On Materialist Conceptions of Origins, Part Second, With Considerations of Human Language

About 2 weeks ago, while checking out the portfolio of a random web design firm, I ran across the website of an organization that was offering a free DVD which they claimed provided “proof” that evolution is wrong and that creationism is right. Unable to resist, I quickly surrendered my email and mailing address, and within 2 weeks (wow, what service!) I received my free DVD. Brimming over with excitement, I quickly abandoned my evening with family and popped it in the DVD player. I cranked the speakers to 11, grabbed a stiff glass of Diet Coke (on the rocks), and curled into my oversized leather couch, my eyes and ears prepared for outstanding revelations.

It turned out, to my immediate dismay, that this DVD was of a lecture series delivered by Kent Hovind, better known as “Dr. Dino.” For those who are familiar with Hovind’s “arguments,” I need say little more. For those who are unfamiliar, imagine arguing with someone whose main line of debate is mischaracterizations, over-generalizations, and deflection through cheesy jokes, insults, and terrible clip-art-ridden power-point shows. Enough said.

As I watched and listened to the 129 minutes of Mr. Hovind’s lecture, some things became immediately clear:

1.) He offered no actual “scientific” proof for his claims, even though the claim of the video was exactly this.

2.) The entire discussion was based upon an attempt to characterize cosmological and biological theories of evolution as atheistic, humanistic propaganda.

3.) The main lines of his arguments revolved around trying to make evolutionists look foolish. However, in doing so, he did not interact with any critical, scholarly material, but rather based his discussion upon popular notions of evolutionary theory, outdated 2nd grade biology textbooks, and other insignificant sources.

4.) Similar to no. 1, at no time did Hovan offer a critical theory that would explain an alternative perspective for origins. Basically, his argument boiled down to, “The KJV Bible says this, I have to interpret it according certain hermeneutical paradigms, and that’s the end of the story.”

ANYWAY...I do not wish to devote this post to all of the horrible misrepresentations, inaccuracies, etc. of Hovind’s lectures, nor of his methodology. Rather, I would like to focus on a very interesting comment that he made. Noting this comment, I would like to revisit some of the considerations I pursued in my previous post on Materialist Conceptions of Origins, as well as tie in some of the thinking I have been doing in regard to considerations of human language in speaking about the divine. So without further ado....

Let me set the stage: Hovind was relating a story of a time when he conversed with a Berkeley professor during a plane ride. In this conversation, Hovind questioned the professor on several issues relating to evolution, and boastingly related that the professor was unable to sufficiently answer the questions. One question in particular grabbed my attention. Hovind questioned the professor as to the origin of the universe. Not surprisingly, the professor suggested that all matter and energy in the universe could be reduced, chronologically, to a singularity, an infinitely small and dense point. Undeterred, Hovind pressed further and asked, “So where did the singularity [universe] come from?” Unable to respond, Hovind offered that all matter and energy [universe] came from God in precisely the way that the book of Genesis relates (according to his interpretive paradigm of this passage, that is).

I would like to focus on this phrase, “Where did the universe come from?” According to Hovind, the fact that the big bang cosmologist cannot successfully answer this question overturns big bang cosmology, or, at the very least, requires that the big bang adherent posit the eternal existence of the universe, which would, of course, suggest a thoroughgoing materialist cosmology. Furthermore, Hovind asserts that because the universe has to come from “somewhere,” the only reasonable answer can be that it came “from God.”

Although he would vehemently deny it, I would assert that Hovind’s offering succombs to exactly the same criticism (of materialism), at least if one outlines his cosmology on the basis of his line of questioning outline above.

Let’s examine his question:

“Where did the universe come from?”

Although this seems to be a reasonably straightforward question, the linguistic structuring of this question mitigates against it technically adhering to a Christian cosmology.

But first, consider this: Christians affirm the ex nihilo, “out of nothingness,” origin of all that exists and which is "other than" God. In light of this, a Christian cosmology specifically denies any conception that the universe is uncreated and eternal (per Aristotle and most cosmological assumptions until the last 200 years). The universe did not exist as chaos that was organized by God, nor was it a soup of eternally existing matter that was arranged in particular structures. The “nothingness” out of which creation was created does not have ontological existence, as if it is simply “empty space” (for “space” is not really “empty”). Additionally, a Christian cosmology rejects that creation is merely an emanation of the being of God. Rather, the universe really is “other” than God, even though its existence and preservation is dependent upon God.

Now, back to the question:

“Where did the universe come from?”

If we affirm a Christian cosmology of creation ex nihilo, this question is perspicuously contradictory. Consider the word “where.” By utilizing the normal understanding of the word “where,” one is referring to a spatial reality. For example, if I ask, “Where is the pencil,” one’s answer will have a proximal value as its referential, i.e., "the pencil is on the desk." Even if one responds with an admission of ignorance (“I don’t know where the pencil is"), this is still a proximally qualified answer, for one is not denying the existence of the pencil in its location, but rather merely knowledge of what this location might be. And even a denial of the existence of the pencil is proximally qualified, for the "not-anywhere-ness" of the pencil is necessarily referential to the "where-ness" of that context in which the pencil does not exist.

If we apply these considerations to the question posed by Hovind, we see how a materialist conception of the origins of the universe comes into play. After all, if we affirm that the universe (matter and energy) came “from somewhere,” we must posit the existence of another reality that is commensurate with the nature of the universe wherein it is appropriate that the latter should come from the former. In that referring to this reality as “God” would violate the Christian cosmological principle of creation ex nihilo, one is merely moving the origin of the universe back to another material reality from which the known universe originated.

Let me get at this another way. If one says that the universe came “from God,” one is speaking on the level of space/time. As already noted, in order to determine the “whereness” and “fromness” of a particular reality (whether it be a pencil, a refrigerator, an abstract thought, or even a non-existent object [which is categorically impossible, linguistically]), one must appeal to the spatial/temporal context in which these realities occur. But if we say that creation came “from God,” we are doing the unthinkable. By delineating the origin and mechanism of creation on the basis of spatial referents (“where,” “from”), we are expanding the spatial/temporal context of creation upon the divine and eternal nature of God. Therefore, in saying this very simple phrase, "the universe came from God," we are philosophically operating under the assumption that not only are the parameters of space/time the proper paradigm through which to describe the origin and mechanism of God’s relationship to the creation, but we are actually positing the existence of these paradigms over and against the existence of God, requiring that the infinite and eternal God operate within these parameters (which conclusion, obviously, negates the actuality of God’s infinitude and eternality).

With these considerations in mind, I realize that very few people–-and probably no one, actually—when they respond to the question, “Where did the universe come from” with the answer, “God,” consciously affirm the conclusions I have outlined above. However, this is not my point. What I am getting at is the way in which our language lies to us, often without anyone actually realizing it, revealing unconscious philosophical presuppositions that, if explicitly stated, we would vehemently eschew. As with Hovind, he obviously detests a “naturalistic” explanation of the origin of the universe. However, given the language which he deploys, and coupled with his insistence upon the mechanisms of creation mentioned in Genesis (which are themselves naturalistic), his conclusions are hardly different in consequence from those which he rejects (other than being unrelated to any of the naturalistic evidence that is available).

Conclusion

It is difficult to conclude this kind of examination, for the issue—contrary to what human nature desires—cannot be definitively resolved. Regardless of what mechanisms we use to describe the origins of the universe, the earth, or ourselves, our language will consistently force us into speaking in terms of spatiality/temporality, and our speech will be riddled with contingent, causally demarcated words and phrases. Therefore, we must always use caution in how we utilize language about God and the relationship between the divine being and that which is created and “other.”

Specifically, I would propose that the question, “Where did the universe come from,” is unanswerable, both for the big bang cosmologist and the creationist. Human language is simply incapable of describing creation ex nihilo in a propositional way that will avoid running aground
on the rocks of materialism that I have described above.

Should we then simply leave off talking about "origins" completely? No, I do not suggest that we should. Rather, we should simply hold to faith-affirmation of the power and creativity of the divine Creator. While this runs contrary to the desire of human nature to identify a material source and cause for creation, mystery is better than blasphemy. Moreover, we should honestly and actively engage our senses in the universe in which we live. If we conclude that evolutionary theory best describes the way in which our universe developed, let us rejoice in it. As God’s creative activity in the universe cannot be reduced or located within any particular set of causal mechanisms, the field is wide open and all bets are off as to "how" the creative work of God can be displayed (as if the conclusion were up to us to begin with) within the universe in which we live.

Human Language and the Divine

Over the last several months–and especially within the last few days–I have been involved in numerous conversations about the nature and function of human language in describing God. What follows is not meant to be a fully-developed essay, but is rather intended to be somewhat of a summary of the lines of thinking I have pursued and the very tentative conclusions which I have reached.

Obviously, one of the most prescient issues is to what extent one can affirm that human language is capable of literally expressing and/or encapsulating truth about the nature of God. The initial, and I believe correct, answer is that human language is insufficient to do this. After all, we are speaking about a finite medium (human language) through which we attempt to speak about that which is infinite. To use a material example, such would be like the proverbial two-dimensional Flatlander attempting to shake the hand of the three-dimensional invader of the two-dimensional plane. While the Flatlander may be able to intersect a two-dimensional cross-section of the three-dimensional visitor, the Flatlander will be, by virtue of his “difference,” incapable of fully engaging or encapsulating the reality of his new higher-dimensional friend. In a similar and more profound way, it is not possible that human language could somehow directly and fully engage the reality of the divine.

Despite this obvious conclusion, we persist in the attempt. Our language en toto, but also (and more) specifically in relation to the divine, is filled with propositional, absolutized words, phrases and linguistic expressions. This is, in actuality, unavoidable. After all, language, by its very nature, is absolutizing. To speak is to form and reflect some conception of the world. While the appropriateness of the linguistic symbols attached to the meanings being expressed may be questioned, it is clear that to speak is to construct; to speak is to make a declaration about the nature and meaning of the reality which one perceives.

The problem with the necessity of this functional reality in human language is that human language is necessarily self-referential. In the act of speaking, the content of language is rooted in that which we know. We cannot speak of that which we do not know, and that which we do know determines the shape and form of our language. An interesting example of this is Anselm’s “proof” for the existence of God. While the full argument will not be pursued here, the basic thrust of Anselm’s argument is that God is the “being than which no greater being can be conceived.” In essence, Anselm argument is two-fold: Humans have an idea of a perfect being–God. Concomitantly, human beings are not perfect. Therefore, to Anselm, the fact that finite, imperfect humans have a conception of a perfect being lends evidence to the fact that this perfect being–God–does, in fact, exist.

As history relates, Anselm’s argument was quickly dismantled by his antagonists. Guanilo, for example, mocked Anselm’s theory by using the example of “the perfect island,” asserting that the mere imagining of a “perfect island” by no means necessitates or proves its existence. However, what both Anselm and Guanilo miss is that it is the function and nature of human language—not the limitations of human epistemology—which renders Anselm’s argument moot.

Consider Anselm’s statement about God: “God is the being than whom no greater being can be imagined.” The beginning problem with such a proposition is that its very criterion is dependent upon human language. Determining the attributes of “greatest of all beings” requires an appeal to human descriptive language, and the greatness of God is delineated on the basis of these stated attributes. However, how does human language gain access to these attributes? Again, the very categorizing of properly “divine” attributes is dependent upon the absolutizing of human language about, suprise suprise!, human attributes. In this sense, the language by which one describes God is not truly reflective of the divine nature in an absolute sense, but is merely the infinitized form of human language about human experience. In such a scenario, God, at best, is the “biggest human,” or, at worst, has an existence dependent upon human consciousness.

The obvious dilemma that this creates is that propositionalizing about God necessitates a functional, if not actual, affirmation of the eternality of that which is “other” than God. After all, if God is said to be “such and such” litany of attributes that are merely the infinitized and absolutized versions of human attributes, there is no possible way in which to speak about God apart from that which God is affirmed to have created. In this sense, the Creator is dependent upon the creation, if nothing else, to simply exist within human language.

Another more generic example would be the biblical language of “God is love.” The truthfulness of this statement is not disputed by many, and any objections would not be to the linguistic construction of the statement, but would rather proceed along the lines of arguing that God is “x” other than “love.” However, if we look at the utilization of the language in this propositional statement, the anthropologically absolutizing nature of human language is seen to be deviously present. If one says, “God is love,” the presence of the qualifier “is” represents that a comparison is being made---the nature of “God” is delineated by the qualifier “love.” Alternatively, the phraseology of the statement could be just as accurately deployed as follows: “God exhibits all those characteristics and/or is composed (in nature) in such a way that God can be said to be equivalent, or wholly like unto the characteristics and/or composition (in nature) of love.”

Do we see what has happened in this statement, however? In the attempt to propositionalize about God, we have alternatively asserted that there is something to which God can be compared. But by necessity, if there is something by which the character of God can be adjudicated, we must naturally conclude that this qualifier is independent in nature from God and/or greater than or equal to God such that it is appropriate that God be likened unto “x.” In the case of the propositional statement, “God is love,” our linguistic construction, if literalized, affirms that this category of “love” is conceived to exist in such a way that it can be taken independently of God, and that God may be spoken of as fulfilling, in nature, the particular characteristics which would create the propriety of equating God with the property of love.

The above is said not for the intention of evacuating all meaning from phrases such as “God is love.” On a practical, functional level, it would seem apparent that the affirmation of “God is love” is not meant to convey that God is equal in nature (and substance?) to an independent property such as “love.” Rather, the phrase is deployed simply as a description–i.e., we have a notion of “love” and conceptualize God to be the height and, in fact, source of the same.

At the same time, however, this brief examination of human language in relation to the divine does highlight an important consideration: that is, we must always use extreme caution in how definitively and propositionally we affirm human language to encapsulate or even represent truth-statements about the divine nature. As our language will always fall short, simply by virtue of its finitude and anthropocentric nature, we cannot uncritically deploy language about the divine while concomitantly assuming that we have spoken something absolute or truth-encapsulating.

Conclusion

If the above-referenced lines of thinking are reasonable, how then should we pursue language about the divine? In closing, I would offer two suggestions.

1.) Our language must allow that God has existence apart from human language and experience. While this may seem like a foregone conclusion, the ways in which we deploy language about the divine often betrays this fact. If our language, and subsequent theologizing, cannot rise above (or below, as it may be) the tendency to resolve the divine upon the altars of linguistic absolutization and propositionalizing, we will forever speak only of ourselves; God will be merely a linguistic category that contains the trumped up self-evaluation of the human ego.

2.) Counter-intuitively enough, I believe the first suggestion is resolved in the second, that is, that our language of the divine must be thoroughly Christological. As Christians affirm, Christ, the eternal Logos of God as Incarnate in the person of Jesus, is the self-revelation of God. Yet interestingly enough, this self-revelation of the divine occurs on the level of human finitude, a level of messiness, imprecision, and contradictoriness. While the Incarnate nature of God’s self-revelation will certainly heighten the temptation for anthropologically exclusive language about the divine, it will also, if pursued circumspectly, mitigate significantly against the same, for any “sure” propositionalizing about the divine, eternal nature will require consideration of a bloody cross.

Before letting off, I must extend my thanks to Tim for spurring some of these ideas in my brain. For some interesting posts that he has made on these issues, see this post, as well as this one.

Tagged Book List

Okay, I've recently been "tagged" to reveal a book list. Here it is. I am also tagging 5 others (listed at the bottom). Do it now.

1. One book that changed your life :
Fear and Trembling, by Soren Kierkegaard

2. One book you've read more than once:
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams

3. One book you'd want on a deserted island:
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke

4. One book that made you laugh:
The Attributes of God, by A.W. Pink

5. One book that made you cry (or feel really sad):
Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rowes

6. One book that you wish had been written:
Harry Potter: The Horcrux of Time [Book 7], by J.K. Rowling (It’s taking FOREVER for the seventh and last book to come out!!!)

7. One book that you wish had never been written:
None. I’m glad for every book that’s been written. Better that books be written than not.

8. One book you're currently reading:
The Poe Shadow, by Matthew Pearl

9. One book you've been meaning to read:
Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments, by Soren Kierkegaard

Okay. Here's my tagged 5, now 6:

deviant monk

mofast manna

nathan crawford

fides cogitat

benrambling

biblio baggins

God of the Feminine - Reflections on Genesis 1:26-27

As I have been studying the numerous connections between the structures and themes within the Hebrew Scriptures and other ancient Near Eastern literature, I have been particularly drawn towards the correlations between the respective creation stories. Although the Genesis text is by far the most popular creation text, there are numerous others that share very similar features that presumably influenced the final form of the Genesis text. One interesting feature of the creation-epic literature of the ancient Near East is the dual role of masculine and feminine divine figures in the act of creation. In numerous stories, gendered gods and goddesses are utilized to describe the unique way in which the creation came to be.

As I have been reflecting upon the significance of the identification of the masculine and feminine in the ANE creation stories, an interesting thought occurred to me: perhaps this male/female connection exists within the biblical text as well. The primary candidate for such a consideration, I believe, is Genesis 1:26-27:

“Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, [b] and over all the creatures that move along the ground." So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”

The most immediately apparent feature of the Genesis narrative is that God is pictured—in opposition to many other ANE creation accounts—as a solitary creator. However, when one gets to verse 26, the solitariness is suddenly fractured as God uses the self-referential “Us.”

Growing up, I was taught the “classic” interpretative approaches to explain this “plurality” in the identity of God. They are as follows:

1.) This is a sort of Old Testament Trinitarian revelation: While a popular notion amongst Christians, such an interpretation would seem to make little sense to the Hebrews who were attempting—through the very nature of this creation account—to counter the polytheistic creation epics of the surrounding nations.

2.) The use of the plural is a form of “royal” address; i.e., kings often refer to themselves in the plural in official pronouncements, correspondence, laws, etc.: A better option than 1.), it is odd that this is the singular occurrence of such self-reference.

3.) The use of the plural “us” is God speaking to the angelic host: Probably better than 1.) and 2.), this theory seems to cohere somewhat with the testimony in Psalms that humanity has been made “a little lower” than the angels. However, as with 1.), there does seem to be a distinct danger of presenting a polytheistic conception of the manner of creation, as if the angels are somehow co-creators with the one God.

While I do not presume to be able to rebut any one of the three options presented above, I would like to suggest a fourth alternative, which follows below.

As noted in the opening paragraph, many of ANE creation epics utilized both male and female divine beings in the acts of creation. Rather than simply reflecting the make-up of the various pantheons of ancient thought, the inclusion of both the male and female deities had a very intense theological purpose. After all, by describing the creation of all from the creative works of the masculine and feminine, the ancients had a coherent and comprehensive means of describing both the differences and value of both the masculine and the feminine in relation to human personhood. In short, these stories were not simply fantastic mythology that meant to entertain; rather, the stories reflected the people’s thinking about the very depths of personhood, and what it means to be gendered. While some may scoff at the way in which the ancients provided answers to these very existential questions, it is obvious that these stories communicated a very real and meaningful set of ideas about the nature, value and function of human gender and sexuality.

If we keep these considerations in mind, we must conclude that these same needs to communicate belief and instruction about the origin, nature and function of human sexuality and gender were prescient for the writers of the biblical creation stories.

It is upon this basis that I would suggest an alternative interpretation of Genesis 1:26. Could it be that the “us” of verse 26 does not refer to the Triune nature of God, a royal proclamation, or a conversation with the angelic host? Could it be that the divine “us” of 26 is a metaphorical recasting of the divine person as masculine and feminine? While this conclusion might seem somewhat odd at first glance, verse 27 brings it into focus. This verse affirms that both “male and female” are created in the divine image. If this is indeed true, could not the “us” of 26 refer to the metaphorical masculinity and femininity of the divine in whose image the human couple is created?

In response, one might argue that such a separation is susceptible to the same charges of polytheism to which option 1.) appears to be prone. I do not think this is necessary, however, for the narratival positing of masculinity and femininity in the nature of God need not be substantival for the writers of the Hebrew narrative. Rather, even as the male and female humans are ultimately created to become “one flesh” (2:24), so also are the masculine and feminine in the divine the “one God.” And even as the two-ness of human creation is reflective of the one divine nature, so the one divine Creator’s image is self-referential for the two-made-one-ness of the male and the female creation.

If this interpretation is reasonably close to the author’s intention, I think it is a stroke of genius on the writer’s behalf. After all, in maintaining the solitariness of Yahweh as Creator, the writer has completely overturned the polytheism of similar creation epics, infusing the Hebrew narrative with a radical and audacious claim about the particularity of the identity of true God over and against the pantheons of the gods and goddesses of the surrounding nations. Moreover, the writer has managed to retain the crucially important existential issues about the origin, nature and function of human sexuality and gender. Yet he has done so without resorting to compartmentalizing gender within the identity of particular deific figures; rather, in a brilliant literary stroke, the author has revealed that Yahweh, the true God who is one, encapsulates human gender in such a way that particularity can exist while concomitantly affirming the identically primal source of gender and existence in the life of Yahweh. In this way, the writer affirms that not only does Yahweh encapsulate human sexuality and gender, but moreover Yahweh transcends the limitations of both, for Yahweh cannot be reduced to or identified with one or the other. Rather, Yahweh is the source of both; the divine image, free and unbounded, in reflected in the diversity of both the masculine and the feminine.

Calvinism, a Syllogism, and the Origin of Evil

Those who affirm the canons of Calvinistic philosophy often laud the “logical” coherence of its systematic formulation. In this post, I would like to turn the tables on this methodological assumption, showing how Calvinistic philosophy, while perhaps “logical,” leads to a horribly perverse image of the divine nature and will of God. I shall do this through a syllogistic form and shall concentrate upon the origin of evil.

A: God has eternally decreed all that comes to pass.
B: That which God decrees proceeds from the free and boundless will of God.
C: The will of God is essential with God’s being.

Proposition: Evil exists.

Therefore:

A: Because God has eternally decreed that evil should exist, or come to pass:
B: Because the existence and perpetuity of evil proceeds from the free and boundless will of God.
C: Because the will of God is essential with God’s being;
D: It is logically concluded that evil is essential with the being of God.

In response, I suspect a couple different approaches may (and will) be taken. I assume many will argue with the relationship between “will” and “being.” Note that I have carefully qualified the language: “essential with.” I think this prevents a bifurcating of will and being, while also avoiding conflating them en toto.

With that caveat, some may object that the syllogism doesn’t stand because it is based upon a pejorative argument; i.e., if “evil exists” were replaced with the less negative “humans exist,” perhaps the syllogism would fall. While I considered this in my statement of the syllogism, I eventually decided to proceed, for my issue with Calvinistic philosophy is not limited to its inadequate accounting for the existence of evil, but more importantly is directed against the concept of “eternal decrees” altogether. I think the entire notion of eternal decrees is philosophically untenable not only in reference to origin of evil, but also in relation to everything else that is not “God.” In other words, replacing “evil” with “puppies” creates just as horrid of a picture of God, for puppies are no more essential to the nature of God than is evil. When speaking of God, we must avoid an all-too-easy anthropological reductionism. That is, we must allow for the reality that God’s existence is not dependant upon nor qualified by God’s relationship to creation. While this may be difficult or perhaps even impossible to express through human language (which is, by default, anthropologically qualified at every level), we must resist capitulating our conception of the eternality of God to the limitations of our means of expressing it. This is, in my opinion, where Calvinistic philosophy fundamentally fails, for it makes that which should be metaphorical and mysterious into rigid propositional statements and affirmations. By doing so, however, Calvinism has adopted a thoroughly human-centric approach to speaking about God, one which necessarily makes that which God has ordained intrinsically essential to the very being and nature of God.

Erasmus on James

As most students of historical theology will note, Erasmus has often been ignored within Protestant theological study because of Luther's fierce polemics against him. Despite this neglect, I think Erasmus has some very interesting insights into the nature of faith. I recently ran across this excerpt from Erasmus’ Paraphrase of the New Testament. This selection, from the book of James, powerfully captures the intimate and indivisible nature of faith and action.

But what is faith without love? Love moreover is a living thing; it does not go on holiday; it is not idle; it expresses itself in kind acts wherever it is present. If these acts are lacking, my brothers, I ask you, will the empty word “faith” save a person? Faith which does not work through love is unproductive; no, it is faith in name only. An example here will make clear what I mean. If someone says blandly to a brother or a sister who lacks clothing or daily food, “Depart in peace, keep warm, and remember to eat well,” and after saying this, gives him or her none of the things the body needs, will his fine talk be of any use to the ones in need? They will be no less cold and hungry for all his fine talk, which is of no help to their need. He gives them only verbal support, but does nothing in actual fact. A profession of faith will certainly be equally useless if it consists only of words and does nothing except remain inactive as though dead. It should no more be called faith than a human corpse merits the name of human being. Love is to faith what the soul is to the body. Take away love and the word faith is like something dead and inert. It will do you no more good before God to confess in words an idle faith than fine speech benefits a neighbor in need when he must be helped with action. People think they are being mocked when you say to them, “Keep warm and well fed,” and give them neither food nor clothing. Just so, the person who offers no tangible proofs of his faith but repeats every day, “I believe in God, I believe in God,” seems to be mocking God. A person who gives lip-service to love possesses a fruitless charity. In the same way a person whose belief is only a matter of words possesses a faith that serves no purpose.

Quotation from Achtemeier, Paul J., Joel B. Green, and Marianne Meye Thompson, Introducing the New Testament: Its Literature and Message. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm.B. Eerdmans, 2001, p. 510.