Should Pentecostal Theology Be Analytic Theology

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PNEUMA 36 (2014) 246–264

Should Pentecostal Theology be Analytic Theology?

Christopher A. Stephenson Lee University, Cleveland, Tennessee

[email protected]

Abstract

As pentecostal theology develops, it will become more sophisticated philosophically. Pentecostal theology should benefit from the gains of analytic theology, an approach to systematic theology characterized by certain tendencies within analytic philosophy. In addition to qualities like clarity and precision, such methodology may also enhance spiritual practice by encouraging meditation and discursive prayer in connection with speculative theology.

Keywords

analytic theology – speculative theology – spiritual theology – discursive prayer – theological method

…

Speculative Christology is that exercise within Christology that attempts to elucidate the mystery of the person of Christ, the eternal Son of God incarnate who is fully human and fully divine. Necessitated by the need to counter heterodox trends and associated with right doxology and true contemplation, speculative Christology is essentially a spiritual exercise that deepens the Church’s knowledge of divine revelation in Jesus Christ.

ralph del colle1

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1 This essay is dedicated to the memory of Ralph Del Colle (1954–2012), Catholic past president

of the Society for Pentecostal Theology and my former teacher. Ralph never tired of encouraging

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi: 10.1163/15700747-03602005

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As constructive pentecostal theology continues to burgeon, its authors are making initial decisions about which movements within the wider theologi- cal spectrum seem to be the most likely allies for pentecostal discourse. There are continuities between pentecostal theologians and figures as diverse as nineteenth-century Reformed theologians such as Charles Hodge and B.B. War- field, such twentieth-century giants as Karl Barth, Jürgen Moltmann, and Paul Tillich, postliberals such as Hans Frei and Stanley Hauerwas, American prag- matists such as C.S. Peirce, and such Catholic theologians as Donald Gelpi and David Tracy.2 This list is not comprehensive, and as pentecostal theologians mature they will continue to consider other dialogue partners as well.

At an even earlier stage of development are pentecostal theologians’ first assessments of which movements within the wider philosophical spectrum might prove to be allies for pentecostal theological discourse. It should not be surprising that these assessments are just beginning, given Pentecostal- ism’s occasional skepticism about philosophy as a field of inquiry compatible with faith, much less helpful for theology. The general developmental trend within academic pentecostal thought is widely known and does not need to be rehearsed here. Suffice it to say that the first pentecostal academicians in religious studies gravitated toward the history of Christianity and biblical stud- ies. Only later did they turn to systematic theology, and later still have they become interested in philosophy as an ally for theology.3 I do not mean pente- costal philosophers per se, but pentecostal theologians working in systematic theology and their decisions about the kinds of philosophical discourse that inform their theological work.

In 2009, Oxford University Press published a collection of essays entitled AnalyticTheology:NewEssaysinthePhilosophyofTheology.4Thebookcontends that continental philosophy has exerted significantly greater influence on sys- tematic theology than has analytic philosophy.5 Observing the gulf between

Pentecostals to make room in their theology for “the speculative moment.” The quotation is

from his unfinished “Spirit Christology: Dogmatic Issues,” in A Man of the Church, ed. Michel

René Barnes (Eugene, or: Pickwick, 2012), 8.

2 Christopher A. Stephenson, Types of Pentecostal Theology: Method, System, Spirit (Oxford:

Oxford University Press, 2013).

3 See Amos Yong, “Pentecostalism and the Theological Academy,” Theology Today 64 (2007):

244–250.

4 Analytic Theology: New Essays in the Philosophy of Theology, ed. Oliver D. Crisp and Michael

C. Rea (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). See the roundtable of essays devoted to

Analytic Theologyin Journal of the American Academy of Religion81, no. 3 (2013): 569–619. 5 See a similar claim in R.R. Reno, “Theology’s Continental Captivity,” First Things 162 (April

2006): 26–33.

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many systematic theologians and analytic philosophers of religion, the book proposes an interdisciplinary conversation between the two in search of bene- fits for systematic theology. Therefore, I want to introduce “analytic theology” briefly and consider whether some pentecostal theology should take such a form.

The Divide between Analytic and Continental Philosophy

The quest toward an understanding of analytic theology begins with the rela- tionship between continental philosophy and analytic philosophy. However, I need to acknowledge some of the difficulties surrounding the categoriza- tions. First, it is better to think of both continental and analytic philosophy as loose associations of respective philosophical inquiries, each of which demon- strates a degree of eclecticism in its own ways, than as organized schools with definitiveboundariesbywhichphilosopherscanbeunquestionably classified.6 While the terms continental and analytic have explanatory power for describ- ing some university philosophy departments and their respective curricula, the terms also have limits. Second, a purely geographic understanding of the dis- tinctions cannot be maintained. “Continental” generally refers to the European continent, and “analytic” generally refers to Britain and the United States. Yet, one needs to look no further for an exception than to Gottlob Frege, a German logician whose contributions to logic and mathematics make him one of the monumental figures of the analytic tradition.7 Third, whatever the nature and legitimacy of the distinctions between continental and analytic philosophy, the two share a common heritage, even if there is debate aboutwhendivisions first arose. Do the traditions represent two different ways of responding to Kant?8

6 Hans-Johann Clock, What is Analytic Philosophy? (Cambridge, uk: Cambridge University

Press, 2008), 1–20; C.G. Prado, “Introduction,” in A House Divided: Comparing Analytic and

Continental Philosophy, ed. C.G. Prado (New York: Humanity Books, 2003), 9–15; David West,

Continental Philosophy: An Introduction(Cambridge, uk: Polity Press, 2010), 1–7. 7 Simon Critchley, “Introduction: What is Continental Philosophy?” in A Companion to Conti-

nental Philosophy, ed. Simon Critchley and William R. Schroeder (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998),

5–6; Robert C. Solomon, “Introduction,” in The Blackwell Guide to Continental Philosophy,

ed. Robert C. Solomon and David Sherman (Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), 1–7; Brian Leiter and

Michael Rosen, “Introduction,” in The Oxford Handbook of Continental Philosophy, ed. Brian

Leiter and Michael Rosen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 1–5.

8 For a rehearsal of this narrative, see Andrew Cutrofello,Continental Philosophy: A Contempo-

rary Introduction(New York: Routledge, 2005), 1–29, 396–416.

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Or does the distinction arise with Hegel?9 Or does the break come later with Husserl and the rise of phenomenology?10 All of that said, even what is likely the most critical contribution to Analytic Theology acknowledges that while there may be no such things as the analytic and continental traditions, “there are recognizably analytic and continental traditions” that are “different in their vocabularies, their canons, and their methods or styles of ‘argument.’”11

With these acknowledgments in mind, I turn to continental philosophy. This can be nothing close to a comprehensive introduction, and I will focus on the sole element of emancipation because of the implications for pente- costal scholarship.12 By no means am I reducing continental philosophy to this singular concern or assuming continental philosophy to be monolithic in its approaches to emancipation. Nonetheless, much of continental philosophy is oriented toward praxis and social critique. One of the goals of the philosoph- ical enterprise is an assessment of practices and structures for the purpose of liberation. Philosophy seeks individual and societal transformation. The quest for emancipation is grounded in an awareness of the historically situatedness of human existence and, thus, the utter contingency of human experiences. As Simon Critchley writes, “Once the human being has been located as a finite subject embedded in an ultimately contingent network of history, culture, and society, then one can begin to understand a feature common to many philoso- phers in the Continental tradition, namely the demand that things be other- wise. If human experience is a contingent creation, then it can be recreated in other ways.”13 Shaped by this kind of historical awareness and driven by the determination for things to be otherwise, continental philosophy often works toward emancipation from conditions that hinder human freedom.

The continental philosophical quest for emancipation is related to the no- tion of crisis. If philosophy is concerned with the critique of present societal arrangements, then this initiative can be understood in part as an attempt to generate greater awareness of a situation of crisis in order to promote critical consciousness about the present. Apart from the realization of the existence of crisis, philosophy becomes a different endeavor that fails to transcend exer- cises in intellectual curiosity and speculation. In fact, “the real crisis would be

9 West,Continental Philosophy, 3–4.

10 Simon Critchley, Continental Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford Uni-

versity Press, 2001), 12–31.

11 Merold Westphal, “Hermeneutics and Holiness,” in Analytic Theology, 265. With “argu-

ment,” Westphal refers to the prominence of deductive arguments in analytic philosophy. 12 Critchley,Continental Philosophy, 54–74.

13 Ibid., 64.

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a situation where crisis was not recognized.”14 In short, critique is addressed to existing praxis that is deemed undesirable for whatever reason, and emanci- pation from the undesirable praxis is sought through the implementation of a more desirable praxis. The gist of Marx’s eleventh thesis on Feuerbach is apro- pos: philosophers have attempted to understand the world, but the goal is to change it.

Speaking of Marx, perhaps one of the most widely known examples of the concern for emancipation in continental philosophy is the Manifesto of the Communist Party, first published in 1848.15 In an 1888 preface to the text, Friedrich Engels explains that the Manifesto’s most fundamental claim is (1) that in every period of history the mode of economic production and exchange is the basis of explicating that period’s intellectual history, and (2) that all of human history has been a history of class struggles between oppressors and the oppressed. Engels continues that history has reached the point at which the oppressed proletariat cannot attain emancipation from the oppressing bour- geoisie without emancipating all of society from class struggles. The Manifesto itself lives up to Engels’s descriptions and states that whatever different forms class struggles may have taken at different times, the common element in all of them is exploitation of one part of society by another part, such that the only solution is the eradication of antagonism between classes. The document grants that the Communist revolution is in fact a radical departure from tra- ditional ways of thinking, precisely because it is a radical departure from tra- ditional ideas about property and its social function. It seems clear that the Manifesto describes a situation of crisis. It performs a philosophical analysis of society, finds the situation undesirable, and calls for emancipation of those oppressed by the undesirable situation. The new situation achieved by eman- cipation includes nothing less than the middle-class property owners being swept out of the way. The proletariat must take all capital from the bourgeoisie, and in the new situation “the free development of each is the condition for the free development of all.”16

14 Ibid., 73.

15 Manifesto of the Communist Party in Capital and Other Writings by Karl Marx, ed. Max

Eastman (New York: Random House, 1932), 315–355.

16 Manifesto, 343. Space does not permit discussion, but additional examples from the

continental tradition concerning emancipation are easily multiplied. Consider Friedrich

Nietzsche’s account of the ascetic ideal and its accompanying moral practices in On the

Genealogy of Morals in Basic Writings of Nietzsche (New York: Random House, 1966),

437–599; Simone de Beauvoir’s feminist concerns about the social nature of gender inThe

Second Sex(New York: Bantam, 1961); and Michel Foucault’s assessment of domination as

a form of exercising power in Discipline and Punish(New York: Random House, 1995).

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By and large analytic philosophy has not been as preoccupied with emanci- pation as continental philosophy has been. This is not to say, however, that ana- lytic philosophy has been entirely devoid of work in areas such as political the- ory or ethics, which might ally themselves with concern for emancipation. On this front, John Rawls and G.E. Moore, respectively, come to mind.17 If emanci- pation, bound up with praxis and crisis, is a recurring theme in continental phi- losophy, what are the characteristics of analytic theology? My concern here is not so much with analytic philosophy per se, but rather with the specific vision cast in Analytic Theologyin light of tendencies within analytic philosophy.

Analytic Theology does not offer a singular vision of theological method shared by all contributors, but the programmatic essays by the editors set some parameters. In short, analytic theology approaches topics in Christian theol- ogy with the interests and style of analytic philosophy. According to Michael Rea, analytic theology is likely to bear the following characteristics: expressing positions that can be formally stated and logically manipulated; prioritizing precision, clarity, and coherence; avoiding substantive use of metaphor that exceeds its propositional content; adopting primitive concepts that can be well understood; and counting conceptual analysis as a source of evidence.18 It is important to note that what Rea describes here is a certain rhetorical style rather than any particular set of commitments to metaphysical or epistemolog- icaltheories.Analyticphilosophyhasnothadamonolithicviewofmetaphysics or even of whether or not it is a worthwhile enterprise. Neither does being an analytic theologian necessarily commit one to a particular theory of truth, even if certain epistemological claims present themselves as more amenable than others. To Rea’s characteristics, Oliver Crisp adds the process of making careful conceptual distinctions. He is not referring to a kind of logical atomism such that a concept could be broken down into smaller concepts, and those into even smaller ones until one reaches bare facts that admit of no further dis- tinction. Instead, Crisp refers simply to the process of tackling large theological questions by breaking them down into multiple smaller theological questions, the clarification of which might shine light on the larger theological question. Thus, he suggests that consideration of the doctrine of the Trinity by an ana- lytic theologian would likely involve careful considerations of smaller topics such as substance, person, and perichoresis in order to see how any conclu- sions reached there might illuminate the larger doctrine of the Trinity.19

17 John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, ma: Belknap, 1971); G.E. Moore, Ethics (New

York: Oxford University Press, 1965).

18 Michael C. Rea, “Introduction,” in Analytic Theology, 5–7.

19 Oliver D. Crisp, “On Analytic Theology,” in Analytic Theology, 34–40.

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On the one hand, these suggestions from Rea and Crisp might seem rather banal, and one might wonder if anyone wishes to do theology any other way. Rea himself points out that the above characteristics could be seen as little more than the most basic skills any academician would want to instill in her undergraduate students: “reason coherently; write clearly; say what you mean and mean what you say; try not to express your arguments and conclusions in overly ‘poetic’ language; understand the terms you’re employing and rely on your understanding of those terms to draw out the implications of what you say and what you presuppose; and so on. Thus construed, it is hard to imagine how anyone could sensibly object.”20 Yet, Rea states that one might argue that prioritizing such qualities as precision and clarity sometimes comes at the expense of all other rhetorical qualities. Further, one might claim that it is useful to rely on metaphor and poetic expressions in order to inspire a particular kind of response from one’s audience, to elicit a change of behavior in them.21 Precision, clarity, and conceptual distinctions may seem too much like hair-splitting when the situation calls for an emotionally charged appeal designed to grasp the attention of others.

When put this way, it seems that not every contemporary theological text prioritizes precision, clarity, and careful distinctions over a rhetoric of pathos geared toward emancipation. Perhaps thelocus classicusof the latter approach to theology is James Cone’s A Black Theology of Liberation. The first sentences of the preface state, “The reader is entitled to know what to expect in this book. It is my contention that Christianity is essentially a religion of liberation. The function of theology is that of analyzing the meaning of that liberation for the oppressed community so they can know that their struggle for political, social, and economic justice is consistent with the gospel of Jesus Christ. Any message that is not related to the liberation of the poor in the society is not Christ’s message. Any theology that is indifferent to the theme of liberation is not Christian theology.”22 Cone goes on to discuss systematiclocifrom the doctrine of revelation to eschatology, all of which he expounds according to this stated liberationist hermeneutic. Now it is far beyond my scope to engage in broad assessments of political, public, and liberation theologies, all of which have many merits. Neither do I consider Cone to encapsulate all of the differences within those fields. Suffice it to say that when Cone refers to racial integration in the United States as a “white guilt” attempt to assimilate blacks into white

20 Rea, “Introduction,” 6.

21 Ibid., 18.

22 James H. Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation(New York: J.B. Lippincott, 1970), 11.

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culture—“straight hair, neckties, deodorant, the whole package”—and when he states that “we will not let whitey cool this one with his pious love ethic but will seek to enhance our hostility” in the name of “survival theology,” he is intentionally appealing to a rhetorical strategy extremely different from, say, that of Alvin Plantinga’s evaluations of the ontological argument or Peter van Inwagen’s contributions to the problem of evil.23 I am not making any value judgments of Cone here. Neither am I suggesting that his theology is “sloppy” or that he has no concern at all for clarity. I am simply offering him as an example of a way of doing theology that is characterized more by a rhetorical strategy that employs colorful language in aspiration of liberation and emancipation than a rhetorical strategy marked by precision and fine conceptual distinctions.

Concerning Christology, Cone states that Jesus’ death is revelation that God has entered the totality of human oppression. It could be no other way, for if Jesus is to be meaningful for oppressed blacks, he must join them in their condi- tion and be black like them. “If Christ is white and not black, he is an oppressor, and we must kill him.”24 The black Christ encourages rebellion among blacks so that at the appropriate time “the black community can respond collectively to the white community … lashing out at the enemy of man.”25 One participates in God’s saving activity by cooperating with the black Christ’s work of libera- tion. Salvation consists of the oppressed serving notice that they “ain’t gonna take no more of this bullshit, but a new day is coming and it ain’t going to be like today.”26

Jürgen Moltmann, while not exhibiting the same degree of colorful language as Cone, is another theologian who writes largely for emancipatory purposes. Indeed, he epitomizes the integration between traditional systematic loci and political theology. He has certainly interacted closely with, received significant attention from, and exerted influence on pentecostal scholars. Perhaps the book with which he is most readily associated is The Crucified God,27 the fundamental issues of which are captured by two questions. First, Moltmann shifts the preoccupation with the meaning of Jesus’ death for us and instead asks what Jesus’ crucifixion means for God. He enquires into the effect of Jesus’

23 Ibid., 34–39; Alvin Plantinga, God, Freedom, and Evil (Grand Rapids, mi: Eerdmans, 1974);

Peter van Inwagen,The Problem of Evil (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 24 Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation, 199.

25 Ibid., 216.

26 Ibid., 227. Of course, Cone’s use of the categories “white” and “black” are symbolic and do

not correspond to the actual color of persons’ skin without qualification. See ibid., 32, n. 5. 27 Jürgen Moltmann,The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of

Christian Theology(London: scm, 1974).

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death on God as well as into how God should be understood in light of Jesus’ death. Only after this enquiry does Moltmann ask what Jesus’ death means for us. And byus, Moltmann means especially “the godless” and “the godforsaken,” both of whom feel that God is absent from them or has abandoned them.

Moltmann gives account of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in Jesus’ death. He contends that the cross is not a divine-human event but a trinitarian event between the Father and the Son, God and God. The Son suffers the loss of his life in forsakenness by God, which he laments in his cry of dereliction. The Father suffers the loss of the Son, and the Father “forsakes himself” since the loss of the Son means that the Father “suffers the death of his Fatherhood.” Father and Son are separated in the forsakenness of the cross.28 While Father and Son do not suffer in the same sense and neither suffers by external constraint as creatures do, the fact that they suffer at all indicates that God is not impassible. This is what Jesus’ death means for God—a divine event of suffering.

The implications of Jesus’ death for us stem from the realization that God freely enters the world and suffers along with it. Jesus’ cry of dereliction is a cry of solidarity with those who feel forsaken by God. The godless and godfor- saken, in turn, can receive motivation to resist their undesirable circumstances by looking to the crucified Jesus who dies forsaken by God and by accepting that Jesus’ forsakenness reveals a God who suffers along with them. Moltmann develops these implications in relation to psychological and political liber- ation. First, in a dialogue between Christian theology and psychoanalysis,29 Moltmann argues that if persons take seriously God’s passion in the cross, they can be liberated from the apathy resulting from the suppression of the frustra- tions of human existence. Second, Moltmann states some implications of God’s passion for economic, political, and ecological liberation.30

Cone and Moltmann are sufficient to disillusion one of the assumption that no one does theology other than as Rea and Crisp describe inAnalyticTheology. Cone and Moltmann are two examples of Christian theology’s appropriation of the theme of emancipation found in continental philosophy, but in specific connection with Jesus’ death. They make it clear that Rea’s and Crisp’s charac- teristics are not as banal as they might seem at first.31

28 Ibid., 243–246.

29 Ibid., 291–316.

30 Ibid., 317–340.

31 Not all theology that aligns with some of the concerns of continental philosophy uses

such rhetorical language or fails to make careful distinctions. One of the most obvious

examples is Robert Sokolowski, The God of Faith and Reason: Foundations of Christian

Theology(Washington, dc: Catholic University of America Press, 1995). While Sokolowski

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An Exercise in Analytic Theology

Eleonore Stump is an accomplished analytic philosopher. She is also a theist who sometimes writes about issues traditionally associated with systematic theology. She is a sympathetic, even if critical, contributor to Analytic Theol- ogy.32 Whether or not she would embrace the title “analytic theologian,” some of her philosophy counts as analytic theology because of the rhetorical style it follows and the Christian theological content it expounds.

In a recent article, Stump considers the logical options available for under- standing Jesus’ cry of dereliction within the boundaries of Christian orthodoxy and its traditional allocation of attributes to God and Jesus.33 This exercise in analytic theology is especially illuminating since it represents a significantly different approach to some of the same theological material surrounding Jesus’ death addressed by Cone and Moltmann. Since the cry of dereliction implies some sort of distance between God and Jesus, Stump begins by reflecting on what is necessary for union between persons. The first requirement is a kind of closeness that depends on psychic integration around the good. It follows then that immoral behavior, inasmuch as it fragments the psyche, is an obstacle to closeness between persons. A person with a fragmented psyche is unable or unwilling to share certain parts of himself with another because he is divided within himself, thus thwarting closeness. The second requirement for union between persons is shared attention, which Stump describes analogously to the gaze of a mother and baby into each other’s eyes. The mother and baby are aware of each other and are aware of each other’s awareness of each other and so on. Such shared attention results in each being personally present to and for each other. For there to be distance between persons, then, it is sufficient that one of the persons either lacks closeness with another or fails to maintain shared attention with another.

is a careful student of phenomenology and writes about “theology of disclosure,” this

book is an exercise in the art of making careful distinctions and their implications for

Christian theology. He takes the distinction between God and the world and makes it the

basis for several other theological distinctions, such as the distinction between natural

and theological virtues. See also Robert Sokolowski, “The Method of Philosophy: Making

Distinctions,”Review of Metaphysics51, no. 2 (1998): 515–532.

32 Eleonore Stump, “The Problem of Evil: Analytic Philosophy and Narrative,” in Analytic

Theology, 251–264.

33 Eleonore Stump, “Atonement and the Cry of Dereliction from the Cross,”European Journal

for Philosophy of Religion4, no. 1 (2012): 1–17.

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Building on these conclusions, Stump states three possibilities to account for the distance between God and Jesus suggested by the cry of dereliction. First, perhaps something about God prevents closeness between them. That is, God fails to be close to Jesus at the time of the cry of dereliction, and God is responsible for not being close to him. Stump dismisses this possibility in light of the attribute of divine love. God always desires to be united with every person. If God fails to be united with any person, it is not due to God failing to desire to be united with that person, because God loves perfectly. Second, perhaps something about Jesus prevents closeness between God and Jesus. Jesus fails to be close to God at the time of the cry of dereliction, and Jesus is responsible for not being close to God. Stump dismisses this possibility because the failure of any person to lack closeness with God because that person turns from God in any fashion constitutes immoral behavior. Since such an immoral act cannot be attributed to Jesus, because he is never in an immoral state, the possibility is precluded.

This seems to leave only a third possibility. Perhaps shared attention be- tween God and Jesus is hindered, thus introducing distance between them. This admits of a couple of divisions, since the lack of shared attention between them could be due to something about God or something about Jesus. If the source is something about Jesus, it could be due to either the states of Jesus’ intellect and will or to something other than Jesus’ beliefs and desires. Stump says the lack of shared attention between them cannot be due to something about God. Since nothing external to God could obviate God’s desire for close- ness, the only possibility is that God decides to divert God’s attention from Jesus. However, Stump sees no convincing reason that a perfectly good God would turn God’s attention from Jesus. The possibility, then, is precluded, leav- ing only the possibility that it is something about Jesus that hinders shared attention between them. Yet, Stump dismisses the possibility that the source is Jesus’ intellect or will, since a perfectly good person would not desire or think it good to interrupt shared attention with a perfectly good God. She also dismisses the possibility that the source is something other than Jesus’ beliefs and desires. On the latter score, she posits that the most convincing appeal might be to the extreme physical pain caused by crucifixion, but this proves unfruitful since other Christians have endured excruciating physical pain without losing shared attention with God. Thus, physical pain alone can- not account for Jesus’ lack of shared attention with God and the cry of derelic- tion.

Just when it seems that all possibilities are exhausted, Stump introduces one additional possibility, namely, that something relational between Jesus and other humans is responsible for the lack of shared attention between God

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and Jesus. She explores this possibility in connection with the idea of “min- dreading,” the act by which one person intuitively knows something about another person’s action and the emotion with which the action is performed. As Stump describes it, mindreading occurs when mirror neurons fire, produc- ing in the subject a kind of reflection of the behavior the subject observes in another, as if the subject himself were performing the act. This is not “knowl- edge that,” but rather knowledge about someone’s feelings or sensations. In a manner akin to empathy, one person has an (admittedly limited) idea of another’s mental or emotional state. This goes not only for the sense one might have from observing someone else in physical pain, but also for the sense one might have when observing someone else commit an immoral act. Just as one might have some sense of the mental state of another person who bumps her head, one might have some sense of the mental state of another person who commits cold-blooded murder. In such a case, one might experi- ence a degree of the moral laxity that would allow another to perform such an evil act, but would experience it nonetheless as another’s experience of moral laxity. In other words, the firing of the mirror neurons would allow a person to have some understanding of another’s mental state through mindreading without the first person in fact performing the act or acquiring culpability for it. Furthermore, when a person is engaged in mindreading another per- son who commits an act of horrendous evil, the first person’s simulacrum of another’s mental state could result in the first person’s having such mental distress that the first person’s shared attention with a third person could be hindered.

Herein is the upshot for the cry of dereliction according to Stump. On the cross, Jesus bears the sins of the entire world. Mindreading allows one to give account of how Jesus takes the sins of the world into himself without hav- ing moral evil of his own and becoming culpable for it. Through mindreading, Jesus’ human psyche is connected with every other human psyche. Thus, Jesus has a simulacrum of the mental states of every person during the performance of every act of horrendous evil. It is easy to imagine how such mindreading could result in Jesus having a mental state that hinders his shared attention with God. Because of this mental state, Jesus cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” in spite of the fact that God does not in fact aban- don Jesus. Rather, Jesus has a sensation of distance from God because shared attention between God and Jesus is hindered by Jesus’ mental distress acquired from mindreading every human psyche at the time of its most despicable acts.

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Pentecostal Theology as Analytic Theology

Some Pentecostals might consider Stump’s exercise to be pedantic hairsplit- ting at best or a speculative waste of time at worst. After all, even if her argu- ments are sound, what difference do any of the conclusions make? It is not immediately obvious how her reading of Jesus’ cry of dereliction might incite the same kind of human response that Cone and Moltmann desire from their interpretations of Jesus’ death. Stump does not use Jesus’ death to address an undesirable situation in need of emancipation. She does not mine Jesus’ death for any consequences for human praxis. Why should Pentecostals give as much attention to Stump’s treatment of Jesus’ cry as they have, for example, to Molt- mann’s treatment of Jesus’ cry and its sociopolitical implications?34 I suggest that Pentecostals should give attention to Stump’s treatment at least because of its analytic style. One the one hand, the benefits of clarity, careful conceptual distinctions, and rigorous argumentation are intellectual virtues that should be sought in theological discourse for their own sake. Yet, if this is not enough for Pentecostals, the analytic style also has potential to benefit discursive theol- ogy precisely at its intersection with the spiritual practices of meditation and prayer.35 This is not to say that Cone and Moltmann might not lead one to pray, but rather that the analytic style is conducive for encouragingdiscursiveprayer because it is rigorously discursive itself.

I want to begin prosecuting this claim by highlighting portions of one of the most thorough integrations of speculative theology and spiritual practice in the Western tradition, Anselm’s Proslogion.36 While it would be anachronistic to call Anselm’s work “analytic theology,” the precision, clarity, and conceptual distinctions exhibited here follow Rea’s and Crisp’s prescriptions more closely

34 For recent pentecostal engagements with Moltmann’s treatment of Jesus’ cry and its impli-

cations, see Daniel Castelo, “Moltmann’s Dismissal of Divine Impassibility: Warranted?”

Scottish Journal of Theology61, no. 4 (2008): 396–407; idem, “An Apologia for Divine Impas-

sibility: Toward Pentecostal Prolegomena,” Journal of Pentecostal Theology 19 (2010): 118–

126; Andrew K. Gabriel, “Pentecostals and Divine Impassibility: A Response to Daniel

Castelo,” Journal of Pentecostal Theology20 (2011): 184–190; Daniel Castelo, “Toward Pente-

costal Prolegomena ii: A Rejoinder to Andrew Gabriel,” Journal of Pentecostal Theology 21

(2012): 168–180; Chris E. Green, “The Crucified God and the Groaning Spirit: Toward a Pen-

tecostal Theologia Crucis in Conversation with Jürgen Moltmann,” Journal of Pentecostal

Theology19 (2010): 127–142.

35 This is a minimalist suggestion. I suspect there are many more reasons for Pentecostals to

attend to Stump’s treatment that I do not take up here.

36 St. Anselm’sProslogion (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979).

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than do the works of Cone and Moltmann discussed above. A full evaluation of the similarities between analytic theology and scholastic theology is beyond my purview, but Stump’s own extensive use of the Thomistic tradition and the fact that Stump and Anselm both engage in speculative theology invite such a comparison. The Proslogion is most famous for Anselm’s version of what has come to be called the ontological argument for God’s existence, based on the idea of God as that than which nothing greater can be thought. What is easy to forget, however, when looking merely at the formal deductive argument in third-person speech that can be extracted from the text is that Anselm offers his reflections on God’s existence in second-person discourse. Anselm is praying to God as he contemplates that God cannot reasonably be thought not to exist.37 Similarly to Augustine rehearsing his life’s journey in the form of “confessions” directed to God,38 Anselm engages in obtuse speculative theology as an expres- sion of spiritual practice. He is literally thinkingabout Godtoward God. While such second-person discourse may seem out of place if one knows only the argument for God’s existence in extracted form, second-person address per- fectly suits Anselm’s expressed desire to understand what he already believes,39 namely, that God exists. For this reason, before Anselm considers any of the speculative theological questions of the Proslogion, he begins the work with a prayer in which he first invites himself to set aside his ordinary thoughts and cares in order to “abandon” himself to God and, second, asks God to teach him to seek God and to help him understand God, who dwells in inaccessible light.40 It is only after this request that Anselm makes his familiar claim that the being than which nothing greater can be thought must exist, since failing to exist would certainly constitute a lack of greatness, a possibility excluded by definition. Recalling that prayer is the mode of Anselm’s reflections and that the desire to understand what he believes is his motivation casts light on his argu- ment. It cannot be dismissed as sterile logic chopping. Even if one ultimately concludes that Anselm’s argument is not convincing, one is nonetheless faced with an example of speculative theology as spiritual practice. Anselm is a Chris- tian intellectual, “tormented by love of [God] and yet cast off ‘far from [God’s] face’” (Ps 13:1),41 who responds to God’s love by writing detailed discursive the- ology in the form of a prayer. He addresses the one about whom he reflects.

37 Anselm, Proslogion, chaps. 2 and 3, respectively.

38 Augustine,Confessions(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998).

39 Indeed, the longer title of theProslogionisFides quaerens intellectum. See Anselm,Proslo-

gion, preface.

40 Anselm, Proslogion, preface.

41 Ibid.

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Anselm’s discussion of God’s omnipotence follows a similar pattern,42 but in a way that suggests a possible appropriation of Stump’s analysis of Jesus’ cry of dereliction. Anselm again tries to understand through second-person discourse what he already believes—that God is omnipotent—but this time in light of what appears to be an unavoidable contradiction to belief in God’s omnipotence, namely, that there are many things God “cannot” do. Rather than ceasing with the witness of faith that God is omnipotent, Anselm wants to understand how one can confess that God is omnipotent while acknowledging that God cannot be corrupted or tell lies. Anselm reasons that human language about ability and inability is at times misleading and should be understood counterintuitively. Sometimes “cannot” expresses ability, while “can” expresses inability. Therefore, confessing that God “cannot” lie is to confess God’s abil- ity to maintain power over falsehood, while the confession that God “can” lie would unwittingly confess God’s inability to maintain power over what is false. He concludes that God is all the more truly omnipotent precisely because there are many things God “cannot” do. Confessing that God “can- not” do many things does not explicitly contradict omnipotence, but rather is necessary to save omnipotence. Once again, regardless of whether one finds Anselm’s argument convincing, one is confronted with an exercise in specu- lative theology as spiritual practice, this time in a way that parallels Stump’s analysis of Jesus’ cry of dereliction. Similarly, Stump does not cease with the witness of faith that Jesus cries out in forsakenness, but attempts to under- stand as best as she can how Jesus’ cry can be possible in light of all of the theological ascriptions assumed by an orthodox Christology. Both Anselm and Stump conduct an exercise in the relationship between faith and reason, and while Stump’s is not second-person discourse,43 Anselm’s exercise as spiritual practice is suggestive for why Stump’s reflections in analytic style are worth Pentecostals’ time and energy. While Pentecostals might benefit from writ- ing careful, articulate theology in second-person discourse like Anselm, this is unlikely ever to be the normal mode of academic pentecostal theology. This is where Stump can help Pentecostals transition from a text of second-person discourse like theProslogionto a text of third-person discourse like her own, all the while maintaining the intersection with spiritual practice. At least, a text like Stump’s that employs clarity, careful conceptual distinctions, and rigorous argumentation—even if it demonstrates no obvious concern for emancipation

42 Anselm, Proslogion, chap. 7.

43 Although, see her discussion of second-person theological discourse in connection with

the problem of evil in Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and the Problem of Suffering

(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).

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or sociopolitical implications similarly to Cone’s and Moltmann’s accounts of Jesus’ death—can become the content of meditation that leads to affective prayer.44

Meditation is a discursive form of prayer in which one focuses on some theological or spiritual truth that she wishes to analyze thoroughly and better understand. While greater theological understanding might come from any number of means of academic study, meditation, specifically as a form of prayer, is a process of rousing one’s love for God and plotting a course to act on the affection of love roused by the meditation. The goal, then, is not only greaterunderstandingofatheologicalorspiritualtruth,butalsogreaterlovefor that truth along with greater love for God. An occasion of practicing meditation can last as long as one remains in a disposition for devotional reflection and is able to carry it out without distractions interfering. However long or short the duration of meditation, the hope is that the affection of love roused by it will endure throughout one’s day, resulting in constant prayer.45 Meditation requires one to turn his or her attention away from the natural activities of the day in order to focus attention on Christian truth as a means of spiritual growth and sanctification. Jordan Aumann states that those who never focus theirattentionthroughmeditationmayenterstatesofhabitualsin,notbecause of contempt for the things of God but because they never retreat from daily responsibilities to assess their spiritual condition.46 We might recall here Jesus’ explanation of part of the parable of the sower in Mark: the seed of the word is sown, but the cares of life choke it out and make it unfruitful (4:18–19).

One of the potential results of meditation is affective prayer, a grade of prayer in which love (or some other affection) roused by meditation comes to be predominant over the discursive aspect of meditation. When meditation gives rise to an affection, one ceases discursive prayer in order to yield to the affectionuntilit expires.Onecanthen returntodiscursiveprayerbymeditating on another theological or spiritual truth, which might again give rise to an affection. As one yields to the affection, one stops the process of rigorous thinking to allow love to grow. One may be so overwhelmed by affections that thought is actually hindered or even made impossible as long as the affections endure. Whether one yields to affections by expressing vocal prayer or by

44 For an introduction to meditation and affective prayer as grades of prayer within the

broader context of the theology of the spiritual life, see Jordan Aumann,Spiritual Theology

(London: Continuum, 2006), 318–327.

45 On the duration of prayer, see Thomas Aquinas,Summa Theologiae, iia iiae, q. 83, a. 14. 46 Aumann,Spiritual Theology, 323.

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becoming silent and contemplating oneself in the presence of God, one is no longer meditating but rather responding to the content of meditation.47

Teresa of Avila states that such grades of prayer might be especially suited for those who have actively embraced the life of the intellect.48 On the one hand, discursive prayer should come quite naturally to them, and on the other, the transition to affective prayer allows them to delight in Christ without pushing the intellect to the point of exhaustion. Surely, Jesus’ cry of dereliction is a the- ological truth worthy of discursive reflection, and Stump’s assessment of it is an invitation to exercise the powers of the intellect to analyze thoroughly and better understand how the one who is truly Son of God by nature can cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Stump chooses a path of inte- gration among theology, philosophy, and neuroscience to reach what she sees as a plausible way of understanding Jesus’ cry. One does not need to agree with Stump’s conclusions to embrace the text’s potential for promoting the spiri- tual practices of meditation and affective prayer. Even disputing with parts of the argument or considering questions that Stump leaves unanswered49 could be an exercise of discursive prayer as one tries to reach his own conclusions about the most plausible explanation of Jesus’ cry. Furthermore, it is no stretch of the imagination to think that reflecting on Stump’s suggestions might move one to affective prayer when confronted, for example, with the possibility that Jesus feels abandoned by God through “mindreading” every human psyche at the time of its most despicable acts. Any number of affections could arise. One could be stirred to joy by the divine love that brings Jesus to such a point, or by contrition as one faces the inevitable conclusion that one’s own despicable acts are part of the reason for Jesus’ mental distress, or by gratitude for the suf- fering Jesus underwent. Just as Anselm bursts into doxology saying, “Therefore, Lord God, You are the more truly omnipotent since You can do nothing through

47 William Johnston, Mystical Theology: The Science of Love (Maryknoll, ny: Orbis, 1995),

51–52, 66–67, 133–134, 224–226.

48 Teresa of Avila, The Book of Her Life, chaps. 11–22, in The Collected Works of St. Teresa of

Avila, 3 vols. (Washington, dc: ics, 1987), vol. 1, 128–130.

49 For example, does Stump’s formulation suggest that Jesus is deceived by crying out in

dereliction when in fact God did not forsake him? If not, how can this conclusion be

avoided? If so, what implications (if any) might it have for the doctrine of the two natures

of Christ and the knowledge of Christ? Furthermore, what implications (if any) might the

notion that shared attention between God and Jesus is hindered have for the idea that

Jesus enjoyed the beatific vision? For the affirmation that Jesus enjoyed the beatific vision,

see Thomas Aquinas,Summa Theologiae, iii, q. 9, a. 2.

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impotence and nothing can have power against You,”50 one might burst into doxology saying, “Therefore, Lord Jesus Christ, you demonstrate yourself to be the Son of God all the more truly since your boundless love drove you to spare no expense and to avoid no anguish or distress in order to bear the sins of every person in the world.” If such expressions of spiritual practice are especially suit- able for those who have actively embraced the life of the intellect, as Teresa suggests, then they are ripe for use within academic pentecostal theology. The analytic style that Stump exhibits has at least as much potential to promote meditation in the form of discursive prayer as those of Cone and Moltmann, inasmuch as Stump’s both embodies an argumentative rigor that exceeds the intellectual weight of the colorful, emancipatory language of “having to kill Jesus if he is white” (Cone) and “the Father’s loss of Fatherhood” (Moltmann). While these statements may be moving, they are more akin to assertions in a list of other assertions than to formal argumentation or discursive theology with significant potential to spur discursive prayer. If at least some pentecostal the- ology were to become analytic theology, Pentecostals could both find it easier to see their theological labors as forms of spiritual practice and write clear and precise speculative theology in part to incite such spiritual practices in their readers. At least, Pentecostals will be thinking about things that are true, hon- orable, just, pure, lovely, gracious, excellent, and praiseworthy (Phil 4:8) in their speculative theological endeavors.

Conclusion

I have suggested that some pentecostal theology should be analytic theology. I have not suggested that Pentecostals adopt this theological style to the exclu- sion of all others. Neither have I rejected theological styles that focus on eman- cipation, praxis, and crisis, or that use colorful language to inspire social con- cern. I have, rather, pointed to a rhetorical strategy found in Analytic Theology that could chart a path for some pentecostal theologians to follow. I offered Stump’s considerations as an example of analytic theology and contrasted that style with selections from Cone and Moltmann. The fact that all three of these thinkers discuss the same theological topic—Jesus’ death—sets in sharp relief the ways in which Stump differs from Cone and Moltmann. In addition to tone and style, Stump differs with respect to the effects sought. Whereas Cone and Moltmann seek sociopolitical liberation, Stump engages in speculative

50 Anselm, Proslogion, chap. 7.

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theology simply to enquire into the coherence of orthodox Christology. Just in case Pentecostals are skeptical of speculative theology as an end in itself, I sug- gested that Anselm could assist them in uniting careful, nuanced, speculative theology with discursive prayer. While a number of pentecostal theologians are already theologizing toward the end of liberation, I hope my reflections will encourage some of them to pursue speculative theology in analytic style as well. I reiterate that my case for spiritual practice is a minimalist suggestion for skeptical Pentecostals who may not see value in analytic theology unless it impacts spiritual practice, not an assumption that spiritual practice is analytic theology’s only value. Nonetheless, an analytic theological endeavor in spiritual practice may bring ecumenical gain through additional common witness with the Catholic tradition—Pentecostals’ longest ecumenical dialogue partners— which has performed its share of both speculative and spiritual theology. Such an endeavor may also push analytic theologians outside the pentecostal tradi- tion to give additional consideration to enhanced spiritual practice as a poten- tial outcome of analytic theology.51

51 I express appreciation for their helpful comments to my anonymous reviewers and the

philosophy interest group of the Society for Pentecostal Theology.

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