It has been said that while writing the Summa, Saint Thomas Aquinas was, among other things, engaging in a dialogue with Saint Augustine across the cenÂturies. In his extraordinary Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict XVI also seems to regard, in his mind’s eye, a number of interlocutors, living and dead.
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It has been said that while writing the Summa, Saint Thomas Aquinas was, among other things, engaging in a dialogue with Saint Augustine across the cenÂturies. In his extraordinary Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict XVI also seems to regard, in his mind’s eye, a number of interlocutors, living and dead. There are, for example, the great 20th -century biblical exegetes who shaped the teaching of Scripture when he was a seminary student. It is as though he still needs to clarify exactly where he — and the Church — stands in relaÂtion to the “hisÂtorical-critical” method. Then there are thoughtful Jews who still await the Messiah, but regard ChrisÂtianity as a dangerous solvent of what holds them together as a people. Then again, there are the intellectual elites, especially in EurÂope, who think that whatever may have happened 2,000 years ago in Palestine is no longer even historically relevant.
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But the pope is mainly addressing the modern world, which may in some respects still be “religious,” but has tragically missed “what the Messiah Jesus actuÂally brought.” As such, this richly suggestive book deserves the widest posÂsible readership. It had an encouraging start near the top of the best-seller list, but soon lost ground to Princess Diana and Ronald Reagan. It may be that potential buyers sampled the first pages in BarÂnes & Noble and got the impression they’d wanÂdered into a graduÂate seminÂar on biblical exegesis, complete with esoteric German names. BeneÂdict’s introÂduction, like the rest of the book, is notable for its brilliance and clarity. But readers expecting the first leg of an easy tour of the New Testament won’t find it here. Instead, they are plunged into a scholarly debate they probÂably didn’t know existÂed in the first place.
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Be that as it may, Benedict’s opening point could not be more importÂant: If the modern world is going to rediscover Christ, it has to come to terms with what the “scientific” method has done with the Bible. Since the EnlightenÂment, there has been a reÂlentÂless search for the “historical” Jesus, and the pope is not the first to point out how this Jesus often bears a curious resemÂblance to the person writing the book. NineÂteenth-century libÂeral scholÂars produced a 19th-century liberal Jesus, and so forth. At the same time, the pope is addresÂsing a probÂlem that has exÂistÂed in the CathoÂlic world since the mid-1940s, when Pope Pius XII, with the encyclical Divino AfÂflante SpiriÂtu, cautiously opened the door for the historical-critiÂcal meÂthÂod in Catholic theoÂlogy.
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That encyclical was a risky but necessary move by a pope who was often a moderÂating “liberal” influence in ways for which he is seldom given credit. To understand its importance, some history is in order. For centuries, rationÂalist critics had been atÂtacking Christian belief in the inerrancy of Scripture. This scholarly assault had long since turned mainline Protestantism into a hotbed of skepÂticism. Until the early 20th century, the Catholic Church remained largely unscathed; but then priest-scholars like Alfred Loisy and George Tyrrell beÂcame intoxiÂcated with the new methods and arrived at conÂclusions about the perÂson of Christ identical to those of agnostic German professors. To conÂtain the damage, Pope Pius X issued the famous syllabus LamÂentabili (1907), listÂing errors mostly extractÂed from Loisy’s works, along with the encyclical PasÂcendi Gregis, which not only conÂdemned all forms of Modernism, but called for a vigilant — some would say inquisitorial — hunt throughÂout the Church for its disciples.
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These harsh measures were no doubt necesÂsary, but the resulting purÂges of seminÂaries and universities had elements of both tragedy and comedy. When John XXIII became pope, he made the interÂesting discovery that the Holy Office had once kept a file marking him as a suspected modernÂist. With typical good humor, he pulled out a fountain pen and entered a postÂscript declaring, with the authority of the Office of Peter, that he was not a heretic.
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But for decades Catholic scholars had to be careful about what they wrote about Scripture, and Pius XII’s tentative endorsement of the historical-criÂtiÂcal method opened a rich world of biblical theology. Accordingly, Benedict XVI expresses his “proÂfound gratitude” for the findÂings of modern scripÂtural exÂegesis. He goes even furÂther: The faith “must expose itself to the historÂical method — indeed, the faith demands this.” BeneÂdict, the great apostle of reason, does not want Catholics reÂtreatÂing into any kind of fideism when confronted with biblical passages that elude simple interpretation.
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The probÂlem is that in the second half of the 20th cenÂtury, certain Catholic schoÂlars, under the influence of Protestant exegetes like Rudolf Bultmann and Adolf von Harnack, set about deconstructing the Gospels with questionable results. The Belgian DominÂican Edward Schillebeeckx, for example, argues in his best-selling books that the Apostles’ “Easter experiÂence” was largely subÂjective — they did not “see” Christ the way I see my wife just now at the other end of the kitchen table. Christ’s resurrection should not be underÂstood as an actual historiÂcal event. Rather, it was a “conÂversion process,” in which the disciÂples “saw,” or came to believe, that Jesus is the “living One.”{mospagebreak}
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With an eye on this brand of corrosive scholarship, the pope warns that “the highly scientific approach” is no protection against “fundamental mistakes.” A true understanding of ScripÂture, the pope writes, inÂvolves more than intelÂlecÂtual exertion and wide readÂing; it demands a prior act of faith; it cannot be “the conclusion of a purely historiÂcal method.” At the same time, this act of faith is based on “historical reaÂson” and so avoids the pitfalls of fundaÂmentalism.
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So the pope is asking us, like F. Scott Fitzgerald in one of his essays, to keep two siÂmulÂtaneous ideas in our heads and keep functioning. CatholicÂism, after all, is usually about “both/and,” not “either/or.” When approachÂing the Word of God, we need both faith and reason. Neither can operate inÂdeÂpendÂentÂly of the other. And, as we might expect, in Jesus of Nazareth we find both in abundance; a deep piety wedded to a straÂtoÂspherÂÂic intellect. This book will take its rightful place among the great modern spiritual clasÂsics about Christ, alongside such names as Guardini, Karl Adam, Sheed, GoodiÂer, and Fulton Sheen.
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A Trinitarian Christ
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The pope begins with a simple point about the biography of Jesus: ScripÂture give us “no window” into Jesus’ inner life. “Jesus stands above our psychoÂlogizing . . . . [He] does not appear in the role of a human genius subject to emÂotional upheavals, who sometimes fails and sometimes succeeds.” In other words: Don’t write a novel about Jesus. The perÂson of Christ — the divine “I” — is Wholly Other and so beyond all available cateÂgories (not to mention the grasp of writers like Norman Mailer and Anne Rice, who both attempted Jesus novels with predictable results). The Incarnate Son is wrapÂped in myÂstery — a fact nicely made by ChesÂterton, who in The Everlasting Man writes that Christ’s behavior leaves
. . . a good deal to be guessed at or explained. It is full of sudden gestures evidently significant except that we hardÂly know what they signify; of enigmatic silences; of ironical replies. The outbreaks of wrath, like storms above our atmosphere, do not seem to break out exactly where we should expect them, but to follow some higher weather-chart of their own.
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Instead of the jerry-built, somewhat confused Jesus found in recent best-sellers, the pope gives us a richly trinitarian Christ who can be understood only in reÂlation to the Father. Jesus, the pope writes, “always speaks as the Son.” His “oneness with the Father is ever present and deterÂmines everyÂthing.” It is “the core of his very being.” This radical openness to the Father is who He is — as is His openness to everyone whom He encounÂters: the poor, the Pharisees, lepers, disciÂples, tax-collectors. If, as Vatican II (quoting HenÂÂri de Lubac) teaches, Christ is the revelation to man of what man is, then this also is the pattern of our lives, the great secret: Self-gift. The pope idenÂtiÂfies the ChrisÂÂÂtian vocaÂtion as an escape from the “closed circle” of the “I,” a stripÂping away “of what is merely our own,” so that, in imitation of Christ, we open ourÂselves without reservation to God and to others. EvÂery sentence in the book resonates with this “relational” Christian anthroÂpology.
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The reverse side of this theme is what Benedict calls the “lie” of radiÂcal autonomy. In a close reading of the ParÂable of the Prodigal Son (which he suggests ought to be called the Parable of the Two Brothers), he points out that the younger son’s indulgent life amounts to a form of self-enÂcloÂsure that leads not to freedom but distortion. The youngÂer son learns the hard way that true liberty comes from living in accord with the norms and direcÂtions planted in our nature. His “conÂverÂÂsion” inÂvolves finding within himÂself “the compass pointing toward the father, toward a true freeÂdom of a ‘son’.” Like all of us on one level or another, he has to reject a “false emanciÂpation” and disÂcoÂver the authentic self put there by the Creator.
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The pope then takes up the elder brother, who is often viewed as having a minor supporting role in the story. The older brother sees nothing but inÂjustice in the father’s welcoming of the prodigal. “And this,” the pope writes, “betrays the fact that he too had secretly dreamed of a freedom withÂout limits, that his obedience has made him inwardly bitter, and that he has no awareness of the grace of being at home . . . . There is an unspoken envy of what others have been able to get away with.” This is obviously aimed at the Pharisees — but also at anyone who sees God as a lawgiver more than anything else. I dare say that Jacques Maritain was correct in understanding the clerical rebellion after Vatican II along these lines. In fact, we are all in need of constant conversion from what Benedict calls “the Law-God” to the “greater God, the God of love.”{mospagebreak}
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Recovering Jewish Roots
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Benedict’s detailed gloss of three parables from the Gospel of Luke conÂstiÂtutes spiritual reading of a high order. Other parts of his book tend more toward scholarship or apologetics. Yet somehow the whole adds up to a coherent volume that immensely deepens our approach to the IncarÂnaÂtion, which in Benedict’s view was not only a deeply trinitarian event, but a deepÂly Jewish one. In this regard, Benedict’s extended “dialogue” with the great Jewish scholar Jacob Neusner over whether or not Jesus is the Messiah turns into a fascinating digression within the conÂtext of a discussion of the BeatiÂtudes.
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Jesus was (and is) a Jew, and, as Benedict points out, the great events of His life are invariably connected with the Jewish festival calendar. Jesus places Himself in the line of the prophets and often draws attention to the continuity of His mission with Hebrew Scripture. The pope naturally dwells on proÂpheÂtÂic passages in the Old Testament that closely fit the reality of the InÂcarnaÂtion; but he makes a further interesting point: The Torah points to its own ongoing purification, which was the work of the prophets, and its final puriÂfication is the “greater” prophet foretold by Moses: Jesus Himself. His peÂrson is the authoritative inÂterpretation of the Law, beÂcause He Himself is the “primoridal Word.” Jesus fulfills the Torah by uniÂversalizing it, and only He can do this because, like Moses, He sees God “face to face,” but in an infinÂiteÂly more direct way.
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The late Jesuit scholar, Paul Quay, once spoke of Marcion’s revenge: The general ignorance of the Old Testament among the modern faithful. This book is a corrective. Benedict writes that we “constantly have to let the Lord draw us into his conversation with Moses and Elijah; we have to constantly learn from him, the Risen Lord, to understand Scripture afresh.” A deeper penetration of the Old Testament makes us more fully ChrisÂtian; it allows a more fruitful dialogue with not only Jews, but also those Reform churches that are consciously shaped by Old Testament theology. One notes in passing that Benedict has written elsewhere of his profound debt to the Jewish spiritual writer Martin Buber.
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There is so much in this book that invites deep meditation, especially the extended unpackÂings of the Sermon on the Mount and the Lord’s Prayer. Along the way, we pick up many isolated gems. We learn, for example, that Solomon, strictly speaking, asked God for a “listening heart.” That Barrabas was not just some low-rent felon (as portrayed in the Mel Gibson movie) but repreÂsented an alternative form of political messianism, one based on the use of coercive power — a temptation that the “kingdom of God” must always reject. And that the usual iconogaphy of John’s baptism of Jesus probably misses the point: “The real novelty is the fact that he — Jesus — wants to be baptized, that he blends into the grey mass of sinners waiting on the banks of the Jordan.”
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The Real Benedict
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Benedict came to the papacy with the reputation (at least in the media) of being a theological reactionary. That fanciful picture does not survive a reading of Jesus of Nazareth. He has nice things to say about Pierre Teilhard de Chardin; he takes a leftward stance on the “Johannine question,” entertaining the possibility that the fourth Gospel was redacted by John’s disciples and that the Book of Revelation may have been written by somebody else; and he repeatedly rejects all forms of legalism. In politics, Benedict is a kind of social democrat; in religion, a classical liberal who is open to truths wherÂever they may be found. He is the last of the great mid-century theoloÂgiÂans — the generation of de LuÂbac, BalthaÂsar, Wojtyla, Chenu, Congar — who were eager to move beyond neo-schoÂlastÂicism in their search for a new Christian humanÂism.
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If the teaching of Benedict’s predecessor, John Paul II, could be summed up in a word, it would be “gift.” Benedict is likewise struck by the pure dynamÂic relationality of God, and therefore of the human person. But if you were to look for a word to sum up the pope’s message, it would be Logos, which the glossary of Jesus of Nazareth defines as the “Greek word for ‘reason,’ ‘rationÂality’, or ‘meaning.’” Man is a creature who searches for meaning, who is deeply impoverished if he does not find it. Christ is the Logos, the source of all meaning, and so everyone, no matter what they might think, is looking for Him. This book is a tremendous guide along that journey.
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George Sim Johnston is the author of Did Darwin Get it Right? and a frequent contributor to InsideCatholic.com.
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Jesus of Nazareth Joseph Ratzinger, Pope Benedict XVI; Doubleday; $24.95; 400 pages