbooks should do. While it weaves in basic themes and organizing principles, it is not so much a story as a classification system. This is okay. More than okay. But it does not have the narrative feel of Roger Olson's The Story of Christian Theology, a volume I have read at least four times.

The word is that Olson will be soon updating this work to include more reflection on postmodernism.

The basic organizing principle of the work is the tension between God's transcendence and immanence. 20th century theology is essentially in Olson's view an exercise in immanence, with some rare exceptions, like Karl Barth. The rails on which 20th century theology runs were set by Immanuel Kant, who asserted that we can know only in a way that humans know. Our categories of knowing are internal to us so that we cannot stand outside of ourselves, as it were, and know objectively what something is in and of itself. In other words, the world of the transcendent is cut off from us. We are all phenomenologists. We can't penetrate the noumenal. God has to come down to us in human experience.

The older classical tradition assumed the availability of the transcendent. This note has an uncertain ring in the 20th century.

I am not a Kantian. But I try to take seriously his epistemological humility. We know, and we know truly. But we do not know as God knows. And that would seem to mean that our theological systems should express some sense, if not of tentativeness, then at least the best we can do thus far. The refusal of the church to take seriously post-Kantian developments means that it is not in dialogue with some of the questions modern man poses to the faith. Some Evangelicals will look at all this as just more evidence of sin but the modern struggle with certainty is a human question. It rises out of us and is not a mere shaking of the fist in the face of God. It could be and in some cases is. But it is not necessarily so.

In this way Olson's and Grenz's work is an introduction to the 20th century and not just its theology. (less)

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Zack

Apr 26, 2020Zack rated it liked it

Olson and Grenz undertake the ambitious task (especially for 1992) of weaving together a narrative-dialogical presentation of twentieth century theology, encompassing mainline and evangelical Protestantism together with progressive Roman Catholicism. On the whole, they have produced a fascinating account and a helpful review of relevant theologians and their most significant publications. But man, this book is a slog to read through. The authors could have accomplished their task in about 80% of the pages actually published.

Using the twin concepts of divine transcendence and divine immanence as an interpretive/organizational rubric, the authors propose the unbalanced focus on immanence throughout the twentieth century, with flashes of transcendence (e.g., Barth, Pannenberg, Moltmann, Henry, Ramm) interspersed at points, has both dominated the century and largely spoiled theology. On pages 266-267 they summarize the theme of twentieth century theology: “That God suffers is almost a truism in contemporary theology. In a single theological generation the traditional doctrine of God’s impassability has been overturned, so that it is now almost heresy to reassert it.” They end on a note of optimism that the rise of postmodernism will inspire a new vitality in evangelical theology. I’m not sure that ensuing history has borne out that prediction/hope. On the contrary, the best of worldwide Christianity has engaged in retrieval and development of a classical theological tradition once thought lost. (less)

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Jeremy Allen

Apr 16, 2011Jeremy Allen rated it really liked it

A good summary of theology in the 20th century. It takes the view that theology should be done in the balance between divine immanence and divine transcendence. It is a good sequel to Olson's "The Story of Christian Theology", although I enjoyed "The Story of Christian Theology" a bit more. (less)

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Samuel Parkison

Mar 02, 2018Samuel Parkison rated it really liked it

This was an incredibly informative, infuriating textbook. These two authors document the descent of theology (the sacred and doxological task of studying the living God) into mere intellectual games. Philosophers creating their own unique technical terminology to describe their system with words in common use, who then get upset when they are misunderstood, and theologians who plunge headlong into innovation for innovation’s sake (or rather, for the sake of playing the academic, intellectual games). This is largely he story of theology in the 20th century.

Grenz and Olson use the relationship between divine transcendence and divine immanence as their primary rubric for understanding the different theological strands post-Enlightenment. They argue that the traditional transcendence-immanence understanding that the Enlightenment abandoned is the most pressing concern for post-Enlightenment theology. But I can’t help but wonder if the more pressing matter is simpler: biblical authority (specifically in relation to epistemology). They cite biblical authority and epistemology as a byproduct of any given theological system’s conception of transcendence-immanence, but I wonder if this is a case of swapping cause and effect.

Grenz and Olson basically conclude with an optimistic shrug: we still haven’t figured out transcendence-immanence, but evangelicalism has taken us a step in the right direction. Their primary object to Carl F.H. Henry’s proposed solution to that tension, however, is that Henry apparently didn’t include enough continuity between what he taught and what could be benefited from Enlightenment and post-enlightenment thought. Essentially, Henry doesn’t solve the problems raised by the intellectual movements of the modern era, he simply went back in time. To which I respond, who cares? Why should we be expected to incorporate bad thinking just because it’s part of our western intellectual history? Henry saw problems with a foundation laid in the 17th-18th century that most other theologians built on. If the foundation is bad, the entire edifice is compromised (of course, nothing is *that* simple, and common grace exists: theologians were inconsistent with their shoddy foundation, and, praise God, produced worthwhile contributions). But it’s silly to wrong Henry for saying, “This foundation is bad. The one we had before is better.” (less)

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David

May 25, 2021David rated it liked it

20th Century Theology is a helpful overview of the theological personalities and movements that arose in the prior century. The book provides a solid historical background for the beginning of the 1900s, and it clearly outlines the themes of God's transcendence and immanence. It provides insights regarding systems of thought that no longer exist but continue to have a lasting, and therefore relevant, influence on modern thought.

The book is not extensive. The authors have taken the heroically impossible task of condensing a person's lifework into less than 15 pages. As a result, some of the more complicated theologies are difficult to understand. This is not an fault of the authors. It is simply the nature of the book and the theologies it reflects on.

However, some things are left to be desired. The issue of theological authority following the Enlightenment, which severed the chord connecting the Bible to God as author, is largely implicit. In it's neutrality, the book treats all theologians equally. Subsequently, there is something laudible and something negative about each person, even if positive and negative are identical or intimately connected.

Perhaps the most egregious fault is the authors' tone towards traditional Christianity. Orthodoxy is regularly criticized and deemed outmoded, while heresy is occasionally lauded as noble. Such a message is simply unacceptable and frankly undermines the book's credibility for orthodox readers. (less)

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Nelson Banuchi

Nov 08, 2018Nelson Banuchi rated it it was amazing

Shelves: christian-history-of-theology

Olson provides an intriguing read in what he considers be to be the central challenge in articulating the nature of God from theologically Christian worldview, that is, the conundrum that exists between God's immanence and His transcendence. Olson attempts to show how Christian theologians from the Enlightenment to our modern times tried to reconcile these two seemingly disparate aspects of God's nature.

He engages with such philosophical and theological personalities as Hegel, Ritschl, Bultmann, Niebur, Tillich, Bonhoeffer, Moltmann, Rahner Ramm, and engages with varying theologies as Process, Liberation, and Feminism.

An excellent read for one who seek to understand the central issue theologians tried to resolve respecting both God seeming absence and presence in the history, the major players who sought a resolution, and how they articulated their views. Olson supplies his own critical evaluation after each section.

This book is a must read for anyone seeking to understand how God was understood throughout modern history, the thoughts of major players in the field of theology, and how it affects our understanding of God today. (less)

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Steve Irby

Jul 03, 2021Steve Irby rated it liked it

Shelves: 2018

I just finished "20th Century Theology," by Grenz and Olson.

I found this highly interesting. Commenting upon theologians of the 20th century, the writers began with the enlightenment. From there they worked through all of the 19th century liberal Protestantism/historical Jesus theologians. Then in light of all that they classified all schools of thought and the thinkers per transcendent or immanent beginning in the year 1914 (because of WW1; but really in 1920 because of the release of Barth's commentary on Romans). Everyone got worked over: neo-orthodox, neo-liberal, theology of hope, liberation, narriative, neo-catholic (Roman), fundy and Evangelical. It was an awesome ride. But due to it having been published in 1993, I wonder what tone it would have taken if it would have been written in 1994, after the release of The Openness of God.

====

알라딘 한국을 다시 묻다: 한국적 정신과 문화의 심층 이찬수, ,신현승,황종원

알라딘: [전자책] 한국을 다시 묻다: 한국적 정신과 문화의 심층

한국을 다시 묻다: 한국적 정신과 문화의 심층 

- 한국적 정신과 문화의 심층 

이찬수,최준식,신현승,황종원 (지은이)

모시는사람들2017-03-30 

책소개

'단일민족'이라는 울타리가 해체되는 한편으로 '한류'가 전 세계적으로 풍미하는 시대상황 속에서 '한국정신' 혹은 '겨레얼'의 실상을 인문학적으로 탐구하고 조명한 결과물이다. 

• '한국정신'을 고정불변의 것으로 보아, 고수하고 고집하는 것이 아니라 
• 세계화 시대에 '더불어 삶'을 가능케 하는 근본 토대로서의 한국인의 정신, 민족, 문화, 얼 등을 스스로 이해하고, 
• 다른 사람과 공유하고, 세계에 설명할 수 있는 기본 교재라 할 수 있다.

목차

01 한국의 정신, 겨레얼은 무엇인가?

한국적 정신 

겨레얼과 민족성

풍류, 신명, 정한 

민족의식과 선비정신

민족종교에서 붉은 악마까지

02 겨레와 민족이라는 최신 언어

주체와 능력 

불변의 본질을 넘어

겨레와 민족 

민족과 민족의식

민족의식의 한국적 전개 

국가의 부재와 민족의식의 강화

조선혼과 조선학

03 겨레, 문화, 신화

우리말이 주는 착각 

수용과 변화의 능력

겨레얼과 문화의 구조 

겨레얼의 표현 방식, 신화

신화의 메시지, 홍익인간 

신화의 종교화

04 풍류도, 신명, 정한

다양성의 근원 

홍익인간의 빈틈

포함삼교와 접화군생 

불교의 수용과 전개

불교와 풍류의 관계 

풍류도와 화랑도

신명과 신기 무교와 정한(情恨)

정한의 사회화

05 조선의 문화와 겨레얼

겨레얼과 언어 문화 

국어와 한국적 정신

한글 창제와 훈민정음 

선비와 선비정신

선비의 의리 정신 

선비적 윤리, 청백리

06 근대 한국의 유교 정신

위정척사파의 선비정신 

상소운동의 재해석

유교적 계몽운동가 박은식 

저항으로서의 전통 연구

정인보의 양명학과 조선학 

조선학 운동과 겨레얼

07 신명의 근대적 개화

조선의 신명과 풍류 

신명의 유교화

서학과의 갈등과 수용 

개신교의 한국적 전개

08 자생 종교와 풍류도의 다변화

상층과 기층의 만남 

풍류 정신의 재현, 최제우

겨레얼의 양극화 

자생 종교의 풍류성

기독교의 한국적 특징 

대중문화의 풍류성

신명의 쏠림 현상

09 오늘 한국을 말한다는 것

겨레얼의 토발화(土發化) 

한국적 정신은 계속될 수 있을까?

위정척사파의 선비정신 

상소운동의 재해석

유교적 계몽운동가 박은식 

저항으로서의 전통 연구

정인보의 양명학과 조선학 

조선학 운동과 겨레얼

Buddhist Christianity from Christian Alternative Books

Buddhist Christianity 




Buddhist Christianity

A wide-ranging, searching and partly autobiographical argument that it is reasonable and beneficial to combine definitely Christian and Buddhist commitments.
Synopsis | Reviews (7)
Paperback £14.99 || $24.95

Aug 27, 2010
e-book £6.99 || $9.99


978-1-78099-085-9
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Ross Thompson

Synopsis


It is possible to be a Christian Buddhist in the context of a universal belief that sits fairly lightly on both traditions. Ross Thompson takes especially seriously the aspects of each faith that seem incompatible with the other, no God and no soul in Buddhism, for example, and the need for grace and the historical atonement on the cross in Christianity. Buddhist Christianity can be no bland blend of the tamer aspects of both faiths, but must result from a wrestling of the seeming incompatibles, allowing each faith to shake the other to its very foundations. The author traces his personal journey through which his need for both faiths became painfully apparent. He explores the Buddha and Jesus through their teachings and the varied communities that flow from them, investigating their different understandings of suffering and wrong, self and liberation, meditation and prayer, cosmology and God or not? He concludes with a bold commitment to both faiths.

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Cynthia Nichols

5.0 out of 5 stars Clear, potent, terrific writing

Reviewed in the United States on April 6, 2013

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For anyone who finds vital meaning in both Christianity and Buddhism, anyone interested in intelligent ways to reconcile their differences while foregrounding their real affinities, this is a great read. Not for fundamentalists--Thompson's understanding of Christianity is more from the mystical and nonliteral traditions.

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warlock

5.0 out of 5 stars Five Stars

Reviewed in the United States on January 1, 2018

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this book got me back on my first path--bhuddism

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Hayo B.E.D. Krombach

1.0 out of 5 stars Title and content are different and do not match.

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on September 18, 2020

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I received a book today with the title 'Buddhist Christianity: A Passionate Openness', by Ross Thompson. This title I had ordered. However, inside the cover is another book with the title 'Cromwell was Framed: Ireland 1649'. It is a different book, which I hadn't ordered from you.

Please provide me with a new book where the text matches the title: Buddhist Christianity.... I request this new item without incurring further costs or having to return the useless one I got today.

I am sure there are more of these misprinted copies.

I hope Amazon can agree to this.

Best,

Hayo B.E.D. Krombach

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Ray

4.0 out of 5 stars Interesting perspective

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on December 3, 2013

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This is a very interesting book, especially being written by a CofE clergyman. It is such a complex subject, that it is always good to have perceptions challenged, and to look at the issues from a different viewpoint, so I found it very valuable, even if I did find that there are a number of non sequiturs in parts of the book. It is also very readable, so I would recommend it to anyone who is even mildly interested in the subject

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Ray V

3.0 out of 5 stars Informative and Thought-provoking

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on December 7, 2012

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This is a personal account of the author's spiritual pilgrimage. I liked his thoughts about the basic identity of the spiritual heart of both faiths. I found parts of it tedious, mainly because I am not very interested in deep philosophical theology either of the Buddhist or of the Christian variety. However, I found myself warming to the more emotional and instinctive parts, and also learning a bit more about Buddhism.

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==

Double belonging: Buddhism and Christian faith

Jun 23, 2010

by Thomas C. Fox

(NCR photo/Teresa Malcolm

Paul F. Knitter, author of Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian, is Paul Tillich Professor of Theology, World Religions and Culture at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He is a leading advocate of globally responsible interreligious dialogue and author of more than 10 books on the subject. In this, his newest book, he writes very personally, sharing his struggles with his Christian faith while relating how his study of Buddhism -- and his own Zen practice -- has helped him through this struggle.

NCR readers familiar with Buddhism or other Eastern practices and religions will find this book both refreshing and rewarding. It is unusual for a Catholic theologian to write as personally as Knitter has done in this book. I spoke with him recently about his Catholic faith and the Buddhist thought and practice that have entered into his thinking and life as he has worked in the field of interreligious dialogue.

Fox: Do you consider yourself to be a Christian?

Knitter: Oh, I definitely do. I was born a Catholic in Chicago, grew up and entered the seminary. I consider myself to be a Christian, especially in its Roman Catholic form.

Would you say that you’re a Buddhist Catholic or a Catholic Buddhist?

Definitely the noun is Catholic or Christian; the adjective is Buddhist. My primary identity is Christian.

As a Catholic theologian, what is your relationship officially with the church?

I think I’m a pretty reputable member of the Catholic Theological Society of America. I’m a practicing Catholic. My relationship with the church is, as far as I can judge, good.

To be straightforward and honest, I have received some general admonitions from Pope Benedict when he was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger. In a book on dealing with other religions, he mentioned me as one of the people who represent a tendency that could easily slip into relativism. I’m working in an area that is quite controversial, namely how Christianity can understand itself in the light of other religions.

In your book you speak of “double belonging.” Just what does that mean?

Double belonging is being talked about more and more now, both in the theological academy and in the area of Christian spirituality. I think it’s the term that is used when more and more people are finding that they can be genuinely nourished by more than one religious tradition, by more than their home tradition or their native tradition.

How widespread is double belonging?

I wouldn’t say it is for general consumption, but in areas of Europe and North America, I think that the number of people who are serious about practicing their faith are finding that some degree of double belonging is becoming more and more a part of their lives.

Why such a broad interest today in Buddhism among Christians?

There’s no one answer. In the book, I quote a friend of mine, Fr. Michael O’Halloran, who is formerly a Carthusian monk and now a priest here in the New York archdiocese. He is also a Zen teacher. Michael once told me that Christianity is long on content but short on method and technique. So I think Buddhism is providing Christians with practices, with techniques, by which they can enter more experientially into the content of what they believe.

What are the needs among Christian believers that you think Buddhism is addressing?

I hope I’m not generalizing here too much, but I think a lot of it has to do with the dissatisfaction that many of us Christians feel with a God who is all out there, a God who is totally other than I, the God who stands outside of me and confronts me. I think we’re searching for ways of realizing the mystery of the divine of God in a way in which it is more a part of our very selves.

I think Christians are searching more for a way of experiencing and understanding God in a unitive way, or what I say in the book is a “non-dual way,” where God becomes a reality that is certainly different than I am, but is part of my very being.

Buddhism does not affirm the existence of God. It has been described as an “atheistic” religion. How can it have significance for a theistic religion like Christianity?

We’ve got to be really careful with how we use the term “atheistic.” Clearly Buddhism does not affirm the existence of a personal God, but I think the better term would be “non-theistic” rather than “atheistic.” It’s not denying God, but if I may put it this way, the Buddha and so much of Buddhism is much more concerned with experiencing ultimate reality rather than defining and naming it.

When you ask a Buddha, “What is it that you are part of when you are enlightened, or when you experience nirvana?” one of the terms or images that are used is sunyata, which means emptiness. That’s not a very good translation but it’s the word they use to identify that ultimate reality is not an entity, a being, but rather it is what they call the interconnectedness of everything. Or as the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh uses the term for ultimate reality, “interbeing.”

Buddhism has helped me to rediscover, to deepen what it means when, in the New Testament -- maybe it’s the only definition of God that we find in the New Testament -- when it says that “God is love.”

I think what Buddhism means by “interbeing” helps me appropriate what in our Christian terminology we mean when we say divine reality is love, and then that sets the stage for me -- and I think for many Christians -- for reappropriating one of our central symbols for God, spirit.

So for me now when I say the word God, what I image, what I feel, thanks to Buddhism, is the interconnecting spirit -- this ever-present spirit, this ever-present, interconnecting energy that is not a person, but is very personal, that this is the mystery that surrounds me, that contains me, and which I am in contact with in the Eucharist, in liturgies, and especially in meditation.

Buddha was enlightened; Jesus was divine. That’s a big difference, isn’t it?

Yes. It’s a big difference. When one looks at, first of all, the language that we Christians use to talk about the mystery of Jesus the Christ, perhaps the two primary words that we use -- or doctrines that we attest to -- are Jesus is Son of God and Jesus is Savior. Now those two terms, Son of God, Savior, are beliefs. These expressions are our attempt to put into words what is the mystery of God.

All of our words are our efforts to try to say in words what can never be fully said in words. In other words, we’re using symbols, we’re using metaphors, we’re using analogies. This goes straight back to St. Thomas Aquinas and to my teacher, Karl Rahner. All of our language is symbolic.

So when the Catholics say that Jesus came to save us, we are not saying just that?

We’re saying something that is very true, something that tries to express what we have experienced, but we can never capture the full reality of it in those words. Again, to use the Buddhist image that is often used, our words are like fingers pointing to the moon -- not the moon itself. Words can never be fully identified with the reality that they are indicating.

You write that Catholics need an eighth sacrament. Explain that.

This has been perhaps one of the key elements that I and many others have learned from Buddhism: the importance of silence. It is in some form of meditation we recognize that the mystery of God is something that cannot be appropriated simply by thought.

This fits into our Catholic sacramental theology. We say that every sacrament contains matter and form. So the matter in the sacrament of silence is our breath, being aware of our breath, being one with our breath, doing nothing else but breathing.

A number of times in the book, you quote Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese monk. You write, echoing Nhat Hanh, that in order to make peace, we have to be peace. Reversing Pope Paul VI’s statement, you state that if we want justice, we have to seek peace. Is that right?

My wife and I spent much of the ’80s and the ’90s working in El Salvador for peace during the war. So we have been activists throughout our lives -- peace activists, social activists. But when I look back at that activism I am aware of how so often our actions were filled with a certain verbal violence.

We had to resist, we had to confront the evil structures. And there are evil structures, but something was missing for me. What was missing was captured in an experience I had back in 1986 or ’87 when I did a Zen retreat with Roshi Bernie Glassman.

I said to him during this retreat that we were going down to El Salvador to try to do something to stop the terrible death squads. He said: “Right, you have to stop the death squads, but you also have to meditate because you will never stop the death squads until you realize your oneness with them.”

That is the experience that Buddhism calls us to, this deep, personal experience of our interconnectedness with all beings, even those whom we have to oppose as oppressors, as perpetrators of evil. We are one with them. This is what Thich Nhat Hanh means when he says that we have to be peace within ourselves. We have to overcome our egos and realize our connectedness with all beings.

You’ve written, “For Buddhists, selfishness is not so much sinful as it is stupid.” Explain.

This is an aspect, I think, that is especially appreciated, or needed, by many Christians. For Buddhism, and I would want to say for Catholicism as well, our fundamental nature is good. Our fundamental nature is the Buddha nature, namely we are part of the interconnected whole, called to be aware of it, and to act out of compassion.

But our problem is that we are not aware of this. Because we’re not aware of this, because we think we are separate individuals rather than part of the interconnected whole, we think we have to protect ourselves. We think we have to gain things in order to establish our identity and, therefore, we act selfishly. We’re acting selfishly, not because we are fallen, not because we are evil in our natures, but because we are ignorant.

You’ve written that in the future, Christians will be mystics or they will not be anything at all. What do you mean?

That is a loose quotation from my teacher, Karl Rahner. What he was getting at is this: There are so many challenges and so many difficulties that we face that unless our identities are based on our own personal experience of God, as part of them, of Christ, as their very being, they are not going to be able to find the strength and the stamina and the wisdom to hang in there.

You’ve written that Buddhism has helped you peer into the mystery beyond death. What about death and life afterwards?

That was perhaps, for me, the most helpful, but maybe the most controversial part of my book. Buddhism tells us that here in this life our true identity, our true happiness, is to move beyond our individuality. I think that resonates with the word, “Unless a grain of wheat genuinely falls into the ground and dies, it will not bear fruit.” Buddhism has led me to look more deeply into what that passage means or what Jesus means when he said, “You will not find yourself unless you lose yourself.”

This has brought me to recognize something that for me seems to be more satisfying, namely that the life that awaits me after I die is going to be an existence that is going to be beyond my individual existence as Paul Knitter. I will live on, but I will not live on probably as Paul Knitter. In other words, our life in the future life after death is a form of existence that is beyond individuality. That doesn’t mean we’re annihilated; that doesn’t mean we don’t exist, but we will exist in a totally transformed, trans-individual existence.

[Thomas C. Fox is NCR editor and can be reached at tfox@ncronline.org.]

===



How the Buddha became a Christian saintJuly 13, 2020 5.58am AEST


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Philip C. Almond

Emeritus Professor in the History of Religious Thought, The University of Queensland
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Philip C. Almond does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
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From the 11th century onwards, the Legend of Barlaam and Josaphat enjoyed a popularity in the medieval West attained perhaps by no other legend. It was available in over 60 versions in the main languages of Europe, the Christian East and Africa. It was most familiar to English leaders from its inclusion in William Caxton’s 1483 translation of the Golden Legend.

Little did European readers know that the story they loved of the life of Saint Josaphat was in fact that of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, the founder of Buddhism.
The ascetic life

According to the legend, there reigned in India a king called Abenner, immersed in the pleasures of the world. When the king had a son, Josaphat, an astrologer predicted he would forsake the world. To forestall this outcome, the king ordered a city to be built for his son from which were excluded poverty, disease, old age and death.

But Josaphat made journeys outside of the city where he encountered, on one occasion, a blind man and a horribly deformed one and, on another occasion, an old man weighed down by illness. He realised the impermanence of all things:

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No longer is there any sweetness in this transitory life now that I have seen these things […] Gradual and sudden death are in league together.

While experiencing this spiritual crisis, the sage Barlaam from Sri Lanka reached Josaphat and told him of the rejection of worldly pursuits and the acceptance of the Christian ideal of the ascetic life. Prince Josaphat was converted to Christianity and began to practise the ideal of the spiritual life of poverty, simplicity and devotion to God.
Scenes from the Story of Jehosophat from the Bible. Augsburg, G. Zainer, c.1475. Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of Paul J. Sachs

To forestall his quest, his father surrounded him with seductive maidens who “tantalised him with every kind of temptation with which they sought to arouse his appetites”.

Josaphat resisted them all.

After the death of his father, Josaphat remained determined to continue his ascetic life and abdicated the throne. He journeyed to Sri Lanka in search of Barlaam. After a quest lasting two years, Josaphat found Barlaam living in the mountains and joined him there in a life of asceticism until his death.
A great saint

Barlaam and Josaphat were included in the calendars of saints in both the Western and Eastern churches. By the 10th century, they were included in the calendars of the Eastern churches, and by the end of the 13th century in those of the Catholic church.
Saints Barlaam and Josaphat, Jacques Callot’s Calendar of Saints, c.17th century. Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of William Gray from the collection of Francis Calley Gray, by exchange

In the book we know as The Travels of Marco Polo, published around the year 1300, Marco gave the West its first account of the life of the Buddha. He declared that — were the Buddha a Christian — “he would have been a great saint […] for the good life and pure which he led”.

Read more: Netflix ‘Chinese Game of Thrones’ charts the life of Marco Polo – so who was he?

In 1446, an astute editor of the Travels noticed the similarity. “This is like the life of Saint Iosaphat”, he declared.

It was, however, only in the 19th century the West became aware of Buddhism as a religion in its own right. As a result of editing and translating of the Buddhist scriptures (dating from the first century BCE) from the 1830s onwards, reliable information about the life of the founder of Buddhism began to grow in the West.The Sacred Bodhi Tree. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Chicago Society of Etchers

Then the West came to know the story of the young Indian prince, Gautama, whose father – fearful his son would forsake the world – kept him secluded in his palace. Like Josaphat, Gautama eventually encountered old age, disease and death. And, like Josaphat, he left the palace to live an ascetic life in quest of the meaning of suffering.

After many trials, Gautama sat beneath the Bodhi tree and finally attained enlightenment, thereby becoming a Buddha.

Only in 1869 did this new-found knowledge in the West about the life of the Buddha lead inescapably to the realisation that, in his guise as Saint Josaphat, the Buddha had been a saint in Christendom for some 900 years.
Intimate connections

How did the story of the Buddha become that of Josaphat? The process was long and complicated. Essentially, the story of the Buddha that began in India in the Sanskrit language travelled east to China, then west along the Silk Road where it was influenced by the asceticism of the religion of the Manichees.

It was then transposed into Arabic, Greek and Latin. From these Latin versions it would be translated into various European languages.

Years before the West knew anything about the Buddha, his life and the ascetic ideal which it symbolised were a positive force in the spiritual life of Christians.
Gautama Buddha seated on a lotus throne, c.1573-1612. © The Trustees of the British Museum, CC BY-NC-SA

The Legend of Barlaam and Josaphat demonstrates powerfully the intimate connections between Buddhism and Christianity in their commitment to the ascetic, meditative and mystical religious life.

Few Christian saints have a better claim to that title than the Buddha.

In an era where the Buddhist spirituality of “mindfulness” is very much on the Western agenda, we need to be mindful of the long and positive history of the influence of Buddhism on the West. Through the story of Barlaam and Josaphat, Buddhist spirituality has played a significant role in our Western heritage for the last one thousand years.

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Religion
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Silk Road
Saints
Buddha
Sainthood

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===
CAN A CHRISTIAN BELIEVE IN NO-SELF?
ON BEING ENGLISH TEACHER FOR A ZEN MASTER

​Can a Christian be a Buddhist, Too?
Jay McDaniel
​

---

Many years ago, when I was in seminary, I had the unusual experience of living in two religious worlds simultaneously: one Christian and one Buddhist.

In the mornings I would take classes on Christianity under the guidance of gifted seminary professors, all of whom were preparing me to become a minister.  And then, in the afternoons, I would serve as the English teacher for a Zen Buddhist monk from Japan, who had recently completed his monastic training in Kyoto, having had the satori (enlightenment) experience with help from his Zen master.

For a young seminarian fresh out of college, my year as an English teacher for this Zen monk – now my good friend - was a very intense year.   I would leave morning classes thinking about the self's relation to God as understood in the Gospel of John, deeply steeped in the richness of a Christian path.  Then I would visit with a Zen monk in the afternoon, talking about Zen, and wondering if the self and God even existed.  He is pictured below.

One day in seminary illustrates the whole year.  I remember going to chapel in the morning, before class, and singing Amazing Grace along with my fellow seminarians.   I felt enveloped in God’s love.  That afternoon I then discussed with my Zen friend the meaning of the well-known koan "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"  He explained that there is no rational or formulaic answer, but that there is an "answer" and that it has to do with not having a self separated from the world.  He and I were always talking about the Buddhist idea of no-separate-self, or anatman.

I left our discussion wondering if Jesus had a self in the first place, and if God had one as well.  Maybe they, too, exemplifiedanatman.  Maybe they could hear the sound of one hand clapping because their selves, like that of a good Zen Buddhist, were empty of substance and completed by the world.  It seemed to me that the whole year was like this: trying to link the amazing grace of God’s love with the sound of one hand clapping.  

Of course this year did not emerge in a vacuum.  For me, it emerged as the outcome of a rather deep search, not simply for Christian identity, but for a living Christian faith.  I was myself surprised to find that Buddhism might help me find that faith.

I had first become interested in Buddhism during my senior year in college.   I was looking for an alternative to a form of fundamentalist Christianity into which I had briefly fallen; and I found that alternative in the writings of the late Catholic writer, Thomas Merton.   You will see photos of him on the right.  He was a monk living in a monastery in Gethsemane, Kentucky, who wrote voluminously on many topics, including war and peace, social justice, contemplative prayer, mysticism, and Buddhism.  Merton’s interest in Buddhism struck a chord in me because I, like he, was drawn to forms of spirituality that emphasize "letting go of words" and "being aware in the present moment."   Protestant Christianity often seemed too wordy to me.  Buddhism pointed to a world beyond words.

One reason I especially liked Merton was that he was sensitive to the fact that Christianity, too, points to a world beyond words.  It points to the world of other living beings who are to be loved on their own terms and for their own sakes, who cannot be reduced to the names we attach to them; and it also points to the world of divine silence as experienced in the depths of contemplative prayer.  Merton turned to Buddhism as a way of deepening his own understanding of the wordless, trans-theological dimensions of Christianity, and with his help I did the same. 

Under the influence of Merton's writings, then, I began to take courses in world religions during my first year in seminary, even as I also took course in biblical studies, the history of Christianity, and Christian theology.   At this stage, my interest in Buddhism was satisfied primarily through books and lectures in these courses.  Growing up in a middle-class Protestant setting in Texas, I had not really known a Buddhist, much less a Zen Buddhist, in a personal way.  I had known cowboys.

All this changed when I was asked by one of my professors to be the English teacher for the monk from Japan.  My professor was a professor of world religions named Margaret Dornish, and I was taking a course on Buddhism under her.   Her request, and my acceptance of it, changed my life.  The monk’s name was Keido Fukushima, and he was being sent to the United States by his master in Japan to learn English and to learn about America.   My assignment was to meet with him every day for one full year, teach him English, and also take him to numerous sites throughout southern California, from malls to monasteries.  Indeed, I myself was to be part of the experience for him.  In meeting me and getting to know how young people think, he would be meeting an "American."  I tried my best to be an “American” for him, but I am sure that I was, at best, a middle-class Texan.   I worried, along with Dr. Dornish, that I would be teaching Keido Fukushima to speak English with a Texas accent.

I quickly learned that my student, whom I was told to call Gensho, had already had seven years of English as a student in Japan.   I later learned that Gensho means young monk and that I was calling him "young monk" the whole time.  This was odd, because he was ten years my senior, but it never seemed to bother him.   In any case, he was being sent to the United States, not to learn English, but rather to brush up on English, so that he could return to Japan and field questions from Americans about Zen.  Given his facility with the language, our agreement was that I would teach him English by having him explain Zen to me.  Thus, we spent hours upon hours talking about Zen and Buddhism. 

As soon as we began talking about Zen, he explained to me that the best way to understand Zen is to undertake a daily practice of Zen meditation, or zazen.  Under his guidance I did take up that practice, and I have been doing it ever sense.   It introduced me to that world beyond words -- the world of pure listening -- that had led me to be interested in Zen in the first place.  Twenty years of Zen meditation is at least part of the experience that I bring to this website.  The other part is twenty years of teaching Buddhism and Asian religions to college undergraduates.

But Gensho's explanations of Zen did not stop with discussions or with zazen.   The wisest teachings he gave me in those days were the gleam in his eye, his ever-present sense of humor, and his kindness.  These activities were for me then, and are for me now, living Zen.  Dead Zen is what you get in books, and perhaps even books like this.  Living Zen is what you get when you are face to face with a Zen person or, still more deeply, with life itself.  As Gensho would often say, the ultimate koan is not the question: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"   It is life itself.  It is how you respond to what presents itself: the birth of children, the death of loved ones, the caress of your beloved, the beauty of sunsets, the murder of innocents, the laughter of friends, the hunger of the child.    When you respond with wisdom and compassion in the immediacy of the moment, you have become living Zen.  Your life is your sermon.  You are like the dog and cat in the photo: present in the present moment, true to your Buddha-nature in all its particularity.

With his help, then, I came to realize that Zen is not about arriving at another place called nirvana, but rather about arriving at the place where we start -- namely the present moment -- and living freely in the here-and-now of daily life.  Zen is among the most down to earth and concrete religions I know.  It is very bodily and practical.  For this reason I think Zen can enrich the incarnational emphasis of Christianity, which likewise finds the infinite in the finite, the sacred in the ordinary, the word in the enfleshedness of daily life.   Living Zen can help Christians enter more deeply into that form of living to which we aspire: life in Christ.

As I was spending my afternoons and many an evening with Gensho, my more conservative friends in seminary worried a little about me.  They knew that Zen Buddhists do not often speak of God and that faith in God is not part of the Zen world.   And they worried that I myself was falling into a dual religious identity.  One of them called it "double religious belonging."

I was not comfortable with this phrase.  Even as I felt like I was experiencing two different worlds each day, I did not feel that I belonged to two countries and had two passports.  Rather I felt like one person who was receiving nourishment from two intravenous tubes: one the dharma of Buddhism and the other the wisdom of Christ.   I borrow this metaphor from a wonderful Zen teacher in the United States, Susan Jion Postal.  Intuitively I knew the two medicines were compatible, but I was trying to figure out how they were compatible with my mind.  Moreover, I knew that if I had to choose one medicine over another, I would choose Christ.  I was not all Buddhist and all Christian, or half Buddhist and half Christian, but rather a Christian influenced by Buddhism.  Fortunately, the two fluids did indeed feel compatible and mutually enriching, so I wasn't forced to choose.  Each had a healing quality that could add to the other.

What, then, was the healing quality of Christianity?   Of course it has a lot to do with God and with the healing power of faith in God.  Part of this healing quality can be described if I go into greater detail about the chapel service in seminary, when we sangAmazing Grace.   When I sang along with the others, I felt that there was indeed a grace at hand, both in the lyrics and the melody and in the people singing it.   We were somehow together in a communion of love, even as we were different persons.  I sensed that there is a mysterious and encircling presence -- a sky-like mind -- in which we live and breathe and have our being, and that this mind is amazingly graceful.  We can live from this grace and even add to it.

For my part, I felt this grace most vividly, not in ideas learned from books, but in the gifts of personal relationships, in the beauty of the natural world, in the depths of dreams, in hopes for peace, in the silence of the soul, in the eyes of animals, in the mysteries of music, and in acts of lovingkindness.  There is something beautiful in our world, even amid its tragedies.  For me, this beauty is God.  God is the lure toward beauty in the universe, plus more.  And God is in the beauty, too.  The beauty of the world is God's body.

Admittedly, even in seminary, I did not always envision God as a male deity residing off the planet.  Neither did my professors, especially those who were process theologians.  With their help I arrived at a way of thinking about God that has made sense to me ever since.  They helped me see that the universe is not outside God, like a servant seated far beneath a throne on which sits a king; but rather inside God, like developing embryos are inside a womb, or schools of fish are inside an ocean, or clouds are inside the sky. 

My professors called this perspective pan-en-theism: a phrase which was coined in the nineteenth century, and which literally means that everything-is-in-God even as God is more than everything.  It seemed to me then and seems to me now that pan-en-theism is closer to the truth of amazing grace.   Grace is not something we approach from afar, like a throne on which sits a king, but rather something that is "always already here" as pure gift.  Just as the ocean is "always already here" for a fish swimming in it, so grace is "always already here" for human beings.  Our task, as humans, is to awaken to what is always already here.

I have said that from a pan-en-theistic perspective God is more than everything added together.   This is certainly the case for process theologians.  Just as an ocean is more than all the fish swimming in it, so God is more than our experience of God.  Imagine a fish swimming off the coast of the Gulf of Mexico in North America, and imagining that he knew everything about the ocean, including what it is like off the coast of New Zealand and South Africa and the Arctic.  This fish would be equating its own experience of God with the whole of God. 

Unfortunately, this is what I did during my senior year in college when I was a fundamentalist.  I was pretty sure that I knew the whole of God and that others who disagreed with me were wrong.   And this is why I am so glad to have discovered Thomas Merton, who helped me realize that the divine ocean is always more than our experience of it and we can lie back gently into its waters.   From Merton I learned about God the more-ness, and about how silent listening was profound way to be connected with this God.

Oftentimes in seminary before I went to sleep at night, I would pray to the divine more-ness.   Not only the contemplative prayer that Thomas Merton describe, but also the more traditional prayer of address that is at the heart of so much lived religion.   I would open my heart to the divine ocean and say “Please be with them O Lord” or "I am so sorry, God" or "Thank you, it is so beautiful" or "May all beings be happy."    Indeed, in times of sadness, I would also pray the harder prayers, the lamentations and protests, such as "Why did you let this happen?" and "Where are you, anyway?" and "Why have you forsaken me?"  These were for me a kind of primal speech of the heart, more like poetry than prose.   They were reaching out into the vastness of a mystery beyond my imagination, yet present even in its absence.

At first I felt a little guilty about these harder prayers.  I knew that you find this kind of praying in the Bible quite often, in the Psalms for example, but for some reason I thought I was supposed to be nicer to God than the biblical authors.  Thankfully, my professors explained that all these ways of praying are authentic if they come from the heart, because the divine ocean is big enough and powerful enough to receive and absorb all doubts, pains, sufferings and even all sins. 

How did they know this?  Most of them appealed to experience and also to Jesus.  In the minds of most of my teachers, Jesus was not a supernatural figure who descended to the earth from above, but rather a man among men whose opened heart revealed a special aspect of God: namely God's open-hearted reception of the world into the divine life, with a tender care that nothing be lost.  If we imagine God as an ocean, they said, then let us imagine Jesus as a fish among fish, whose opened heart reveals the Empathy and Eros of ocean itself.  Jesus was, as it were, a window to the divine.  I liked to think of Jesus as one of those fish with especially shining eyes.   You would look into his eyes and see the ocean.  Its name was not power or control or fear.  Its name was compassion.   You could feel this ocean every time you listened to other fish and cared for them.  You could feel it when you had compassion for yourself, too.  It was a very wide ocean, without boundaries, and somehow people saw it in the eyes of Jesus.   Not his alone, of course, but also in the eyes of others.

Of course not all eyes reveal compassion.  Some are all about power and control.  People with power-hungry eyes have somehow lost sight of their capacities for vulnerable love.  Their victims need our special love and care, and our hope that somehow the journey of live continues afterwards, so that their hearts find peace.  And those with power-hungry eyes need our love, too.  This is a teaching of Buddha and Jesus.  We must not draw boundaries around love.

I think that the ocean of compassion is also an ocean of listening.  It is affected by everything that happens all the time: omni-vulnerable, like a man on a cross.  I had a few friends in seminary, and I have many friends now, who do not believe in prayer.  Some of my friends in the college where I teach don't believe there is a divine ocean in the first place.  They believe that the great receptacle in which the universe unfolds is an empty space rather than an amazing grace, more like a vacuum than an opened heart.  And, of course, they may be right.  When it comes to the mystery within which we all swim like fish in the sea, we all see through a glass darkly.   No one can grasp the ocean, not even Christians.

Additionally, I have more religious friends who do indeed believe in a divine mystery of sorts, but who do not believe it receives prayers.  They see the mystery more like an energy or force which can act upon things, but which cannot be acted upon.  It has the power to give, but not to receive.  Our task, they say, is to do the will of God, they say, cognizant that God does not need us in any way.  For these friends, God is more like the male deity residing off the planet than an ocean of compassion.  He stands above the earth, watching from time to time, and intervening from time to time, but he would do just fine if the earth and the whole universe ceased to exist.

For my part, I have no objection to other people imagining God as a male deity residing off the planet.   I think we need many different images of God in our imaginations, and that this image is one among many that can help us.   I have met people whose lives have been empowered to deal with great suffering, with great courage, through this image of God.  But I do indeed have a problem with people who imagine this male deity as having the power to give but not to receive; the power to issue commands but not to empathize; the power to act in the world, but not to be acted upon by the world.   When God is imagined in this way, we have, as the philosopher Whitehead once put it, rendered unto God that which belongs to Caesar.   

I'm with Whitehead.  A God who lacks the power to receive, who doesn't need the world in any way, is too monarchical.  He is a lot like Caesar but not much like Christ.   When I say "God" in this column I mean the Christ-like God as opposed to the Caesar-like God.   I mean the God who is present to each living being on our planet and throughout the universe with a tender care that nothing be lost.   I mean the God who is filled by the universe, just as an embryo fills a womb, or stars fill a dark and starlit sky, or fish fill the sea.  I mean the God whose face is compassion not power, whose body is the world itself.  I mean the God who is an ocean.  The God whom Christians see revealed, but not exhausted, in the healing ministry of Jesus.

Faith in God is trust in the availability of fresh possibilities.  And life in God lies in being present to each situation in a kindly way, open to surprise, honest about suffering, and seeking wisdom for daily life.   I saw this kind of faith in "Gensho."  He did not have an image of God in whom he placed that faith.  When God becomes an ocean, we must sit loose with images, too, lest we make idols of them.  Still we can have faith in something more, maybe even someone more: someone who listens and seeks our well-being.   This is a faith to which I am drawn, moment by moment, as I try to walk with Christ, with help from Zen.
​​

see also:

ON BEING THE ENGLISH TEACHER FOR A ZEN MASTER

CAN A CHRISTIAN BELIEVE IN NO-SELF?

===

A Look at Christianity, Through a Buddhist Lens

By Peter Steinfels

Oct. 9, 2009

https://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/10/us/10beliefs.html

Five decades ago, Paul F. Knitter, then a novice studying to become a Roman Catholic priest, would be in the seminary chapel at 5:30 every morning, trying to stay awake and spend time in meditation before Mass.

Last Wednesday, at the same hour, he was sitting on his Zen cushion meditating in the Claremont Avenue apartment he occupies as the Paul Tillich Professor of Theology, World Religions and Culture at Union Theological Seminary in New York.

A few hours later he was talking about his pointedly titled new book, “Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian” (Oneworld). The book is the outcome of decades of encounters with Buddhism — and of struggles with his own faith.

Born in 1939, Mr. Knitter began his path to the Catholic priesthood at age 13, studied theology in Rome during the years of the Second Vatican Council, was ordained in 1966, completed a doctorate in Germany and began a long and influential career as a scholar addressing questions of the relationship between Christianity and other world religions.

He received permission to leave the priesthood in 1975, taught for many years at Xavier University in Cincinnati and after his retirement was invited to Union Theological.

“Am I still a Christian?” he asks in his new book. It is a question posed over the years by others, including some unhappy officials in the Vatican. But the question, he writes, is also “one I have felt in my own mind and heart.”

“Has my dialogue with Buddhism made me a Buddhist Christian?” he writes. “Or a Christian Buddhist? Am I a Christian who has understood his own identity more deeply with the help of Buddhism? Or have I become a Buddhist who still retains a stock of Christian leftovers.”

The struggles Mr. Knitter is writing about are not the familiar ones about sexual ethics, the role of women or the failures of church leaders.

His focus here is on what he calls “the big stuff”: What does it really mean for Christians to profess belief in an almighty “God the Father” personally active in the world, or in Jesus, “his only-begotten Son” who saved humanity through his death and bodily resurrection, or in eternal life, heaven and hell?

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However much he tried, Mr. Knitter found that certain longstanding Christian formulations of faith “just didn’t make sense”: God as a person separate from creation and intervening in it as an external agent; individualized life after death for all and eternal punishment for some; Jesus as God’s “only Son” and the only savior of humankind; prayers that ask God to favor some people over others.

Mr. Knitter’s response, based on his long interaction with Buddhist teachers, was to “pass over” to Buddhism’s approach to each of these problems and then “pass back” to Christian tradition to see if he could retrieve or re-imagine aspects of it with this “Buddhist flashlight.”

He was not asserting, as some people have, that religions like Christianity and Buddhism are merely superficially different expressions of one underlying faith.

On the contrary, he insists they differ profoundly. Yet “Buddhism has helped me take another and deeper look at what I believe as a Christian,” he writes. “Many of the words that I had repeated or read throughout my life started to glow with new meaning.”

Those new meanings will unsettle many Christians, as Mr. Knitter recognizes, even as they address difficulties felt by many others. This will vary, of course, from issue to issue. Mr. Knitter’s translation of Buddhist meditation into a call for a Christian “sacrament of silence” may be readily welcomed. His search for a “non-dualistic” understanding of God and the world may be only leading him through Buddhism back to Thomas Aquinas.

“Perhaps I could have come onto these insights without Buddhism,” he said Wednesday. Yet even in those cases he often expresses these insights in language that will be debated, like God as “InterBeing” or “Connecting Spirit.”

When his comparison between “Jesus the Christ and Gautama the Buddha” leads him to conclude that both are “unique” saviors but not sole or final ones, he is treading, as he well knows, in a theological minefield.

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One can predict that this book will receive instant condemnation from people who feel their duty is to protect Christian doctrine from wandering off course.

One can also predict that those condemnations will, in turn, make others hesitant to voice more nuanced, thoughtful criticism out of fear of piling on.

Mr. Knitter and his book deserve better. It is easy to draw up a list of substantial criticisms. For one thing, Mr. Knitter’s Christianity comes laden with all the impurities of popular piety and workaday theology while his Buddhism seems to be that of the best and the brightest.

Some readers may detect the reflex of the lifelong recovering cleric in his recoiling from whatever might appear to be patriarchal or excluding. And most important are questions about the nature and use of religious language for pointing to a mystery that can never be captured in human words.

Yet serious critics, no matter how major their differences, will not be able to ignore the enormous, almost disarming honesty of this book. Mr. Knitter admits his painful puzzlements and conducts his search for answers out in the open. He does not hide behind academic abstraction but writes clearly and personally and leaves himself open to correction.

Although he argues for a kind of religious “double-belonging,” he does not hesitate to ask whether this is ultimately a kind of promiscuity — or, as one of his students put it, “spiritual sleeping around.”

Mr. Knitter doesn’t believe so. But he has written his book in part to see whether fellow Christians agree.

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Will his “double-belonging” resonate sufficiently within his own faith community that he can continue to consider himself a Buddhist Christian? Or if not, as he explained this week, will he feel obliged to recognize himself as a Christian Buddhist?

One need not have a stake in that outcome to find “Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian” a compelling example of religious inquiry.

A version of this article appears in print on Oct. 10, 2009, Section A, Page 20 of the New York edition with the headline: A Look at Christianity, Through a Buddhist Lens. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe