Oneself as Another

An Abbreviated Review of Oneself as Another by Paul Ricoeur

This is all too brief, composed in haste, and unfair to the author. Hey, that makes it kind of like sermon prep, right?

The question 'how people change?' assumes that we know the 'what' and the 'who' of people. In other words, it assumes a tacit understanding of the nature of identity. This is precisely the topic reconsidered by Paul Ricoeur in his both cryptic and brilliant study Oneself as Another. The title summarizes the thesis of the book: "the selfhood of oneself implies otherness to such an intimate degree that one cannot be thought of without the other" (3). One could paraphrase this remark by saying that no individual defines or discovers himself. Ricoeur begins his argument by distinguishing between 'idem' and 'ipse' identity (idem meaning 'same' in Latin and ipse, 'oneself') Thus idem refers to identity as sameness. It replies to the question "what am I?". Ipse is identity as selfhood, the response to "who?". There is no doubt that our culture tends in varying degrees to conflate or isolate these two forms of identity. On the one hand, the corporate drone measuring his life by overtime hours and cigarette breaks may have lost sight of "who" he is. His identity has been reduced to 'whatness'. On the other, the American Idol contestant is so secure in "who" she is that the facts of pear-shaped hips and a squawking voice are irrelevant. So how then do we find out who we are?

Ricoeur starts by criticizing any approach that begins by positing the subject as 'I'. A notion of self only emerges by considering the self in relation "to the I-you of interlocution, to the identity of a historical person, to the self of responsibility" (11). In other words, there is not direct access to self-identity. We only know ourselves reflexively, only by relating to other persons, within a community, and in the mode of responsibility. All of this fits well in a covenant framework. Moreover, Ricoeur resists any attempt to ground oneself on epistemic certainty. The means of identity is attestation, a word Ricoeur tells us belongs to the grammar of "I believe-in" rather than "I believe-that." Attestation is supported by testimony "inasmuch as it is in the speech of the one giving testimony that one believes" (21). This point is significant and worth unpacking. Ricoeur admits that attestation is vulnerable and fragile: "there is no "true" testimony without "false" testimony" (22). Truth about oneself is not guaranteed as the apostle John is so vehement to iterate. Only one recourse exists against false testimony: another testimony "that is more credible" (22). To gloss with theological application - extraneous to the text - a person identifies himself by the testimony of the Holy Spirit and the communion of the Spirit within the church. These are the faithful witnesses through which--in terms of our union with Christ--we gain "the assurance of being oneself acting and suffering" (22).

Ricoeur confronts the paradox of sameness and selfhood from numerous angles. Sameness is a question of reidentification. We tend to think of it as a substance. Therefore, in terms of identity, the substance of a person is the sedimentation of habits and traits that become one's character. Ricoeur says, "By character I understand the distinctive marks which permit the reidentification of a human individual as being the same" (119). Yet, is character the only way of conceiving of selfhood? If so, "who" we are is simply a function of "what" we are. At this point Ricoeur introduces the concept of promise-keeping. The fact that a person can make and keep a promise tells us that he is irreducible to substance. A promise-maker is a "who", and the quality of this identity is manifest only in the context of trust. I think this point is worth emphasizing because of its application for believers. I take Paul's teaching to indicate the "who" of Christian identity is more important than the "what." The gospel is Christ making a promise for us that defines our identity in spite of our whatness. What are we? Sinners. Who are we? Christ. (Just so you know, Ricoeur specifically avoids any theological applications in the text, though he was a faithful 'reformed' believer in the broad sense. Look to Vanhoozer for theological application.)

I'll pull one final topic from Ricoeur. He devotes two studies to narrative identity. First of all, he asserts, "Self-understanding is an interpretation" (114). This interpretation occurs in the context of a community that identifies itself within a story. Ricoeur is earnest is saying that there are "imaginative variations" of any given narrative. Each of us finds ourselves active and passive as life unfolds. One of the paradoxes of our narrative identity is that naturally our lives have no conscious beginning or end. We do not remember our birth and we cannot foresee our death. Therefore, making sense of a life-plot depends on appropriating the stories we hear and read. This makes self-understanding a delicate issue. Ricoeur provocatively remarks, "To the loss of the identity of the character thus corresponds the loss of the configuration of the narrative and, in particular, a crisis of the closure of the narrative" (149). I think in terms of ministry this comment is pregnant with meaning. Is not the moment of crisis in faith - the unexpected death of a loved one, the discovery of a malignant illness, the frustration of encountering injustice - the loss of identity within a governing narrative and, more deeply, unanticipated skepticism about closure. The questions we ask prove this to be true: is God just? How could a good God allow this to happen? Why me? If this is true, part of how people change is growing to trust in the testimony of their story. The answer for pain is not finally belief about Providence or sovereignty. The balm of Gilead is a Person we believe-in.

Love Beyond Reason

Once I had read the DaVinci Code I had to read the rest of Dan Brown's books. I read the three of Sam Bourne's books one after the other in a month. It was similar once I read Faith and Doubt by John Ortberg I had to read more of his work. It is unusual to have felt this with a Christian author!

Love Beyond Reason is a fabulous title for a book. When we think about the love of God we are in danger of making it so like our love that we demeen it or as Calvinist, we can be in danger of elevating to such a height that we cannot experience it. John Ortberg wants to show that God's love, whilst being far from unreasonable, is above and beyond human comprehension.

Why does God love us? Why was Jesus willing to humble himself and appear in fashion as a man and to be convicted and cruelly put to death on the cross for sinners?

Ortberg does not answer these questions but he does help us to delve more deeply into them.

His illustration all the way through the book is that of his sister's rag-doll. It did not matter how ragged the doll became, she continued to love it. We are all rag-dolls he says. We all have our faults and our failings. We are all full of sin. Yet God loves us.

He begins the book addressing the nature of love. What it is and what it does. That it is caring and kind. That it is observant and willing to be inconvenienced for it's object.

Then he considers God and who and what God is. God's love has the holy Father of heaven caring for and touching this hideous world that has been marred by sin. His love changes lives and hearts. We see it in the New Testament where God the Son enters human suffering and experience. He lives a life different to any other human life. He displays a perfect example of human love. He'll even touch a leper.

Ortberg illustrates the Christian experience, as he does in his other books, with story after story from his own life and the lives of others. He shows how tough the Christian life can be but how the love of God meaning, and perhaps understanding, to all that we suffer in this present world.

The book is honest and humorous. His style is winsome and very entertaining. I think the only criticism I can make is that he becomes a little repetitive. One of the stories he tells here at length also appears in another of his books.

Why God loves his people is an impossible question to answer. That he loves us is a wonderful truth to proclaim and I found myself prticularly stirred and excited as Ortberg attempts to meditate on this deep topic. The impressive thing about his style is that he doesn't come across as the teacher wanting to show the ignorant what they do not already know. He comes across as the brother who wants to talk to us about God. Here is a conversation about God's love that we could all do with having. Tolle Lege.

Man and Rite: Natural Sacredness and Christian Liturgy

As I took up Louis Bouyer’s Rite and Man my leading questions concerned the nature of a liturgical anthropology. Assuming for a moment that Christian worship is not embroidery tacked onto theology, what does it mean for man to be, in the words of Schmemann, homo adorans? The book itself is an attempt by Bouyer of discerning the natural roots of Christian worship. His assumption is that if grace does not destroy nature, we should expect to find fundamentally human aspects within Christian worship. In other words, the Israelites and Canaanites may not disagree on every point. In no way does this thesis weaken the supernatural basis of Christianity. On the contrary, Bouyer conducts his research on the basis of an incarnational analogy. He iterates, “Indeed, the more perfectly we know the human aspects of Christianity, the more perfectly we shall understand that part of it which is the result of divine intervention” (3). God’s making wine for mirth in no way denies His ability subsequently to take up a Jewish cup and declare the new covenant.

With regard to the incarnational analogy, Bouyer warns of twin dangers of monophysite and Nestorian ‘sacrality’. On the one hand, a monophysite vision emphasizes the supernatural character of Christianity to the extent that nature becomes inconsequential. Thus creation and humanity are reciprocally devalued. On the other, a Nestorian view asserts both divine and human aspects, but fails to coordinate the two. Against both of these exaggerations a truly Christian understanding of the sacred allows for supernatural revelation to occur in nature: “But the signs of what is sacred, those spontaneous signs which are consequent to man’s primitive and basic experience of his utter dependence upon a God who is both distinct and transcendent become charged with new significance” (11). Bread is bread. Wine is wine. And both are Christ.

Bouyer spends his first few chapters tracing the history of comparative religions. He notes how 17th century skepticism concluded with relativism, that all religions were basically the same. This, however, quickly gave way in the 18th century to the thesis that religion was a priestly construct. A tendency arose for historians and early anthropologists was to deride religion as a product of primitive humanity, a mere stage preceding enlightenment (Compte). Therefore, Bouyer recognizes some good in thinkers like Freud and Jung who at least pried room for discussion concerning the role of religion in man’s consciousness. Writing in the mid 20th century, Bouyer rejoices, “One cannot properly speak about a genesis of the idea of God. This idea is found in the most elementary manifestation of a religion consciousness” (25). Elsewhere he says, “Religion is the spontaneous response which man’s existential situation elicits as soon as this latter is fully accepted in its reality” (31). Again, these remarks do not locate Bouyer on the silty ground of pluralism. His point is one shared by Calvin, Turretin, and reformed theologians today. Man is religious.

One of the most interesting discussions in Bouyer’s book concerns the nature of a religious rite. It’s easy to assume a Christian context for this discussion, but one must recognize that Bouyer’s project is to speak first at the level of what reformed theologians call common grace. On this turf he says, “In other words, a rite is not simply one type of action among many others. It is the typical human action, inasmuch as it is connected with the word as the expression and realization of man in the world, and to the degree that this expression and realization are immediately and fundamentally religious” (57). Several aspects of the quotation are worth considering. First, a rite is “the typical human action.” Human behavior is symbolically mediated and infused with meaning that transcends mundane tasks. We are liturgical beings. Moreover, rite and word are inextricably linked. Words here do not signify abstract concepts, but rather are creative and dense (c.f. 61); they profess what is occurring. Thus the Israelites repeat the story of the Exodus as they perform the Passover meal not only because they are already redeemed but also because God continues to enact His covenant in their midst. Another salient point Bouyer repeats is that the actions involved in rites are neither extrinsic nor arbitrary. He confesses, “The symbolism always exists prior to the meaning placed upon it. When this meaning is further defined, the symbol becomes a sign” (63). Again, “In no way were the words thought to infuse a wholly accidental, unprepared meaning into actions that were not prepared to receive it” (64). Anyone who knows the development of Christology takes this point. As Jaroslav Pelikan has masterfully articulated, only in the context of worshiping Christ did theologians realize what they were doing.

Now these descriptions of religious rites may scare evangelicals. Snippets make Bouyer sound like a devotee of religious syncretism. But this is to take a fish for a snake. Bouyer’s sole purpose is to use a phenomenological approach to religion so as to see the full meaning of the Christian rite and in the end to assert its uniqueness. In doing so I believe he clarifies some of the questions we should and shouldn’t bring to the Scriptures. For example, on the grounds that man is by nature liturgical, Bouyer is able to avoid the scholastic distinctions commentators make in trying to define the functions and purposes of Levitical regulations. Bouyer reminds us: “Sacrifice is not originally a subtle notion; it is a fact, a fact whose material reality should be taken into account before hasty attempts are made to give it spiritual explanation” (84). This material aspect of Israelite worship is not something we should dismiss as naïve and pre-critical; it’s something we share. If nothing else, the reader walks away from Bouyer convinced that liturgy is not a game theologians play to educate the simple: it’s not theological dress-up. On the contrary, “The liturgical drama does nothing more than make the divine story, which is to remain the soul of the rite, evoked as it may be, concrete and perfectly explicit” (100).