Tag: bible

Interesting New Book on Assyria (and it’s a free pdf!)

I’ve just finished reading the intro so far, and I’m finding much to like in this new work by Jessie DeGrado on the interplay between the Assyrian empire(s) and ancient Israel, biblical texts, museum reception, and modern receptions. Neat framing in a decolonial context! I’ve been thinking of working on an updated and expanded Asia Has Claims Upon New England since it’s turning 20 (!!) this year as we continue to examine and re-examine our own lenses of history, theology, and cultural assumptions…

University Press of Colorado – Assyria’s Plunder:

Engaging texts from Israel and Judah, DeGrado refuses the usual framings of Biblical resistance to Assyrian despotism and asks instead why subject populations may have capitulated to Assyrian rule. Paired chapters consider specific Assyrian imperial practices and biblical texts that engage them. As the study moves from the awe-filled spectacle of Assyrian throne rooms to the Assyrian policy of deporting divine statues, Assyria’s Plunder centers the embodied experiences of those subjected to Assyrian hegemony. DeGrado also explores how the empire’s violence still holds sway in the popular imagination while Euro-American imperialism goes largely unacknowledged.

Drawing on decolonial studies alongside epigraphic and textual analysis, Assyria’s Plunder shows how critical historiography and theory can enrich historical analysis and provide a fuller portrait of Assyrian interaction with its client state.

An Ecology of Ecclesiastes

You can stand on the bank at Lawson’s Fork here in Spartanburg and watch water become air, the vapor lifting where the current slows over rocks, thinning as the light strengthens, and then gone quickly in a hot July morning. The ancient Hebrew has a term for what the eye is doing there. It’s the word the book we have mistranslated for four centuries sets at its own head, הֶבֶל, hevel, meaning something like “breath” or “vapor.” The mist that stands off the warm water on a cool morning and then is nowhere at all.

Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
What do people gain from all the toil
at which they toil under the sun?
A generation goes, and a generation comes,
but the earth remains for ever.

Lots of us hear it in sermons, slogans, or rhetoric as “vanity.” הֲבֵל הֲבָלִים, havel havalim, “vanity of vanities” is the superlative that the King James built into a commentary itself on the worth of our world. The whole book of Ecclesiastes has come down to us under that supposition, as though its author, קֹהֶלֶת, Qoheleth, had surveyed the creation and pronounced it worthless.

However, hevel isn’t a moral judgment but more of a perceptual term. Before it can be made to mean emptiness, it means the fog you saw over the water on a cool July morning before the heat of the day sets in, the visible brevity of a form that holds its shape for a span and then disperses. Qoheleth here isn’t condemning the world as vain or worthless, but is describing what it is to be a creature inside time (which sounds like a Bob Dylan album title).

This is why the book belongs to ecology and has been left, mostly, on the devotional shelf of the rarely used church library or used sparingly by a pastor in a funeral sermon when they really weren’t familiar with the recently deceased. Its opening chapter is a phenomenology of return so interesting that I don’t know a better one outside of Henri Bergson’s work.

The sun rises and the sun goes down,
and hurries to the place where it rises.
The wind blows to the south,
and goes round to the north;
round and round goes the wind,
and on its circuits the wind returns.

The sun rises, and the sun goes to its place and rises there again (also one of my favorite books is The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway… I know we’re not supposed to like him these days, but I’m a massive Hemingway fan still). The wind turns to the south, then to the north, and comes back around on its circuits.

All streams run to the sea,
but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow,
there they continue to flow.

And then the line that any of us who have stood in a river already know in the body: כָּל־הַנְּחָלִים הֹלְכִים אֶל־הַיָּם, all the streams run to the sea, and the sea is not full; to the place where they flow, they flow again. Sounds a good bit like Heraclitus’ (maybe… probably wasn’t him despite what Plato says) famous quip. Qoheleth is watching the water cycle (or “watching the wheels go round and round” to invoke Lennon in his prosaic phenomenology). They are watching the same water pass a fixed point and understanding that it is both the same and never the same, that the water I stood beside this morning is already in motion toward the Pacolet, a body of water (funny how we term that), the Fork will never carry past me again.

The philosophical name for what he sees is duration, and the ecological consequence of it sits one verse above the cycles, at the hinge of the whole passage: דּוֹר הֹלֵךְ וְדוֹר בָּא וְהָאָרֶץ לְעוֹלָם עֹמָדֶת. A generation goes, and a generation comes, and the Earth stands forever. Read often as a complaint, this is the futility of human labor against an indifferent world. However, read as observation, which is how I think Qoheleth means it here, it’s the exact structure of ecological perception.

The question Ecclesiastes is asking (and the question I have been reading toward all summer in Deleuze, Ruyer, Bergson, Stein, and Aristotle) is whether the return is the same thing coming back to mock us, or the world coming back in fidelity. Qoheleth answers with the ground. The generations that perceive the Earth are hevel, breath-brief, each one lifting off the surface and thinning into the light. The Earth, as well as The Dude, abides. What looks from inside a single lifespan like futility is, from the standpoint of the ground itself, faithfulness. The return is the world keeping faith, while those who watch it pass through do so.

And here the book touches the argument I have been pursuing this hot summer. A creature is hevel because its form is held in act only for a span. The black walnut in our backyard isn’t vapor because it’s worthless. It’s vapor because the shape it holds, the leafing, the fruiting, the whole standing fact of it against the July sky, is an act, ἐνέργεια, a being-at-work that the tree performs and cannot suspend, and every act of that kind is spent in the performing.

Aristotle’s word for the form fully realized, ἐντελέχεια, carries its own ending inside it, τέλος (telos or “end”), the completion toward which the walnut is always and only underway. To see the tree truly is to see it breathing out. Raymond Ruyer would say the tree is present to itself in that act, a self-survey with no observer standing over it, and that self-presence is real for exactly as long as the form lasts and not one morning longer. I think this is what Qoheleth saw and what later editors, scribes, and translators (later translators, some with theological or colonial agendas of their own) couldn’t forgive him for seeing. Creaturely form is breath. To be is to be spent.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

The translators who could forgive it were the legendary seventy who carried the book into Greek with the compilation of the Septuagint (from the term “seventy”… interesting story there for another time). When they came to hevel in the Hebrew, they went with ματαιότης, mataiotēs, ματαιότης ματαιοτήτων in Greek at the start of the book. A couple of centuries later, Paul, writing to an assembly of Christ followers in Rome about the whole groaning creation, uses that term once and pretty decisively: τῇ γὰρ ματαιότητι ἡ κτίσις ὑπετάγη, οὐχ ἑκοῦσα. For the creation was subjected to mataiotēs, to futility, to hevel, not willingly.

The “vaporousness” Qoheleth observes in Ecclesiastes from inside the water cycle is the same condition Paul says the entire κτίσις, the whole made order, has been placed under and groans to be delivered from. The two books use the same word across hundreds of years and a change of language. What Ecclesiastes sees, Romans delivers, I think.

Cain said to his brother Abel, ‘Let us go out to the field.’ And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel and killed him. Then the Lord said to Cain, ‘Where is your brother Abel?’ He said, ‘I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?’ And the Lord said, ‘What have you done? Listen, your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground! And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand.

There is one more incredibly interesting place that word hevel has been used. The second son born into the world is named הֶבֶל, Hevel, Abel, the breath, and he is the first of us to die, his life cut off in a field and his blood crying out from the אֲדָמָה, the ground, the very Earth that Qoheleth says stands forever. The first death/murder in scripture is named Vapor, and the Earth that abides is the Earth that received him. I can’t write the word hevel over a Piedmont morning without hearing that the brevity of every creature and the murder of the innocent are, in Hebrew, one syllable. This is the weight the Septuagint carried into Paul’s single word, and why the groan in Romans 8 isn’t meant as despair. Creation subjected to hevel is creation that holds Abel’s blood in the ground and the whole spent, breathing, dying order of things that the Cross gathers up.

Gathers is the right verb here, because it is Qoheleth’s own. The name means the one who assembles, from קהל, the gathering of the people, which the Greek made Ἐκκλησιαστής and the English Ecclesia (a favorite term of startup churches and themed Sunday schools), the speaker to the ἐκκλησία, the called-out assembly. The Preacher is the Gatherer, the one who collects the scattered breath of things into a single seeing. And the Cross is where that gathering is completed.

On the Cross, the form fully in act, Aristotle’s ἐντελέχεια, or completed work, of a human life, is spent completely and in the open, breath given out and taken up. My dissertation work, The Ecology of the Cross, has always meant, for me, that Christ enters hevel to its floor. He becomes the vapor over the water, the generation that goes, the brother in the field, and from inside that spending he makes the return faithfulness where it had been futility. The streams run to the sea, and the sea is not full, and they flow again. The Earth stands forever. And the breath that lifts off the Fork on a July morning, gone quickly, isn’t lost. Rather, it’s gathered.

Tomorrow, the vapor will still be lifting where the current slows. I’ve stood on that bank enough days to know it will do the same tomorrow and that I won’t. הֶבֶל, hevel. It is the truest thing Ecclesiastes, or perhaps the entire Bible, says about me, and standing there or under the black walnut, I don’t hear that as a verdict. I hear it as the sound the world makes, keeping faith.

I’m drawing on Ecclesiastes 1 (the hevel refrain and the cycles of sun, wind, and water), Genesis 4 (Abel, and the blood crying from the ground), and Romans 8:20–22 (the creation subjected to futility). The Greek terms come from the Septuagint of Ecclesiastes and Paul’s letter to Rome. Passages cited are from Oremus (in the NRSV).

A Life in Act: Edith Stein and the Education of Attention

Edith in Breslau from Wikitree

A photograph of Edith Stein, taken around 1920, has become very meaningful to me. She’s not a Catholic, a Carmelite, or the woman the Church will canonize as Teresia Benedicta a Cruce. She’s a philosopher in her late twenties who has already written the most careful phenomenological study of empathy, who has already been told, in ways both polite and structural, that the university has no chair for her. Her gaze in the photograph is level and unhurried. It’s the gaze of someone who has learned to look at things until they give themselves up, which is, in the end, what phenomenology asked of its practitioners and what very few of them managed. I’ve spent the better part of the last few years learning to look at a black walnut tree in my backyard with something like that patience, and I have come to believe that the discipline Stein practiced in Göttingen seminar rooms and the discipline I attempt under Piedmont shade are the same discipline, differently housed. This essay is an attempt to say why her life and her work have come to sit so near the center of my own, and to trace the company she kept along the way, because Stein is unintelligible apart from her conversations… with Husserl, with Reinach, with Scheler, with Conrad-Martius, with Aquinas across seven centuries, with Teresa of Ávila across four, and finally with John of the Cross in a Dutch monastery as the trains began to move.

Breslau

Edith Stein was born on October 12, 1891, in Breslau, then a German city in Prussian Silesia, now the Polish city of Wrocław. The date was important to her mother and came to matter to Edith, as it was Yom Kippur that year, the Day of Atonement, and Auguste Stein always regarded her youngest child’s birth on the holiest day of the Jewish calendar as a kind of sign.[1] She was the youngest of eleven children, seven of whom survived. Her father, Siegfried, died of heatstroke on a business trip before Edith was two, and Auguste took over the family lumber business and ran it with the shrewdness and iron piety that Edith would later describe, with unmistakable love, in the memoir she wrote to preserve the texture of German Jewish life against the caricatures then hardening around it.[2] That memoir, Aus dem Leben einer jüdischen Familie, is worth including here because it establishes something about Stein that her philosophical reputation can obscure: she was a writer of place and household, of lumber yards and holiday tables and the particular smell of her mother’s ledgers. When she set out, in 1933, to answer Nazi propaganda, she did not write a treatise. She wrote down what her family’s life had actually been like, trusting description over argument. Anyone who has tried to write about a home place under threat recognizes the move. Perception first; the ethics arrives through the seeing.

That piety, however, did not last. Around the age of fourteen or fifteen, by her own account, she deliberately stopped praying.[3] She would describe her adolescent and university self as an atheist, though a restless one, a young woman who had traded the God of her mother for what she called the search for truth, without yet suspecting that the two searches might converge. She began her studies at the University of Breslau in psychology under William Stern, and found the discipline, then in its experimental adolescence, unable to say what a psyche even was. Somewhere in those years she read Edmund Husserl’s Logische Untersuchungen, and the effect was the one Husserl’s early readers so often report: here was a philosophy that did not begin from theories about consciousness but from consciousness itself, patiently described, its structures allowed to show themselves. In 1913 she moved to Göttingen to study with Husserl directly. She was twenty-one.

Göttingen

The Göttingen that received her was one of the strangest and most fertile philosophical communities of the century. Husserl held court, working his way toward the transcendental turn of Ideen that would eventually estrange him from many of his best students. Adolf Reinach, Husserl’s brilliant assistant, taught the newcomers what phenomenology actually meant in practice; Stein always said it was Reinach, more than Husserl, who taught her to work.[4] Max Scheler moved through the area periodically, lecturing on sympathy, value, and, increasingly, on Catholic religious experience with the enthusiasm of a man in the middle of one of his several conversions. Stein later credited Scheler with removing her rationalist blinders: he did not persuade her of anything, but he made the world of faith visible to her as a world, a region of experience that a phenomenologist had no right to dismiss unexamined.[5] Hedwig Conrad-Martius, a few years ahead of Stein and already doing the realist ontology of nature that would occupy her whole career, became a close friend, and her farmhouse in Bad Bergzabern would later become the site of the decisive night of Stein’s life. The Göttingen circle believed, against the master’s developing idealism, that phenomenology’s slogan, zu den Sachen selbst, to the things themselves, meant the things were really there. Stein evidently belonged to that realist wing from the beginning, and the conviction that essences are discovered rather than constituted never left her. It is the thread that leads, twenty years later, to Aquinas.

Husserl assigned her a dissertation topic that he had left as a gap in his own work: empathy, Einfühlung, the act by which one consciousness apprehends the experience of another. World War I interrupted her dissertation work, and Stein left her studies in 1915 to serve as a Red Cross nursing aide in a lazaretto for infectious disease at Mährisch-Weißkirchen, tending Austrian soldiers with typhus and cholera, an experience of bodies in extremity that marks the dissertation on every page.[6] She completed the doctorate under Husserl at Freiburg in 1916, summa cum laude, and Zum Problem der Einfühlung was published the following year.[7]

The publication is the hinge of everything I take from her. Stein argues that empathy is a sui generis form of intentionality. It is neither inference by analogy, as if I reasoned my way from your grimace to your pain, nor a merging of selves, as the popular use of the word suggests. It is a direct, though non-primordial, givenness of foreign experience: I perceive your joy in your face the way I perceive the tree in its bark and leaf-flutter, immediately, though your joy is given to me as yours and never becomes mine. The other is disclosed as a living body, a Leib rather than a mere Körper, a center of orientation and sensation that I apprehend from outside while acknowledging an inside I can never occupy. And Stein presses the analysis beyond the human: the perception of livingness, of sensate and striving interiority, extends in her account toward the animal, and the question of how far down the ladder of life such apprehension reaches is left standing in the text like an open door.[8] I walked through that door years ago and have not come back. What I have termed ecological intentionality in my dissertation work is, at its root, an attempt to ask Stein’s question at the scale of a watershed on an ecological basis: what would it mean to say that Lawson’s Fork, or the black walnut, or the shoal that remembers its shad runs, is given to consciousness as living, as an interiority I apprehend without occupying? Stein supplies the rigor that keeps such a question from dissolving into sentimentality. Empathy, on her account, is a form of perception with its own evidence, its own fulfillments and disappointments, its own discipline. It can be practiced. It can be trained. It is, in the strict sense, an education of attention, and everything I write under the sign of the Ecology of the Cross begins from her demonstration that such an education is philosophically respectable.

The Assistant

From 1916 to 1918 Stein served as Husserl’s private assistant at Freiburg, a role that consisted largely of imposing order on the master’s mountain of shorthand manuscripts. She organized and substantially edited the materials that became Ideen II, Husserl’s great unfinished study of the constitution of nature, animal life, and spirit, and scholars have increasingly recognized how much of that volume’s architecture bears her hand.[9] It is one of the quiet ironies of the tradition that the phenomenology of the living body which Merleau-Ponty would inherit and transfigure came to him partly through pages Stein arranged. When I set Stein and Merleau-Ponty side by side in my own chapters, I am in some measure reuniting a text with its editor.

She attempted to habilitate, the German qualification for a professorship, and was refused. Göttingen would not consider a woman; Freiburg deferred, and her 1919 petition to the Prussian ministry helped prompt a 1920 circular declaring that sex should be no bar to habilitation. This ruling came too late to help her and stands as one of those bureaucratic monuments built on a particular person’s closed door.[10] She wrote Potenz und Akt in 1931 as a final habilitation attempt, and it too went nowhere institutionally with publishers or her correspondence network. The academy’s loss is difficult to overstate. I read it as the historical condition of her freedom. Denied the academic chair, she was spared the chair’s constraints, and the work that followed, the Aquinas translations, the Münster lectures, the Carmelite metaphysics, has an amplitude that the Ordinarius system of her day rarely produced.

The Spiritual Turn

Stein’s conversion has been told so often that it risks falling into legend, and the legend flattens what the record shows: a convergence of encounters over roughly four years, each one phenomenologically dense. The first was Anna Reinach. Adolf Reinach died in Flanders in November 1917, and Stein went to Göttingen expecting to console a broken widow and to help sort his papers. She found instead a woman held upright by the Cross, grieving fully and yet somehow already handing her grief over, and Stein said late in her life that this was the moment her unbelief collapsed… her first meeting, as she put it, with the Cross and its divine power, borne by someone who carried it.[11] Notice what kind of evidence this is. Rather than an argument, it’s a perception of another’s interiority, an act of Einfühlung, and what Stein perceived in Anna Reinach was a real power operating in a real soul. Her own dissertation had prepared her to trust this sort of givenness. The philosopher of empathy was converted through an empathic perception; the system, so to speak, executed on its author.

The second encounter came in the summer of 1921 at the Conrad-Martius farmhouse in Bad Bergzabern. Left alone one evening, Stein took a book at random from the shelf, the autobiography of Teresa of Ávila, and read it through the night. She closed it at dawn and said to herself, das ist die Wahrheit, that is the truth.[12] Teresa’s Life moves beyond the genre of apologetics. Instead, it’s a first-person description of an interior itinerary, the most sustained piece of phenomenology of prayer the sixteenth century produced, and Stein read it as a phenomenologist reads a protocol: here is a report of experience, coherent, differentiated, bearing its own evidence. She was baptized on January 1, 1922, at St. Martin’s in Bad Bergzabern, with Hedwig Conrad-Martius, a Protestant, standing as her godmother, an ecumenical detail I hold onto for reasons that will be obvious to anyone who knows my own churchly arrangements.[13] Her mother wept when told. Edith knelt beside her in the synagogue afterward and prayed the psalms; she never regarded her baptism as a departure from the people of Israel, and everything that followed, to the very end, confirms that she was genuine in that belief.

She wished to enter Carmel immediately. Her spiritual advisors, sensibly, said no. Her mother’s grief was fresh, and her gifts were needed in the world. So from 1923 to 1931 she taught German language and literature at St. Magdalena’s, the Dominican sisters’ teacher-training school in Speyer, living semi-monastically, teaching adolescent girls by day and working through the nights on the project her Jesuit director Erich Przywara set before her: a German translation of Thomas Aquinas’s Quaestiones disputatae de veritate.[14] Przywara, whose Analogia Entis was taking shape in those same years, understood that the phenomenological school and the Thomist revival needed each other, and he engineered the meeting inside one mind. Stein’s Aquinas is a working philosopher’s Aquinas, rendered into the vocabulary of the phenomenologists so that the two traditions could actually converse, and her 1929 contribution to Husserl’s seventieth-birthday Festschrift, a staged dialogue comparing Husserl’s phenomenology with the philosophy of St. Thomas, remains one of the great short documents of twentieth-century thought. The student, with perfect filial respect, informing the master that intentionality does not itself settle the question of being.[15]

Here’s where Stein’s biography enters my comprehensive exams. Husserl held that essence, Wesen, could be described in bracketed independence from existence; the epoché suspends the question of being precisely so the structures of givenness can appear. Stein came to hold, with Thomas, that the analysis cannot rest there, because essence in a finite being does not carry its own act of existing. What a thing is and that it is are really distinct in creatures, and the distinction opens finite being toward the One in whom essence and existence coincide. In the terms Aristotle bequeathed to both of them, δύναμις (dynamis, potency) is intelligible only from ἐνέργεια (energeia, actuality), and the ἐντελέχεια (entelecheia) of a living form, its being-at-work-staying-itself, is prior to every capacity it grounds.[16] Stein worked this out first in Potenz und Akt (Potency and Act) and then, in the Cologne Carmel, expanded it into her masterwork, Endliches und ewiges Sein, Finite and Eternal Being. This was an attempt, as she framed it, at an ascent to the meaning of being with phenomenology and Thomas as the two guides.[17] My present argument about ecological normativity, that the self-maintaining organism can bear normative weight only as form-in-act and not as bare autopoietic process, is Stein’s argument against Husserl transposed into the philosophy of the organism. Potency cannot norm itself. The criterion arrives with act. I found the lever in her, and I keep finding that when I press on Bergson or Ruyer or the autopoiesis literature, the argument in the material is wherever Stein has already been standing.

Münster, the Letter, and Carmel

In 1932 Stein was appointed lecturer at the German Institute for Scientific Pedagogy in Münster, where she lectured on the structure of the human person and on the education and vocations of women, essays that anticipate, with a calm that now reads as courage, arguments about the full intellectual dignity of women that the Church would take another half century to begin catching up with.[18] The appointment lasted a year. The Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service, April 1933, ended the teaching career of every German academic of Jewish descent, and Stein, seeing with terrible clarity what was coming, wrote directly to Pope Pius XI, asking the Church to speak publicly against the persecution of the Jews, warning that silence would be purchased at the price of complicity. The letter received a routine acknowledgment. It was sealed in the Vatican archives until 2003.[19] I don’t know a sharper parable of institutional religion in the modern era, and I say that as an ordained minister who loves the institution enough to keep writing it letters.

The closed doors had, by then, become a sort of corridor. In October 1933 she entered the Discalced Carmelite monastery in Cologne, and at her clothing in April 1934 took the name she had, in a sense, been carrying since Anna Reinach’s parlor: Teresia Benedicta a Cruce, Teresa Blessed by the Cross.[20] Her superiors, to their lasting credit, ordered her to keep writing. In the cell in Cologne she finished Endliches und ewiges Sein, whose publication was blocked because its author was, in the new legal fiction, non-Aryan. After the November pogrom of 1938 her presence endangered the Cologne community, and on New Year’s Eve she was driven across the border to the Carmel in Echt, in the Dutch Limburg. Her sister Rosa, herself by then a Catholic, joined her there as a portress. In Echt, at her superiors’ request, she began a study of John of the Cross for the four-hundredth anniversary of his birth: Kreuzeswissenschaft, The Science of the Cross, a phenomenology of the dark night in which the mystic’s itinerary of dispossession is read as the form of the soul’s conformation to Christ crucified.[21] The manuscript’s final pages were on her desk, unfinished, on the second of August, 1942.

The Dutch Catholic bishops had, the previous Sunday, read from every pulpit a pastoral letter publicly condemning the deportations of the Jews. The occupation’s reprisal was precise: the arrest of all Catholic Jews in the Netherlands, the converts, the ones the Church had claimed as her own. Stein and Rosa were taken from the Echt Carmel that afternoon. Witnesses in the transit camps at Amersfoort and Westerbork describe her moving among the distraught mothers, washing children, combing hair, a Leib among Leiber, doing what she had done in the typhus wards of 1915.[22] Her reported words to Rosa at the moment of arrest were, come, we are going for our people.[23] The transport reached Auschwitz-Birkenau on August 9, 1942, and she was killed in the gas chambers that day, with Rosa, among the people of her birth, under the sign of the name she had chosen. The Church beatified her in Cologne in 1987, canonized her on October 11, 1998, under Pope John Paul II, and named her, a year later, co-patroness of Europe, a Jewish philosopher standing in the calendar beside Benedict and Bridget and Catherine, which is either an astonishing act of ecclesial repentance or the beginning of one.[24]

Why She Holds Me

Stein instructs me at four depths, and the deepest is the one hardest to write about.

First, she gives me the philosophical warrant for the kind of attention my work depends on. Einfühlung, in her strict sense, is the perceptual act in which foreign interiority is given without being possessed, and her analysis is the strongest available foundation for what I have been calling ecological intentionality: the claim that creatures, watersheds, and living places can be apprehended as centers of striving and sensation, that such apprehension is perception rather than projection, and that it carries evidence and admits of discipline. When I stand under the black walnut in early May and register its leafing-out as an act it is performing rather than an event merely occurring, I am doing something Stein described in 1916, and her rigor is what lets me distinguish that perception from wishfulness. The tree is given as living. The givenness can be interrogated. That is her gift, and it is why perception precedes ethics in everything I write. She showed that the seeing itself, done honestly, already carries the claim.

Second, she models the route from phenomenology to ontology that my dissertation attempts to walk. Description was never enough for her, because the described essence kept raising the question of its own act of being, and she followed the question all the way to the real distinction and to the God in whom essence and existence are one. The organism that grounds ecological normativity in my work does so only as form-in-act, ἐντελέχεια, and I learned to make that argument from her long negotiation between Husserl and Thomas. She teaches that fidelity to the phenomena eventually requires metaphysics, and that the metaphysics must be earned, page by patient page, never imported.

Third, there is the Cross. My theological work gathers under the phrase the Ecology of the Cross, and I owe the grammar of that phrase to her Kreuzeswissenschaft, The Science of the Cross. Stein read John of the Cross’s dark night as a science (not in our current objective-minded understanding of what that term implies), a structured knowledge of dispossession, the soul unmade in its attachments so that it may be conformed to the crucified and rising Christ. Paul writes in Philippians that Christ ἐκένωσεν ἑαυτόν, emptied himself (the verb is κενόω; the noun tradition drew from it is κένωσις or kenosis), and Stein’s insight, the one I have carried into ecological territory, is that this self-emptying is a pattern legible in the structure of creaturely existence itself.[25] The fallow field, the leaf abscission of October, the flood that unmakes a channel so the channel can live, the whole creation that Paul says συστενάζει, groans together (Romans 8:22, from συστενάζω), in the futility, ματαιότης, to which it was subjected in hope: these are, I have come to believe, the science of the cross written in the book of “nature,” and Stein is the one who taught me that such a science could be rigorous.[26] She also, in the manner of her death, finished the teaching. The last thing she wrote was a phenomenology of dispossession, and the last thing she did was undergo one, freely construing it as an offering for her people. The work and the life close like two halves of a hinge on a door that swings open.

Fourth, and least articulable: she shows me that a life does not have to choose between the seminar room and the sanctuary, between the archive and the prayer bench, between the people of one’s birth and the faith of one’s conviction. Every institution she approached partially refused her… the university for her gender, the Reich for her blood, and even the Church, in her lifetime, gave her petition a form letter. She responded to each refusal by going deeper rather than elsewhere, and the depth turned out to be where the work was. I teach Sunday school in a Presbyterian church as a Baptist minister while writing a dissertation at an institute in California on phenomenology, trees, and mycorrhizal networks, and there are days when the arrangement feels less like a vocation than a filing error. Stein is the figure I consult on those days. Her life argues that the integrations the institutions cannot imagine are exactly the ones a person can live, provided the person is willing to let attention, rather than ambition, set the itinerary. She looked at things until they gave themselves up. Then she let herself be given. The order of those two sentences is, I think, the whole lesson from her work and life and faith, and I am still early in learning it, out under the walnut, where the light comes down through the leaves the way it must have come down through the grille at Echt, ordinary and unrepeatable, asking only to be seen.

Notes

[1] Edith Stein, Life in a Jewish Family: Her Unfinished Autobiographical Account, trans. Josephine Koeppel, O.C.D., The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 1 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1986), 71–72. Stein records her mother’s attachment to the Yom Kippur birth in the memoir’s opening chapters.

[2] Stein began Aus dem Leben einer jüdischen Familie in 1933, framing it explicitly as testimony against National Socialist caricature; see her foreword, Life in a Jewish Family, 23–25.

[3] Stein, Life in a Jewish Family, 148. Her formulation is that she “deliberately and consciously” gave up praying.

[4] On Reinach’s pedagogical role in the Göttingen circle, see Alasdair MacIntyre, Edith Stein: A Philosophical Prologue, 1913–1922 (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006), 58–74.

[5] Stein, Life in a Jewish Family, 260–261, where she credits Scheler with dismantling the “rationalistic prejudices” of her upbringing and opening “the world of faith” to her regard.

[6] Stein’s lazaretto service at Mährisch-Weißkirchen is narrated at length in Life in a Jewish Family, chaps. 8–9.

[7] Edith Stein, Zum Problem der Einfühlung (Halle: Buchdruckerei des Waisenhauses, 1917); English: On the Problem of Empathy, trans. Waltraut Stein, 3rd rev. ed., Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 3 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1989).

[8] Stein, On the Problem of Empathy, 58–63, on the constitution of the living body (Leib) and the extension of empathic apprehension to animal life. For the systematic development of sentient and plant life, see also her Philosophy of Psychology and the Humanities, trans. Mary Catharine Baseheart and Marianne Sawicki, Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 7 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2000).

[9] On Stein’s editorial shaping of the Ideen II materials, see Marianne Sawicki, Body, Text, and Science: The Literacy of Investigative Practices and the Phenomenology of Edith Stein (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1997), esp. chaps. 5–6.

[10] The Prussian ministerial circular of February 21, 1920, issued in the wake of Stein’s petition, declared that membership in the female sex constituted no obstacle to habilitation. See MacIntyre, Edith Stein, 14–15.

[11] Stein’s testimony, reported by the Jesuit Johannes Hirschmann from her own account at Echt, names the encounter with Anna Reinach as “my first encounter with the Cross and the divine power it imparts to those who bear it.” See Waltraud Herbstrith, Edith Stein: A Biography, trans. Bernard Bonowitz (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1992), 56–57.

[12] Herbstrith, Edith Stein, 65. The night reading of Teresa’s Vida at Bad Bergzabern occurred in the summer of 1921.

[13] Stein was baptized January 1, 1922, at St. Martin’s Church, Bad Bergzabern, taking the baptismal name Theresia Hedwig, the latter in honor of Conrad-Martius, who stood as godmother despite her Protestantism. Herbstrith, Edith Stein, 68–69.

[14] Thomas von Aquin, Untersuchungen über die Wahrheit (Quaestiones disputatae de veritate), trans. Edith Stein, 2 vols. (Breslau: Borgmeyer, 1931–1932). On Przywara’s direction, see Herbstrith, Edith Stein, 82–86.

[15] Edith Stein, “Husserls Phänomenologie und die Philosophie des heiligen Thomas von Aquino,” in Festschrift Edmund Husserl zum 70. Geburtstag gewidmet, Jahrbuch für Philosophie und phänomenologische Forschung, Ergänzungsband (Halle: Niemeyer, 1929), 315–338; English in Edith Stein, Knowledge and Faith, trans. Walter Redmond, Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 8 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2000). The published essay recast an original dialogue form in which Husserl and Thomas converse at night in the master’s study.

[16] Aristotle, Metaphysics IX (Θ), 1049b4–1051a3, on the priority of ἐνέργεια to δύναμις; De Anima II.1, 412a19–b9, on first and second actuality and the soul as ἐντελέχεια of the organic body.

[17] Edith Stein, Potenz und Akt: Studien zu einer Philosophie des Seins, Edith Stein Gesamtausgabe 10 (Freiburg: Herder, 2005; composed 1931); Endliches und ewiges Sein: Versuch eines Aufstiegs zum Sinn des Seins, Edith Stein Gesamtausgabe 11/12 (Freiburg: Herder, 2006; composed 1935–1936); English: Finite and Eternal Being, trans. Kurt F. Reinhardt, Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 9 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2002).

[18] The Münster lectures and related addresses are collected in Edith Stein, Essays on Woman, trans. Freda Mary Oben, 2nd rev. ed., Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 2 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1996).

[19] Stein’s letter to Pius XI, dated April 1933 and transmitted through Abbot Raphael Walzer of Beuron, was made public upon the 2003 opening of the relevant Vatican archives. For the text and circumstances, see the documentation of the Cologne Carmel and Herbstrith, Edith Stein, 104–107.

[20] Stein entered the Cologne Carmel on October 14, 1933, and received the habit and her religious name on April 15, 1934.

[21] Edith Stein, Kreuzeswissenschaft: Studie über Johannes vom Kreuz, Edith Stein Gesamtausgabe 18 (Freiburg: Herder, 2003); English: The Science of the Cross, trans. Josephine Koeppel, O.C.D., Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 6 (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2002).

[22] The Westerbork testimonies, including that of the Dutch official Wielek and fellow prisoners, are gathered in Herbstrith, Edith Stein, 180–186.

[23] “Komm, wir gehen für unser Volk.” The words were reported by witnesses in the Echt community; see Herbstrith, Edith Stein, 177–178. As with most last words, the attestation is testimonial rather than documentary, and I report it as such.

[24] Beatified by John Paul II in Cologne, May 1, 1987; canonized in Rome, October 11, 1998; named co-patroness of Europe, with Bridget of Sweden and Catherine of Siena, in the apostolic letter Spes Aedificandi, October 1, 1999.

[25] Philippians 2:7, ἀλλὰ ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν μορφὴν δούλου λαβών (“but he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant”). The verb is κενόω, “to empty”; the theological noun κένωσις derives from it.

[26] Romans 8:20–22: the creation subjected to ματαιότης (“futility,” the Septuagint’s rendering of הֶבֶל in Ecclesiastes) in hope, and πᾶσα ἡ κτίσις συστενάζει καὶ συνωδίνει, “the whole creation groans together and labors together” (συστενάζω, “to groan with”). I have traced this line at greater length in “The Ecology of Ecclesiastes,” Carolina Ecology, 2026.

Bibliography

Aristotle. The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation. Edited by Jonathan Barnes. 2 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984.

Harrelson, Sam. “The Ecology of Ecclesiastes.” Carolina Ecology, 2026.

Herbstrith, Waltraud. Edith Stein: A Biography. Translated by Bernard Bonowitz. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1992.

John Paul II. Spes Aedificandi. Apostolic letter. October 1, 1999.

MacIntyre, Alasdair. Edith Stein: A Philosophical Prologue, 1913–1922. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006.

Sawicki, Marianne. Body, Text, and Science: The Literacy of Investigative Practices and the Phenomenology of Edith Stein. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1997.

Stein, Edith. Endliches und ewiges Sein: Versuch eines Aufstiegs zum Sinn des Seins. Edith Stein Gesamtausgabe 11/12. Freiburg: Herder, 2006.

Stein, Edith. Essays on Woman. Translated by Freda Mary Oben. 2nd rev. ed. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 2. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1996.

Stein, Edith. Finite and Eternal Being: An Attempt at an Ascent to the Meaning of Being. Translated by Kurt F. Reinhardt. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 9. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2002.

Stein, Edith. “Husserls Phänomenologie und die Philosophie des heiligen Thomas von Aquino.” In Festschrift Edmund Husserl zum 70. Geburtstag gewidmet, 315–338. Jahrbuch für Philosophie und phänomenologische Forschung, Ergänzungsband. Halle: Niemeyer, 1929.

Stein, Edith. Knowledge and Faith. Translated by Walter Redmond. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 8. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2000.

Stein, Edith. Kreuzeswissenschaft: Studie über Johannes vom Kreuz. Edith Stein Gesamtausgabe 18. Freiburg: Herder, 2003.

Stein, Edith. Life in a Jewish Family: Her Unfinished Autobiographical Account. Translated by Josephine Koeppel, O.C.D. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 1. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1986.

Stein, Edith. On the Problem of Empathy. Translated by Waltraut Stein. 3rd rev. ed. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 3. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1989.

Stein, Edith. Philosophy of Psychology and the Humanities. Translated by Mary Catharine Baseheart and Marianne Sawicki. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 7. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2000.

Stein, Edith. Potenz und Akt: Studien zu einer Philosophie des Seins. Edith Stein Gesamtausgabe 10. Freiburg: Herder, 2005.

Stein, Edith. The Science of the Cross. Translated by Josephine Koeppel, O.C.D. The Collected Works of Edith Stein, vol. 6. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 2002.

Stein, Edith. Zum Problem der Einfühlung. Halle: Buchdruckerei des Waisenhauses, 1917.

Thomas Aquinas. Untersuchungen über die Wahrheit (Quaestiones disputatae de veritate). Translated by Edith Stein. 2 vols. Breslau: Borgmeyer, 1931–1932.

PDF version available for download here:

Edith Stein – A Life in ActDownload

Thinking Religion 175: Lamentations

Here’s Thinking Religion 175 with Matthew Klippenstein on the book of Lamentations and modern contexts to consider here in the United States. Challenging but fun episode!

Summary

Sam Harrelson, host of the Thinking Religion podcast, and Matthew Klippenstein, an engineer, discussed the Book of Lamentations and its connection to current US events, such as the killing of Renee Good in Minnesota, noting the resulting anger mirrors the trauma of conquest or occupation addressed in Lamentations. They explored the historical context of Lamentations as something liminal before post-catastrophe “reconstruction theology” following the Babylonian conquest around 587 BCE, and discussed scholarly challenges to biblical authorship, including the traditional attribution of Lamentations to Jeremiah. The discussion emphasized that lamentation, as described by theologian Walter Brueggemann, is a necessary “mode of speech that keeps faith alive by refusing to lie about the world” and serves as “trauma literature” for a community facing collective shock and institutional devaluation.

Details

  • Connection to Lamentations Matthew Klippenstein proposed discussing the Book of Lamentations, drawing a connection between the ancient text and recent events in the US, specifically the anger and sadness following the death of a woman killed in her car in Minnesota by an ICE officer. Matthew Klippenstein observed that the emotional reactions mirrored a desire for how things were recently, suggesting a similarity to the trauma of being conquered or occupied addressed in Lamentations (00:02:37).
  • Attribution and Authorship in Biblical Texts Matthew Klippenstein noted that Lamentations is historically attributed to Jeremiah, but modern scholarship suggests otherwise, which led to a broader discussion on common quotes being falsely attributed to famous figures, citing the Japanese admiral Yamamoto’s widely-believed but unsaid quote about “awakening a sleeping giant” (00:03:47). Sam Harrelson concurred that similar issues exist with biblical authorship, noting that figures like Daniel, Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John are not believed to have written the books attributed to them, and referring to the concept of “deutero-Isaiah” and “trito Isaiah” in scholarly circles (00:05:49).
  • Host and Guest Introductions Following the initial discussion, Sam Harrelson formally welcomed Matthew Klippenstein to the Thinking Religion podcast, providing a brief introduction to their guest (00:06:49). Matthew Klippenstein introduced themself as an engineer in Vancouver who grew up in a non-religious family but later developed a love for religious texts, positioning themself as someone who approaches religious thought from an atheist standpoint (00:08:06).
  • Connecting Lamentations to the Current US Context Sam Harrelson connected the book of Lamentations to the current political and spiritual situation in the United States, based on Matthew Klippenstein’s earlier suggestion (00:09:09). Matthew Klippenstein elaborated on the trigger for their connection: articles stating it would take a generation to recover from cuts made under a previous administration, juxtaposed with the killing of Renee Good in Minnesota, creating a sense of loss and anger over a constitutional order people feel they no longer have (00:10:19).
  • Historical Context of Lamentations Sam Harrelson corrected the historical detail, clarifying that the conquest relevant to Lamentations was by the Babylonians around 587 BCE, not the Assyrians who had conquered the Northern Kingdom of Israel earlier (00:11:44). Sam Harrelson explained that Lamentations is thought to have come out of the tradition surrounding Jeremiah, noting the term “Jeremiah” is no longer common in popular talk. The text is situated around 500 BCE, after Cyrus the Great allowed the elites to return from Babylon to a ruined Jerusalem, leading to socioeconomic tensions with the people of the land who remained (00:12:54).
  • Lamentations as Post-Catastrophe Reflection Sam Harrelson emphasized that Lamentations is particularly interesting because it is not about the fall of Jerusalem in the heat of battle but is a post-event “reconstruction theology” addressing the trauma after the temple was destroyed and political sovereignty was lost (00:15:11). Matthew Klippenstein compared Lamentations to a “lessons learned analysis” in industry, reflecting on the causes of a generational disaster after the recovery period (00:17:20).
  • Personification and Meaning of Lament in the Text Sam Harrelson highlighted the personification of Jerusalem in Lamentations, citing a verse that describes the city as a lonely widow and a princess who has become a vassal (00:18:09). Matthew Klippenstein noted that using interpersonal relationship terms makes the trauma more emotionally affecting than dry historical terms (00:19:20). Sam Harrelson cited theologian Walter Brueggemann’s view of lament as a “mode of speech that keeps faith alive by refusing to lie about the world,” distinguishing it from optimism or silence (00:20:37).
  • Structural Details and Symbolism in Lamentations Matthew Klippenstein pointed out the structural detail of the five chapters in Lamentations having verses corresponding to the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet (22, 66, 22), suggesting a poetic and symbolic intention (00:21:40). Sam Harrelson linked this to the US’s reliance on symbols, such as the flag and the eagle, and the often-misunderstood origins of national symbols like the Pledge of Allegiance (00:22:46).
  • Hope and Simplicity in Lamentations Sam Harrelson discussed how popular culture often extracts verses like “the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases” from Lamentations 3 to create slogans, but argued that the text pushes back against simple optimism, offering a view of hope as “survivability” amidst ongoing devastation (00:26:07). Matthew Klippenstein related this to Hindu and Buddhist texts on accepting the current uncomfortable situation while maintaining faith, and mentioned Viktor Frankl’s observation that survivors in concentration camps maintained hope by focusing on future purpose (00:28:27).
  • Lament as Trauma Literature and Community Shock Sam Harrelson introduced Kathleen O’Connor’s reading of Lamentations as “trauma literature,” where a community learns to speak after collective shock (00:33:31). Sam Harrelson connected this to contemporary shock felt by events like the shooting of Renee Good and the constant stream of distressing news, noting that Lamentations does not explain suffering but rather accompanies it (00:34:45).
  • Erosion of Rights and Othering in the US Sam Harrelson reflected on the shock of increased demands for identification by officials like ICE, contrasting it with memories of previous norms against such practices (00:36:20). Matthew Klippenstein noted that indigenous Canadians had historically required permission from white bureaucrats to leave their reservations, underscoring systemic injustices (00:37:48). Sam Harrelson and Matthew Klippenstein agreed that the text’s focus on sin allows for different political interpretations of how the US reached its current state (00:39:06).
  • Historical Disparities in Rights Sam Harrelson and Matthew Klippenstein discussed historical inequalities, noting that women in the US and Canada required a male co-signer for basic financial services like checking accounts well into their lifetimes (00:40:12). Sam Harrelson connected this history of prioritizing one group (historically white males) and “othering” others to current issues like ICE detention camps and the reaction to the murder of Renee Good, where attempts are made to dismiss her as “not mainstream” (00:41:22).
  • America as the New Jerusalem and Institutional Devaluation Sam Harrelson addressed the historical ideal of “America as the new Jerusalem” or “city on a hill” promulgated by figures like Jonathan Edwards (00:44:57). Matthew Klippenstein suggested that the American fundamentals creed fits this backdrop as a “new Nicene creed” (00:46:08). Sam Harrelson concluded that Lamentations teaches communities how to speak after realizing that their institutions—such as the president or federal agencies—cannot save them, which is relevant to the current “devaluation of those institutions” (00:48:20).
  • The Dangerous Memory of Lamentations Sam Harrelson cited Lamentations 4:1-2, which speaks of gold growing dim and holy stones scattered, as a “devastating image of devaluation” where what once mattered is now treated as disposable (00:50:40). Sam Harrelson referred to the concept of “dangerous memory” from German theologian Johann Baptist Metz, which posits Lamentations as a necessary prophecy for a civilization to recover from collapse and reckon with its history (00:52:50).
  • Atomization and Susceptibility to Influence Matthew Klippenstein reflected on the Lamentations verse about people becoming cruel, like ostriches, while jackals still nurse their young, suggesting that the atomization facilitated by mass media and the internet makes it easier to “other people” (00:54:12). Sam Harrelson agreed that everyone is susceptible to the influence of algorithms and unbalanced media consumption, even those who consider themselves smart and capable (00:55:35). Matthew Klippenstein concluded that humility about one’s expertise is necessary, echoing Socrates’ view that wisdom is knowing what one does not know (00:57:28).
  • The Role of Lamentation and Withstanding Suffering Sam Harrelson discussed how people often defend their political side, whether it’s related to Trump, AOC, or others, but they argued that the work of Lamentation offers no such defense of God or political figures, instead keeping company with suffering (00:58:51). They suggested that engaging in the hard work of lament must happen at an individual level before reaching the community level, particularly in a world full of distractions. Matthew Klippenstein affirmed that the text is cathartic and helpful for processing and surfacing what needs to be surfaced, even without offering a specific prescription (01:00:07).
  • Lament as a Discipline of Presence Sam Harrelson emphasized that lamentation offers no resolution, rebuilt temple, or answered prayers; rather, it is what faithful communities practice when they refuse denial and despair, occupying a middle ground. They defined lament as a discipline of staying present to what is broken without pretending to know how it will be fixed or healed. Sam Harrelson reflected on the current shocking circumstances for their five children, contrasting their 18-year-old’s challenges today with the world Harrelson experienced at the same age in 1997, highlighting the shift in ease of travel and feeling American abroad (01:01:11).
  • Call to Presentness and Reflection Sam Harrelson urged people to stay in the present moment of shock rather than immediately reacting, advocating for the hard work of lament to prevent repeating past mistakes. They reiterated that the discipline of staying present to what is broken is a personal reminder to themself in the face of shocking events like a TV shooting or a story of deportation (01:02:17). Matthew Klippenstein and Sam Harrelson concluded the discussion, with Harrelson expressing appreciation for Klippenstein’s input in helping them sort through things and mentioning that Klippenstein has exciting developments coming up.

Do Not Be Afraid

I first read Heaney as an undergrad at Wofford College in a literature class from Prof. Dooley… I was immediately transfixed by his writing (and his story as a linguist that comes through in all that he wrote). I was fortunate enough to attend a reading he did at Yale’s Battell Chapel while I was studying in my first year at Yale Div in October of 2000.

Being at Yale, of all places (for a country bumpkin from rural South Carolina), hearing one of the great poets read his own work on a cold and snowy October evening was something like a theophany. I certainly understood then the concept of “do not be afraid” and it has sat with me ever since when I read Heaney, which I try to do often (as should you)…

Noli Timere: Seamus Heaney, Translation, and a Wall in Dublin | MultiLingual:

Seamus Heaney, the Irish poet and playwright, passed away in Dublin on 30 August, 2013, after a short illness. His last words, sent by text message to his wife, Marie, minutes before he died, were Noli timere (Latin for Do not be afraid). I took the photograph below in Dublin, a short walk from my home, capturing his last words in tribute.

God-Tier Books: A Personal Library of Holy Scripture ‹ Literary Hub

Fun list here from Pseudo-Dionysis (I’m a fan with my philosophical ecological thinking, btw) to Meister Eckhardt to Kafka DeLillo)… I should make a list like this.

God-Tier Books: A Personal Library of Holy Scripture ‹ Literary Hub:

Meister Eckhardt was a German Catholic monk in the 11th century influenced by Pseudo-Dionysius. His writings were condemned by the church as heresy but found a fan centuries later in Martin Heidegger, which makes sense. Eckhardt’s commentaries on God and scripture are dense and recursive, breaking ideas into component parts, placing them onto higher and lower planes, making hierarchies and triads out of them until eventually becoming something like an investigation into being and nothingness themselves. Occasional gnomic jewels emerge from the tangle: “God is a word, a word unspoken.” “God is a word that speaks itself.” The mobius-thinking at times almost seems like Medieval Zen, what with the emphasis on emptiness and silent meditation, and in fact that was what the Church fathers objected to most: too much quiet, solitary contemplation, not enough pious instruction.

Boundaries: Ecological Theology, Migration, and the Sacredness of the Non-Human

Presented to the International Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture June 2025 at University of California Santa Barbara.

In this paper for the ISSRNC, I explore how boundaries—ecological, theological, and social—are being redrawn in our time of climate disruption and mass displacement. Drawing from Christian theology, phenomenology, and lived experience in the Carolinas, I argue that the sharp lines we’ve inherited between human and non-human, land and sea, self and other, are not only breaking down, but inviting reimagination. From Aquinas’ vision of a diverse creation reflecting divine goodness, to Merleau-Ponty’s notion of embodied perception, to Edith Stein’s account of empathy beyond the human, I trace a theological-phenomenological approach to seeing the more-than-human world as sacred.

Through stories of storms like Hurricane Helene and the increasing migration of people, plants, and animals, I reflect on how we might live more ethically in a world of porous boundaries. What does it mean to see a floodplain or barrier island as holy ground rather than real estate? How can faith communities respond not only to human migrants but also to the migrations of forests and species? Ultimately, I propose an “Ecology of the Cross”—a theology rooted in kenosis, interdependence, and sacramental welcome—as a way to meet this moment with humility, compassion, and reverence.

Boundaries- Ecological Theology, Migration, and the Sacredness of the Non-HumanDownload

Dead Sea Scrolls and AI

Fascinating (and much needed) work here on texts that still have much to teach us…

Many of Dead Sea scrolls may be older than thought, experts say | Archaeology | The Guardian:

“Overall, this is an important and welcome study, and one which may provide us with a significant new tool in our armoury for dating these texts,” he said. “Nevertheless, it’s one that we should adopt with caution, and in careful conjunction with other evidence.”

The human gave names to all…

I’ve been thinking a good deal about language and liturgy lately. That’s due to a paper I’ve been developing on Catherine Pickstock’s incredible work along with William Desmond’s metaphysical approaches.

One of the questions I’ve been fascinated with is the role of human language in our own integral ecologies (not just in the environmental sense but in a broader sense of our being in place, time, and space). Language, in this sense, is a mediator between our own internal self and the concrescence of the world we inhabit and are situated in and responding to with our autonomic as well as intentional senses (to draw from Morleau-Ponty).

Lately, I’ve been returning to the wonderful Merlin app as I pray in the morning under a black walnut tree that we share this property in Spartanburg, SC, with. I’ve also been using the app to help me learn calls from the numerous bird species that share this property. I’ve identified over 30 different species in the last few days, and it’s frankly mind-boggling to consider that so many varieties existed here that I wasn’t aware of in my daily walk and journey. It’s quite humbling as well. In my own sense of being, I try to be while acknowledging their various calls and songs.

Those thoughts take me back to Pickstock and Desmond. What does it mean to call an animal by a name? What does it mean to classify them with Latin and English names that reflect our own human creativity and need for structure?

The need to name something, be it a bird or a part on an automobile, is a deeply intrinsic part of being human.

Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the human should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.’ So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the human to see what he would call them; and whatever the human called each living creature, that was its name. The human gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the human there was not found a helper as his partner. So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the human, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the human he made into a woman and brought her to the human. Then the human said,

‘This at last is bone of my bones

and flesh of my flesh;

this one shall be called Woman,*

for out of Human, this one was taken.’

Genesis 2:18-23 NRSV

But why and how did we arrive at that liturgical dance of classification? I suspect that deep in our human story, perhaps hundreds of thousands or millions of years ago, we developed an environmental urge to classify things that we could eat, things that could eat us, poisonous things, friendly things, and things we could use to make the tools that would go on to define so much of our ancient and modern classification of ourselves. Perhaps there was a time we shared that information not with spoken language, but with close intuition and dialogue that occurred without the use of our vocal cords as we are so apt to do now as homo sapien sapiens.

Pickstock especially turns my intention towards this contemplation as I suspect that there is something uniquely characteristic of humanity that seeks to find Truth in not just subjective analysis of things or species of birds, but in attuning ourselves towards the sacred re-playing of naming through liturgy (be it the eucharist or morning prayer or a quiet walk on a trail the morning after a thunderstorm).

New Reading of the Mesha Stele

Potentially huge (I appreciate Thomas Römer‘s scholarship a great deal):

A name in Line 31 of the stele, previously thought to read ‘House of David’, could instead read ‘Balak’, a king of Moab mentioned in the biblical  of Balaam (Numbers 22-24), say archaeologist Prof. Israel Finkelstein and historians and biblical scholars Prof. Nadav Na’aman and Prof. Thomas Römer, in an article published in Tel Aviv: The Journal of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University.

New reading of Mesha Stele could have far-reaching consequences for biblical history – Phys.org

Sam’s Bible Read Through Plan

I’m making something for you that’s available here for you to make a copy of for your own use, download, print, or save for your own additions and edits. It’s a work in progress and will be continually worked on in the coming weeks. But you can start using it now.

Over the last several months on Instagram, I’ve been posting images and short thoughts that come to me during or after my daily Bible studies, mostly with my old and rapidly deteriorating Harper Collins Study Bible I bought as a college sophomore in 1997 and continued to use to store notes from classes there and at Yale Divinity and then Gardner-Webb as well as the various classes I’ve taught and Sunday School series I’ve led over the years.

These Instagram pictures started as a quick way for me to share something personal in a format that I thought others might enjoy. Over the last few weeks as I’ve continued to post these, I’ve had a number of people ask if I’m using a certain plan or just going through the Bible and picking out my favorite passages.

These questions have caused me to formalize my approach and finally take the time to write it down. The attached read-through here is a work in progress but I wanted to go ahead and post this so that people can follow along in the New Year if they’d like (I’ve got January and February finished that includes Matthew – Mark in the New Testament and Genesis – Leviticus in the Old Testament). I say this is a work in progress because I’ll be continuing to add texts for March – December in the coming weeks. I’ also will be adding notes and thoughts directly on the document as I do my studies and interesting links and images that are relevant. But make a copy and make this yours as you see fit.

The read-through is the product of studying the Bible for the last twenty-two years from a Liberal Arts College perspective as well as an Ivy League Div School and a Baptist Seminary. Part of it is based on an old Cokesbury Bible reading guide that I picked up at the United Methodist General Assembly in 1999 shortly before I went into the woods to be a counselor at Asbury Hills UMC Camp in Upstate South Carolina. I fell in love with their reading guide while at Asbury and in the years after. I’ve certainly made alterations based on my own studies and connections I’ve made. But I’ve kept the overall structure of a yearly Bible read-through cover-to-cover.

Ultimately, we can all agree that we need to read more in 2019. I would argue that Americans can benefit a great deal personally and as a country, if we “read the Bible” more often. That doesn’t mean it has to be with a lens of a certain theology or with an aim to save souls. The Bible is a fascinating collection of stories of people wrestling with God and with each other and with the land and with the seas. We would all benefit to turn attention to these with the goal of understanding and making connections rather than just finding snippets of text that confirm our preexisting biases and unexamined privileges.

Mary’s ‘Magnificat’ in the Bible is revolutionary — so evangelicals silence it

I certainly had never heard of the term “Magnificat” until college. It’s difficult to divorce biblical passages such as these from contemporary politics when we are in a season of listening to footsteps. Good read in these closing days of Advent 2018:

Why has this song been forgotten, or trimmed, for so many people who grew up evangelical? It could be a byproduct of the Reformation, which caused Protestants to devalue Mary in reaction to Catholic theology. Or a lack of familiarity with liturgy, and an emphasis on other texts. Or perhaps the song doesn’t sound like good news if you are well fed, or rich, or in a position of power and might — or if you benefit from systems that oppress. How does the Magnificat feel if you aren’t one of the lowly, if you aren’t as vulnerable and humble as Mary?

— Read on www.washingtonpost.com/religion/2018/12/20/marys-magnificat-bible-is-revolutionary-so-evangelicals-silence-it/

“God said to Abraham give me a son…”

In Genesis, God prevented Abraham from carrying out the act. However, the papyrus text tells the story differently, suggesting that Isaac was indeed killed. This echoes the way the story is told in a number of other ancient texts, Zellmann-Rohrer said.

— Read on www.newsweek.com/1500-year-old-ancient-egyptian-papyrus-contains-stories-biblical-human-891667

“Where did Angels come from?”

I got asked that question during a Sunday School class on Old Testament conceptions of the divine a few years back. I struggled to gather my thoughts quickly and do that Middle School Teacher “Well, actually… it’s very interesting you see…” thing.

But it is a long and interesting history to process how we went from the regional deity of Yahweh to having monotheism to having the middle tier of gods deleted and the lower tier of gods transformed into individual angels with specific names and identities etc.

It’s hard for modern Christians to hear, but we shouldn’t always take the easy route of reading our own modern conceptions of the divine spheres back into texts like Genesis…

Good post here with more of the history behind the concept:

Since they no longer posed a threat to Yahweh, angels began to gain individuality, leading to the explosion of interest in the angelic and demonic worlds in late Second Temple times. The shift to a single-god system led to another late Second Temple split with seeds in Genesis 6 and a full flowering in the Christian New Testament: the lowest divine tier further divided into good angels and bad angels or demons (see, for example, Matt 25:41; Rev 12:7-9). These beings fight not over supremacy in heaven, but rather over the souls of humanity. This final movement established the basic framework shared by Christian and Islamic monotheism—a single, universal god whose rule is contested by demonic figures.

— Read on www.asor.org/anetoday/2018/06/Making-of-Monotheism

Bible Domains

When the society — which lists several conservative Christian “founding partners” on the get.bible website — first applied for the rights to .bible, it pledged to provide wide access to “all qualified parties” interested in Bible issues. Soon after acquiring the domain name, though, ABS barred publication of material it defined as “antithetical to New Testament principles” or promoting a secular worldview or “a non-Christian religion or set of religious beliefs.”

Source: Who owns the .bible? – Religion News ServiceReligion News Service

“to queer the prophetic body”

Rather, she is interested in how queerness, in all of its polysemy, “works” in the prophetic texts. Her aim is to “trace the prophetic body as a queer object and to queer the prophetic body” (p. 7)—a project that is both queer and feminist. The result is an imaginative, illuminating investigation into the bodies of various Hebrew Bible prophets.

Source: Book Note | Are We Not Men? Unstable Masculinity in the Hebrew Prophets — ANCIENT JEW REVIEW

Interesting… will definitely read!

Wrestling With the Text

I’ll be preaching on Genesis 32:22-31 (Jacob wrestles God / Angel / River Demon / Jungian Archetype … depending on your persuasion) at First Christian Church Columbia, SC on August 6. This is probably my favorite text in the entire Bible and I’m excited that it comes up in the lectionary next week.

I always wonder how others read this story. Leave me a comment here or on Facebook, Twitter, email etc and let me know.

I’ll post the sermon when I’m done, but maybe you can impact in how that turns out.

“The same night he got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.

When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, ‘Let me go, for the day is breaking.’ But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go, unless you bless me.’

So he said to him, ‘What is your name?’ And he said, ‘Jacob.’ Then the man said, ‘You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.’ Then Jacob asked him, ‘Please tell me your name.’ But he said, ‘Why is it that you ask my name?’ And there he blessed him.

So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, ‘For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.’ The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.”

 

Thinking Religion 115 and Hermeneutics

Thomas is in Philadelphia this week but we still managed to sneak in a podcast episode. We start by going over the very important but often-overlooked general idea of hermeneutics and why we should take them seriously in the Age Of Trump (AOT from here on out). Then we hop into the Bible Bracket Challenge. Sorry, Ruth.

Dr. Thomas Whitley and the Rev. Sam Harrelson discuss the concept of hermeneutics and continue their ongoing quest to decide the best book in the Bible from the Thinking Religion Bible Bracket Challenge.

via Thinking Religion Episode 115: Your Hair Is Like a Flock of Goats

Is the Original New Testament Lost?

House of Cards is fun, but take a few mins to watch something a little more substantive this weekend (like this):

As you might expect, I argue that even though we have thousands of manuscripts of the New Testament,  we do not have many *early* ones — and hardly any *really* early ones.  That is why we can not (always? ever?) know with absolute certainty what the authors of the New Testament originally said.   That matters for lots of reasons, one of which is that fundamentalist Christians but their faith in the very words of the Bible.  But what if, in some passages, we don’t know what those words were?   Dan, also as expected, argued that we have such extensive evidence for the New Testament — more than for any other book from the ancient world — we can trust that we have what the authors originally wrote.

via My Debate with Dan Wallace: Is the Original NT Lost? – Christianity in Antiquity (CIA): The Bart Ehrman Blog.