The Crucified And The Crucified: A Study In The Liberation Christology Of Jon Sobrino (Studien Zur Interkulturellen Geschichte Des Christentums, Bd. 127.)

The crucified and the Crucified: A Study in the Liberation Christology of Jon Sobrino

Sturla J. Stålsett

Peter Lang

The crucified and the Crucified

STUDIEN ZUR INTERKULTURELLEN GESCHICHTE DES CHRISTENTUMS ETUDES D’HISTOIRE INTERCULTURELLE DU CHRISTIANISME STUDIES IN THE INTERCULTURAL HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY begründet von / fondé par / founded by Walter J. Hollenweger und / et / and Hans Jochen Margull † herausgegeben von / edité par / edited by Richard Friedli, Université de Fribourg Jan A. B. Jongeneel, Universiteit Utrecht Klaus Koschorke, Universität München Theo Sundermeier, Universität Heidelberg Werner Ustorf, University of Birmingham

Volume 127

PETER LANG Bern

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Berlin

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Bruxelles

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Frankfurt am Main

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New York

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Oxford

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Wien

Sturla J. Stålsett

The crucified and the Crucified A Study in the Liberation Christology of Jon Sobrino

PETER LANG Bern

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Berlin

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Bruxelles

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Frankfurt am Main

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New York • Oxford

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Wien

Bibliographic information published by Die Deutsche Bibliothek Die Deutsche Bibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at ‹http://dnb.ddb.de›. British Library and Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data: A catalogue record for this book is available from The British Library, Great Britain, and from The Library of Congress, USA

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Contents

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11 Introduction Theology, Suffering and Praxis on the Brink of the Millennium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15 [1] Naming our Present . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 [2] The crucified and the Crucified . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 [3] Liberation Theology in Crisis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 [4] Purpose and Plan of Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 i. Theology in a Crucified Reality Point of Departure and Fundamental Presuppositions . . . 41 [1] Foundational Experience: Siding with the Poor in El Salvador . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 [2] Theology in a Crucified Reality: Fundamental Presuppositions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 a) To be Honest about Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 b) The Importance of the Theological Location . . . 49 c) The Poor as Theological Location . . . . . . . . . . . 57 d) Liberation of the Poor as Theological Objective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 e) The Priority of Praxis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 f) Theology as Interpretation of Reality . . . . . . . . . 99 g) Theology as ‘Intellectus Amoris’ . . . . . . . . . . . . .103 [3] Main Theological Heritage and Framework: Jesuit Spirituality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .105 [4] Critical Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 [5] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .122

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ii. The Crucified People (1) From Historical Reality to Theological Concept . . . . . . .125 [1] Development of the Theme; Influences and Parallels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 [2] Ignacio Ellacuría: The Crucified People and Historical Soteriology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .134 [3] Jon Sobrino: The Crucified People as the Body of the Crucified Christ in History . . . . . .150 [4] The crucified and the Crucified: Three Axes . . . . .163 [5] A Contrasting View: E. Jüngel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 [6] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .173 iii. Countering a Crucifying Christology The Return to the Historical Jesus as a Way of Liberating Latin American Images of Christ . . . . . . . . . . 179 [1] A Problematic Heritage: ‘Christologies of Conquest’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 [2] Remedy: The Latin-American Historical Jesus As Point of Departure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 [3] Critical Assessment: How Historical Is ‘Jesus Liberator’? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 [4] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .215 iv. The Crucified Liberator (1) Interpreting Jesus’ Life as Salvific . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [1] From Jesus’ Death to His Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [2] First Relation: Jesus and the Kingdom of God . . . [3] Who is Jesus? The Mediator of the Kingdom . . . . [4] Second Relation: Jesus and the God of the Kingdom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [5] Jesus’ Faith: A God who is Father and a Father who is God . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [6] Who is Jesus? ‘Son of God’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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219 219 225 237 241 246 258

[7] Sobrino’s Christology and Feminist Concerns . . . 260 [8] Third Relation: Jesus and his Disciples. The Primacy of ‘Following’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 [9] From one ‘son’ to the ‘Son’: Is Jesus’ True Divinity Questioned? . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275 [10] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .281 v. The Crucifying Conflict A Struggle Between the God of Life and the Idols of Death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 [1] God is at Stake: Jesus’ Anti-Idolatrous Praxis . . . . 288 [2] Idols and Victims: The Anti-Idolatrous Character and Victimological Orientation of Sobrino’s Theology . .295 [3] A Theologal-Idolatrous Structure of Reality . . . . . 304 [4] Crucial Questions: Reality, History, Language . . . . 311 [5] From the Problem of Evil to Hermeneutics: P. Ricoeur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 [6] A Latin American Reception and Application of Ricoeur: J. Severino Croatto . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328 [7] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .338 vi. The Crucified Liberator (2) Interpreting Jesus’ Death as Salvific . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343 [1] Why was Jesus Killed? Historical Interpretation . . 347 [2] Who Killed Jesus: Human Beings or Gods? . . . . . 360 [3] Why Did Jesus Die? Soteriological Interpretation . . 372 [4] The Cross as Salvific Manifestation . . . . . . . . . . . 384 [5] Jesus the Liberator – An Exemplary Martyr? . . . . 398 [6] The Shifting of Models: From Struggle to Sacrifice . 406 [7] Jesus – The Victorious Victim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414 [8] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 424

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vii. The Crucified God Historical Theodicy and the Mystery of God . . . . . . . . . 429 [1] The Possibility of God’s Passibility . . . . . . . . . . . . .431 [2] How Does God Suffer? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 442 [3] God Crucified in the Suffering and Death of the Poor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 463 [4] God’s Abandonment of Jesus? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473 [5] The Crucified God and The Crucified People – The ‘Necessity’ of Suffering? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481 [6] Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 489 viii. The Crucified People (2) The Theological Significance of Contemporary Suffering: Towards a Critical Appraisal . . . . . . . . . . . . . 493 [1] Christian Theology and Suffering: Relevance and Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495 [2] The Crucified People – Reality and Symbol . . . . . . 511 [3] Constitutive Relatedness as Central Category . . . . .521 [4] The crucified and the Crucified: Theological Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .537 Postscript Hope Against Hope: The Resurrection of the C/crucified . . 571 [1] The Crucified People and the Resurrection of Jesus . .573 [2] Claiming the Victims’ Victory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 579 [3] End of the Millennium – The End of History? . . .581 Afterword The Reality of Continuing Crucifixion in a Globalised Age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .585 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .593 Selected index of names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 627 x

Preface

What is ‘good’ about Good Friday? Does its ‘goodness’ correspond to any historical experience at all? The small wooden crosses that have become almost a national symbol for El Salvador may point to such a paradoxical experience. Like other Central American nations, such as Nicaragua and Guatemala, this tiny country suffered terribly through much of the 20th century. After half a century of military dictatorship, the 1970’s and 1980’s became years of increasing repression resulting in open civil war (1980-1992). El Salvador became known world-wide, not for its beautiful landscape or its hardworking and friendly inhabitants, but for the cruelties committed within its territory. It is against this background that the typical wooden crosses of El Salvador cause perplexity: They are painted in such joyful, lively colours and decorated with small drawings symbolising peaceful community life: small country houses, people cultivating their land, children playing in the yard. Why these joyful colours and symbols of life on a cross – a most horrible instrument of torture? Do not Salvadorans know what crucifixion is all about? They certainly do. During my many visits to this country since 1985, I have personally seen enough to be able to reject the suggestion that what is expressed in these crosses is a naive or simplistic understanding of what such suffering entails. On the contrary, it is precisely their own contemporary passion story that leads Salvadorans to present the cross as a source of life. Amidst the pain, Salvadoran communities of faith bring testimonies of joy, communion, celebration, “hope against hope”. This experience of life in the valley of death, of goodness on Good Friday, has led Jon Sobrino to reflect theologically upon 11

God’s participation in the suffering of the people. Such a reflection is christological: In the face of a suffering human being the image of Jesus of Nazareth can be recognised. It is also soteriological: Christian faith finds its most profound expression in the confession that God’s presence in human history in and through Jesus is good for humanity – it brings salvation. But what, more precisely, can that mean when seen from the contemporary experience of El Salvador, of Latin America, of the South? At the centre of the cross above, we see a Salvadoran woman, surrounded by other women working for the well-being of the community. She has her arms stretched out. Is she crucified? Are there others “crucified” besides Jesus? What, in that case, is their relationship to the crucified Jesus? This is where the “theology of the crucified people” begins. It originates in a particular experience of suffering, with paradoxical glimpses of joy and celebration. Impressed by this incredible capacity for celebration in the midst of and in spite of all kinds of conflicts and hardships that are found in El Salvador, my interest was aroused as to the theology interpreting this experience. What did it entail? What might be its contribution to the world wide theological debate? The first version of this manuscript was presented for the degree of doctor theologiae at the University of Oslo in February 1998. There are many persons who have been of great help and support in this work, whom I would like to thank: Jon Sobrino and his good colleagues at the Centro Pastoral Monseñor Romero at the Universidad Centroamericana (UCA), San Salvador; bishop Medardo Gómez of the Salvadoran Lutheran Church and his family; my supervisor professor Kjetil Hafstad of the University of Oslo and co-supervisor professor Werner Jeanrond of the University of Lund; my opponents in the doctoral defence Dr. José Míguez Bonino and Dr. Kjell Nordstokke; and all the colleagues, friends and family that took the time and effort to read through parts or the whole of this

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manuscript at different stages, and gave their constructive and critical comments. Furthermore, I wish to thank the Norwegian Research Council and the Faculty of Theology, University of Oslo for making this work financially and practically possible; Brian McNeil, Peder Nustad and Andy Thomas for proof-reading and linguistic assistance; Dag Tjemsland and Christian Myhre-Nielsen for computer assistance; and Roger Jensen for the laborious process of making the manuscript ready for print in the present version. Last but not least, I wish to thank Anne Veiteberg, my compañera de vida, and our two children Ådne and Eivor, for all their love and support. “There is no gratitude that remains silent forever” (Sobrino). Great gratitude is due to each one of these. And yet they should not be held responsible for the end result. As to the translations of the texts quoted in this book, I have used already existing English translations where available, and only altered them where I have found it necessary. Where the texts are available only in Spanish, I have made my own translations, while providing the original Spanish wording in the notes. I have used The New English Bible, 1970 (NEB) for Bible quotations. Abbreviations are explained in the text. This study is dedicated to the memory of Helge Hummelvoll, a friend and a photographer, who was shot dead on a mission in Southern Sudan on the 27th of September 1992; and to the memories of Dordi Eika, Kristin Fadum, John Finstad, Geir Nybraaten and Elbjørg Aadland, who lost their lives in the aeroplane disaster at the Chichontepec volcanoe, El Salvador on the 9th of August 1995. Their dedication remains a costly sign of solidarity with crucified peoples. Oslo, August 2002 Sturla J. Stålsett

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Introduction Theology, Suffering and Praxis on the Brink of the Millennium

Después de un mes de militarización, el ejército desalojó el pueblo de Aguilares. Mons. Romero decidió ir cuanto antes a Aguilares para denunciar las atrocidades cometidas y sobre todo para acompañar y dar esperanza a un pueblo aterrizado. Muchos fuimos con él, y fue un día que, personalmente, nunca olvidaré. […] Recuerdo también, y es lo que más me impactó de su homilía, el gran amor que Mons. Romero mostraba hacia aquellos campesinos de Aguilares, sufrientes y atemorizados por lo que habían vivido en el último mes. Cómo mantener la esperanza de ese pueblo? Cómo devolverles dignidad, al menos, en su sufrimiento? Cómo decirlos que ellos son lo más importante para Dios y para la Iglesia? Mons. Romero lo dijo con estas palabras: ‘ustedes son la imagen del Divino Traspasado, del que nos habla la primera lectura’. Ustedes son hoy el Cristo sufriente en la historia, vino a decirles. Y en otra homilía de finales de 1979, que también recuerdo bien, hablando del siervo de Jahvé, decía Mons. Romero que nuestro liberador, Jesucristo, tanto ‘se identifica con el pueblo, hasta llegar los intérpretes de la Escritura a no saber si el Siervo de Jahve, que proclama Isaías, es el pueblo sufriente o es Cristo que viene a redimirlos.’ Decir a unos campesinos atribulados que ellos son hoy el Cristo presente en la historia, y decírselo con sinceridad, es la forma más radical que tiene un cristiano para devolverles, al menos, su dignidad y mantenerlos la esperanza. Jon Sobrino1

From a concrete experience of suffering there emerges a new theological perspective. In Aguilares, a small village in El Salvador in the turbulent days of June 1977, a bishop consoled a terrified population by referring them to, comparing them with, even identifying them with the crucified Christ. A theologian present, accompany1

Sobrino 1989e, 34-35. See also Sobrino 1992b, 86, Sobrino 1991d, 425 and Cardenal, Martín-Baró, and Sobrino 1996, 207-212; 208.

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ing the bishop and the people in their celebration of faith in those moments of inexplicable terror, reflected on the theological content of this consolation. It is new, and yet old: to recognise the face of Jesus the Crucified in the faces of the humiliated and downtrodden of today, and to signal this recognition by naming their suffering “crucifixion.” This focus coincides with a general mood of profound reorientation in contemporary Christian theology. Johann Baptist Metz, speaking from the perspective of post-war Germany, has raised the fundamental issue of how to do theology “after Auschwitz”.2 From the perspective of Aguilares and of other war-ridden and poor communities of faith in El Salvador, Latin America, and the South, Jon Sobrino reformulates the question: How to do theology “during Auschwitz”?3 How to do theology, try to speak of, reflect upon, act upon the reality of God in the midst of a world of innocent suffering? 4 In a similar vein to Metz, another German theologian, Jürgen Moltmann, indicated a new departure in contemporary theology in 2 3

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Cf. e.g. Metz 1994, 611, and Metz 1984, reprinted in Metz and Moltmann 1995: 38-48. Sobrino 1994c, 252. Sobrino 1991d, 422: “Y es que en América Latina no hacemos teología después de Auschwitz, sino durante Auschwitz […]”, Sobrino writes, with reference to a poem by P. Casaldáliga. This question is central to Latin American liberation theology. Gustavo Gutiérrez has framed the question similarly from the perspective of Peru: “It needs to be realized, however, that for us Latin Americans the question is not precisely ‘how are we to do theology after Auschwitz?’ The reason is that in Latin America we are still experiencing the every day violation of human rights, murder, and the torture that we find so blameworthy in the Jewish holocaust of World War II. […] In Peru, therefore – but the question is perhaps symbolic of all Latin America – we must ask: How are we to do theology while Ayacucho lasts? How are we to speak of the God of life when cruel murder on a massive scale goes on in ‘the corner of the dead’?” Gutiérrez 1987, 102. Cf. Gutiérrez 1990a.

a book with the programmatic title Der gekreuzigte Gott.5 Jon Sobrino’s own experiences in El Salvador – particularly like the one that day in Aguilares, but thereafter many other days as dark, and even darker – led him, from speaking with Moltmann of “the crucified God”, to speak also of “the crucified people(s)”. What meaning can it possibly have to speak of “the crucified people” or of the “crucified in history”? And what purpose can it serve? One main purpose has already been signalled by Sobrino: to restore the victims’ dignity and to uphold their hope. Another one, closely related, is the mobilisation of a merciful intervention for their justice and freedom – a praxis of liberation. But what about the “meaning”? Theologically interpreted, a potential meaning of this terminology must be derived from a relationship to the One who was crucified outside the city walls of Jerusalem: Jesus of Nazareth. Hence the theme of this book: the crucified and the Crucified.

[1] Naming our Present “Living at the remote edge of the twentieth century, we encounter a gap between the extremity of suffering and the triviality of our symbolic and conceptual worlds.”6 This observation by Wendy Farley sets us right on the track for the purpose and content of this inquiry. “The crucified people” is presented by liberation theologian Jon Sobrino7 as a proper name for the sufferings of our time. Can it bridge the gap? 5 6

Moltmann 1973. Eng. transl. Moltmann 1974. Farley 1996, “Beyond Sociology. Studies of Tragedy, Sin and Symbols of Evil”, 124-128; 124. See also Tracy 1994, where the author’s opening statement rings through the whole book: “We live in an age that cannot name itself ” (page 3).

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No matter how one may wish to assess the precision and the actual content of this name – and this is what we are about to examine – it can hardly be regarded as irrelevant. Towards the turn of the millennium, world history seems to have entered into a remarkably contradictory and confusing phase. The twentieth century, one of the worst of human history, has witnessed absurd, radical suffering of such a character that it seems to be beyond the scope of traditional theodicies.8 Indeed, the “unworlds”9 of concentration camps, gulags, killing fields, war zones and nuclear waste dumps were not restricted to the earlier part of the century, so that we could, with a certain relief and satisfaction, regard them as nightmares from which we now – finally – have woken up; evils of the past, now at last overcome by progress, maturity, rationality. The silent litanies from Rwanda, Iraq, Bosnia and Central America – barely audible after the media switched their microphones off and moved their cameras to other sites, but not less painfully real – still echo throughout the human community. And before, during and after such spectacular events of repugnant and incomprehensible evil there is an even more dramatic reality of ordinary, every-day catastrophes: de-humanising poverty, ecological disintegration, and generalised discrimination on the basis of sex, race, belief or conviction. 7

8 9

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Jon Sobrino was born in Barcelona in 1938. His parents were of Basque origin, and he grew up in País Vasco. He joined the Jesuit order in 1956, and one year later he came to El Salvador for the first time. Since then, he has lived in El Salvador, with the exception of two lengthy periods of studies abroad. He studied Literature, Philosophy and the Science of Engineering at St. Louis University, USA. His theological doctorate studies were carried out in Frankfurt, between 1968 and 1974, see Sobrino 1975c. Jon Sobrino was a close advisor to Archbishop Oscar A. Romero. He is now professor of theology and philosophy at the Universidad Centroamericana José Simeón Cañas (UCA), in San Salvador, El Salvador. See Deneken 1993, 53-64. Farley 1996, ibid.

And yet there are those who willingly and even joyfully proclaim ours as a golden age. In 1989, the year of the downfall of the Berlin wall and hence the end of the Cold War, North American historian Francis Fukuyama announced that the end of history now finally has dawned upon us, in the form of liberal democracy as the “end point of mankind’s ideological evolution” and the “final form of human government.”10 Fukuyama is well aware of the reality of the millions and millions of victims in the twentieth century, and that they would deny that there is such a thing as historical progress. And yet, he writes, “good news has come”,11 because “liberal democracy remains the only coherent political aspiration that spans different regions and cultures around the globe”, and furthermore, “liberal principles in economics – the ‘free market’ – have spread, and have succeeded in producing unprecedented levels of material prosperity”.12 The perspective of Fukuyama and other self-congratulatory masters of ceremony of the “brave new world order”13 is not only 10 Fukuyama’s argument first appeared in an article in The National Interest in the summer of 1989, entitled “The End of History?” It is expanded and further developed in Fukuyama 1992. 11 Fukuyama 1992, xiii. 12 Fukuyama 1992, ibid. 13 Nelson-Pallmeyer 1992. At the outbreak – and as a justification – of the Gulf War in January 1991, there was much talk of a “new world order”. NelsonPallmeyer quotes the following statement by President George Bush: “We will succeed in the Gulf. And when we do, the world community will have sent an enduring warning to any dictator or despot, present or future, who contemplates outlaw aggression. The world can, therefore, seize this opportunity to fulfill the long-held promise of a new world order, where brutality will go unrewarded and aggression will meet collective resistance […] The cost of closing our eyes to aggression is beyond mankind’s power to imagine. This we do know: Our cause is just; our cause is moral; our cause is right.” State of Union Address, January 29, 1991, quoted from Nelson-Pallmeyer 1992, x.

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that which emerges at the end of history. It is certainly also the perspective of history’s victors. These victors fail to perceive that the post-Cold War-world by no means meets the hopeful expectations that people were justified in having. The termination of the conflict between the East and the West seems only to have re-opened and strengthened another front, the North-South.14 In this situation, an increasing part of the world’s population has become dispensable, insignificant, excluded. There is a whole (two-thirds) world left over.15 Christian theology finds itself deeply challenged by this world situation. Prompted by a marked shift towards a more polycentric, ecumenical, cross-cultural theology as the centre of gravity of World Christianity has moved South, the voices of these suffering “others” are gradually making themselves heard.16 New theologies are emerging, embedded in the same Christian tradition, but building on different experiences and addressing new situations. Latin American liberation theology has been a main impetus and an important 14 “The 20th century started late, in 1914, with the great confrontation between capitalism and socialism, and ended early, in 1989, with the toppling of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War. The 21th century has begun with a confrontation between North and South, between capital and labor.” Xabier Gorostiaga, rector of Jesuit university Universidad Centroamericana in Managua, Nicaragua, and also president of the Regional Coordinator of Economic and Social Research (CRIES), in a speech to the Conference of the Latin America Sociology Association, in Havana, May 1991. See Gorostiaga 1991, 31-43; 31. 15 I have described and analysed some aspects of this world situation in the article Stålsett 1995a and in Stålsett 1995c. Gorostiaga, op. cit.: 35, comments: “It is revealing that precisely when ‘the end of history’ and the triumph of capitalism are being announced, the World Bank published its Report on World Development 1990: Poverty, in which it emphasized poverty as ‘the most pressing question of the decade.’ The reality of a billion people throughout the world with less than a $370 annual income is not only shameful, it is unsustainable.”

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forerunner to these, providing inspiration as well as methodological and substantial guidance. But the formation and growth of these new theologies has also implied criticism of “classic” liberation theology, pinpointing its deficiencies and shortcomings. As liberation theology experiences a period of crisis and profound (self-)criticism, these new theologies – black, indigenous, feminist, etc. – may now return the favour. They can represent “injection of a new life” to liberation theology.17 All of these theologies, “old” and “new”, emerge from the margins in opposition to the established centres of theological and socio-political praxis and thought. They could therefore perhaps be labelled “barbaric” theologies.18 More important than the actual designation, however, is the rise of new theological subjects in their own right, entailed and encouraged by these theologies, and moreover, by the new theological agenda that they propose. It is on that agenda that the reality of “the crucified people” is introduced.

16 At the end of his “journey” through two hundred years of – predominantly European – theology, H. Berkhof notes that theology is becoming a more international and pluralistic discipline: “However, Western theology will soon lose its predominance. Buenos Aires, Lagos, Bangalore, and Tokyo (let us say) will play an equal role alongside Tübingen, Edinburgh, and Chicago. Western theology will die in its Western-ness in order to rise again in globalness. Pluralism will then be far more extensive. But this multiplicity will be held together through numerous dialogic relationships within a framework of an essentially unified structure and method” Berkhof 1989. Cf. Ellacuría 1975b, 326 (2.4.): “La existencia del pluralismo teológico es un hecho histórico. Es asimismo una necesidad histórica.” 17 “Para la teología de la liberación las nuevas teologías, la negra, la indígena, y también la teología feminista, han aparecido a veces como una salvación, la inyección de una nueva vida” Comblin 1993, 55. 18 Dussel 1981, 20, compare, Dussel 1985, 14.

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[2] The crucified and the Crucified As the present study will show, “the crucified people” is more than an easy catch-word, or “merely” pious talk. It expresses nothing less than the theological significance of contemporary suffering, according to Jon Sobrino. In view of this suffering, the fundamental challenges are: how to do theology when faced with the reality of “the crucified peoples”? And: how can theology help to bring down the crucified from the cross(es)? Responding to these questions, Sobrino gives paramount significance to praxis. Faced with the immense suffering of the poor and the excluded, theology must take the shape of a re-action in mercy, he holds. The re-action is action in order to remove the causes of suffering. It is thus praxis, understood as action and reflection on the world in order to transform it in a certain direction.19 Coming from one of the leading liberation theologians, the Basque-Salvadoran Jesuit Jon Sobrino’s contributions to christology, ecclesiology, spirituality and fundamental theology have all evoked interest and debates throughout the world-wide theological community.20 However, the main part of Sobrino’s contribution so far is in the field of christology.21 He has elaborated a christology of following and martyrdom which aims to be a contextual, Latin-American response to the fundamental christological question: “Who do you say I am?” (Mk 8:29, par.), at the same time aiming to serve the liberation of the poor and the excluded in his country and continent.22 19 I shall deal with the praxis-orientation of liberation theology in general and Sobrino in particular in Chapter i [2] e) below. 20 Cf. the bibliography at the end of this study. 21 His main christological works are Sobrino 1976 (English translation: Sobrino 1978a); Sobrino 1982a (English translation: Sobrino 1982b); and Sobrino 1991d (English translation: Sobrino 1994c ).

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Perhaps the most novel suggestion in the christology of Jon Sobrino is exactly this inclusion of “the crucified people”, and the importance he gives to it. This is a new theological concept – a theologoumenon 23 – , and although Sobrino was not the first to suggest it24, he is the first to integrate it into a complete christological framework. He even gives it a prominent place. The theological content and significance of the crucified people in Sobrino’s christology are derived from its relation to the crucified Jesus, a relationship which Sobrino sees as a constitutive relatedness. This emphasis on relatedness or relationality leaves a profound mark on Sobrino’s theological reflection which has not been much highlighted in the receptions and evaluations of it so far. It will be at the centre of our attention in this inquiry. The very move to give the abyss of contemporary suffering the name of the key Christian term “crucified” – be it in “the crucified people”, “the crucified reality”, or “the crucified in history” – raises a series of questions in itself. What is actually meant here by being “crucified”? What linguistic status does such a naming have? Who are to be considered “the crucified people”, “the crucified in his22 “Perhaps the most important question that has arisen in a new way within Christology is the question of who Jesus is, and where he stands, in relation to the social, political, and economic issues of human history. Among the various “liberation theologies,” the question of where Jesus stands in relation to the suffering and hopes of the vast masses of oppressed and destitute peoples is central to Christology.” Hellwig 1992, 87. 23 According to E. Schillebeeckx, a theologoumenon means “[…] an interpretation having (no more) than a theological value. But this unfamiliar word is used only when it is meant to imply that a theological interpretation (a) is used to be distinguished from a commonly recognized interpretation, normative for faith, and (b) is also distinguishable from a historically verifiable affirmation.” Schillebeeckx 1979, 752. 24 As we shall see, Sobrino adopts this idea from Ignacio Ellacuría. Cf. Ellacuría 1978a.

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tory”? Are they called so merely because they resemble Jesus in his suffering and death, or because they in a more direct manner represent him or are identified with him? What light is shed on this reality of contemporary suffering by the life, suffering and death of Jesus? And vice versa: what light can this reality, these suffering human beings possibly provide in our continuous struggle with the fundamental christological questions of the ultimate significance of Jesus Christ and his relevance for humanity today? Does such naming imply a levelling of Jesus and other victims or martyrs in history, so that in the end he becomes little more than the exemplary martyr? Or does it on the contrary imply that suffering people are elevated to the status of saviours? If that should be the case, would it be of any help to those who suffer themselves? Sobrino’s thinking on these matters has received world-wide attention. The number of studies and dissertations in this field is now considerable, and rapidly increasing.25 My particular emphasis in the interpretation of Sobrino on this theme will be to see the crucified people in constitutive relatedness26 to the crucified Jesus in the first place, and to the mystery of God in the second place. This is, in my view, an approach that does justice to Sobrino’s own intentions. In his christology this idea of constitutive relatedness plays an important role.27 According to this view it is not something intrinsic to an object or a person which defines what it, he or she is. Its,

25 I consider the dissertations of Martin Maier: Maier 1992, and Nancy Elizabeth Bedford (under professor Jürgen Moltmann, Tübingen): Bedford 1993 to be the most important. The colloquium in the Karl-Franzens University in Graz, in 1992, where Jon Sobrino and theologians from Eastern and Western Europe met to discuss Sobrino’s approach, is also of particular interest. The main contributions to this seminar are published in König and Larcher 1992. 26 “Relacionalidad constitutiva”, cf. Sobrino 1976, xiii, xvi, 73; Sobrino 1978a, 50, 60, 70, 73. Compare Moltmann 1974, 11.

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her or his ontological status is decided in and through the relations in which the object or person is embedded.28 Consequently, Sobrino holds that in order to answer the fundamental christological question who Jesus is, it is necessary to analyse thoroughly the relations in which Jesus finds himself, according to the testimonies about him. And Sobrino does not remain satisfied with solely an analysis of Jesus’ transcendent trinitarian relatedness – often taken into account in christologies – but insists that this must be complemented by an analysis of his historical relatedness, which is not so commonly explored.29 Indeed Sobrino holds that it is the latter that makes it possible to gain knowledge of the former, not vice versa. Sobrino’s christology, accordingly, is structured around such an analysis, in that it first explores the historical Jesus in his relation to the Kingdom of God and then his relation to God the Father. These two fundamental relations determine the identity, activity and ultimate historical fate of Jesus, according to Sobrino. But Jesus is also embedded in a profound relation to his followers, which after his death and resurrection becomes what might be defined as a transhistorical relation in the Spirit. When seen in the perspective of Jesus’ death on the cross, this historical constitutive relatedness 27 “Relation”: “An aspect or quality (as resemblance) that connects two or more things or parts as being or belonging or working together or as being of the same kind.” Source: Encyclopaedia Britannica 1995c. 28 In this new orientation, Sobrino is not alone. It is a dominant trend in contemporary theology – and in other branches of science. Cf. e.g. McFague 1987, 10: “In other words, relationships and relativity, as well as process and openness, characterize reality as it is understood at present in all branches of science […] (I)ndividuals or entities always exist within structures of relationship; process, change, transformation, and openness replace stasis, changelessness, and completeness as basic descriptive concepts.” See below, Chapter iv, [1] and [7]; Chapter vi, [7]; and Chapter viii, [3]. 29 Sobrino 1991d, 40, et passim.

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between Jesus and his followers becomes a relatedness between the crucified Jesus and the crucified people, the Crucified and the crucified. I shall demonstrate that “the crucified people” (and synonymous expressions) through its relatedness with “the crucified Jesus” attains an epistemological-hermeneutical, historical-soteriological and ethical-praxical role in Sobrino’s theology. “The crucified and the Crucified” thus expresses several of the most central tenets and characteristic emphases presented by Latin American liberation theology30, such as the experience of the unjust suffering of the poor and oppressed and their need for liberation, the urgency to ‘historicise’ (historizar) the concept of Christian salvation, and the insistence on the hermeneutical significance of the location (lugar) and historical context of theology. In sum, I find in this formulation an original and thought-provoking expression of the theological sig30 Should one speak of one or many liberation theologies? One of the fiercest critics of liberation theology, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger writes: “The theology of liberation is an extraordinarily complex phenomenon. Any concept of liberation theology has to be able to span positions ranging from the radically Marxist to those that stress necessary Christian responsibility toward the poor and oppressed in the context of a sound ecclesiology, as did the documents of CELAM from Medellín to Puebla.” Ratzinger chooses to use the concept of “liberation theology” in a more restricted sense, including only those theologians who, according to Ratzinger, “in some way have espoused a Marxist fundamental option.” Ratzinger 1990 Juan Luis Segundo, on his part, analysed what he saw as the development of two distinct versions of Latin American liberation theology, in Segundo 1990. Christian Duquoc prefers to speak of liberation theologies, Duquoc 1989, 7; while Arthur McGovern (McGovern 1989) opts to “treat liberation theology as one movement, and liberation theologians as one group”, p. xv. Although it is correct that “liberation theology” entails different currents and perspectives, I do not find any strong reasons for not using the singular for my purposes here. There is a sufficient common ground and history to continue to speak of “Latin American liberation theology” in general. Cf. Chapter i. below.

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nificance of contemporary suffering. Accordingly it merits critical analysis and further reflection. In a more precise wording, then, this book deals with the theological significance of contemporary suffering as it is expressed in the symbol of the crucified people and its constitutive relatedness to the crucified Jesus in Jon Sobrino’s christology.

[3] Liberation Theology in Crisis This undertaking is all the more necessary in that Latin American liberation theology itself seems to have entered a critical phase. This particular strand of theological thought and praxis has been under attack since its birth, both from within the spheres of churches and theology, and from the outside: from other sciences and – not least damaging – from political authorities and military powers. Since it claims to be a theological praxis emerging from and among the powerless poor living on the peripheries, the powerful centres have reacted with considerable force against it. This holds true both for the power centres of the Church31, i.e., in particular the Vatican32, and of society, most notably in policy documents undergirding U.S. 31 The Church leadership’s most effective strategy to counter liberation theology has been of an administrative and disciplinary nature, through the appointing of conservative bishops, the closing down of seminaries and theological reviews sympathetic to liberation theology, the marginalisation of the Comunidades Eclesiales de Base, etc. The case against Leonardo Boff is its prime example. See Nordstokke 1996, 219-249 and “Preface to the English Edition”, p.ix. Cf. also Sobrino’s comments in Sobrino 1992d. The Latin American edition of the magazine Cambio 16 No 1.077, 13.07. 1992, ran a cover story on how the Vatican counters liberation theology, under the heading “La nueva Inquisición”, see pp. 3 and 6-13.

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foreign policy.33 Although these attacks have had their effects,34 it is not primarily because of them that liberation theology is in crisis. It is rather something intrinsic to liberation theological method itself which now causes it to pass through a profound period of trial. Liberation theologians insist that theology should relate to concrete historical reality in a specific social and political setting. And they have underscored the dynamism of human history: the histori32 The Vatican, through its Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith presided by Cardinal Ratzinger, has issued two authoritative documents on liberation theology in general. The first and more critical one, was the “Instruction on Certain Aspects of the ‘Theology of Liberation’” issued the sixth of August, 1984. Its purpose was “to draw the attention of pastors, theologians, and all the faithful to the deviations and risks of deviation, damaging to faith and to Christian living that are brought about by certain forms of liberation theology which use, in an insufficiently critical manner, concepts borrowed from various currents of Marxist thought.” (From the introduction., p. 394 in Congregation 1990a). The second one came close to two years later, i. e. March 22, 1986 Congregation 1990b. It was a much more nuanced and constructive response, although not taking back the stern warnings of the first instruction: “Far from being outmoded, these warnings appear ever more timely and relevant.”, paragraph 1, in op. cit., 462 For a commentary on these statements and their reception, see i.a. Nordstokke 1996, 250-256, and McGovern 1989, 15-19. Ignacio Ellacuría’s response to the first “Instruction […]” is of particular interest, see Ellacuría 1984b. 33 Cf. particularly the so-called Santa Fe documents, issued by the pro-Reagan think tanks such as the Santa Fe- committee and Institute for Religion and Democracy (IRD). Liberation theology was soon singled out as a threat to U.S. national security. The first Santa Fe- document, from 1980, stated that “U.S. policy must begin to counter (not react against) liberation theology as it is utilized in Latin America by the ‘liberation theology’ clergy.” Quoted from Berrymann 1987, 3. 34 The following observation made by one of the veterans among the liberation theologians, José Comblin, is indeed noteworthy: “En los seminarios y en las escuelas de teología, la prohibición de siquiera mencionar la teología de la liberación es tan fuerte que las nuevas generaciones de seminaristas y estudiantes religiosos la ignoran totalmente.” Comblin 1993, 50.

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cal situation and course of events change and can be changed. Theology is an act of reflection within this process of historical transformation. This is exactly what has happened, then: in Latin America, as in the world at large, the historical situation has changed, and changed drastically. The Nicaraguan Jesuit and leading social scientist Xabier Gorostiaga spoke in 1991 of a “crucible of Copernican changes, greater than those seen in the 1914-1917 period.”35 In Latin America, these changes come in “times of cholera”,36 he continues, thus referring to the depth of the economic and political crisis facing this continent. Economically, there is broad agreement in that the 1980’s was a “lost decade” for Latin America. In this period Latin America decreased its participation in the international market from 7% to 4%, at the same time as foreign investment stock dropped from 12,3% in 1980 to 5,8% in 1989. The UN Economic Commission on Latin America (ECLA) estimates that the number of people living in poverty in the region increased from 112 to 184 million people in the same period.37 Gorostiaga’s conclusion is that “Latin America’s financial and productive debacle in the 1980’s could be compared to the worst years of colonial pillage.”38 Another leading analyst, Jorge 35 Gorostiaga 1991, 31. 36 This expression is a play of words in Spanish. Cólera refers to the epidemic disease which, after having been eradicated from the continent, re-ocurred at the end of the 80’s in the slums and poor communities of several countries in Latin America, in the opinion of many due to the increasing poverty particularly among the urban masses as a result of the austere “structural adjustment” economic policies that were pursued all over the continent. At the same time, cólera means rage or extreme anger. The expression is, of course, also a reference to Gabriel García Márquez’ novel Love in the Times of Cholera. 37 Gorostiaga 1991, 33. 38 Ibid.

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Castañeda, calls this the “worst economic and social crisis since the Depression.”39 If it were not for illegal drug exports, emigration, and an income-reducing but shock-absorbing informal economy, Castañeda believes, the outcome would have been far more tragic.40 Increasing poverty is – sadly – not at all a new phenomenon in Latin America. What is new, however, is the character of this poverty, and the political and ideological climate within which it occurs. Analysing the socio-political transformations in Latin America between 1972 and 1992, Manuel Antonio Garretón, like many other observers, highlights a positive development too: the profound process of democratisation that the continent has gone through.41 Today practically all Latin American countries have legally constituted and democratically elected governments, a fact not many would have dared to predict just a decade ago. But this process has not been accompanied to the same extent by a social and economic democratisation.42 Two lessons from the last two decades are crucial for appreciating the complexity of the current situation, according to Garretón.43 Firstly, that those visions which held that growth and development in and by themselves would secure a social change towards more equity, democracy and social integration have failed. In order to achieve this, some kind of conscious redistributive action is indispensable. And secondly, that those political models which implied redistribution by way of revolution have failed. Where this was tried, the result was generally that those who origi39 Castañeda 1993, 5. Castañeda’s figures are even more negative: “In 1980, 120 million Latin Americans, or 39% of the area’s population, lived in poverty; by 1985 the number had grown to 160-170 million; toward the end of the decade it was estimated at the apalling figure of 240 million.” Op. cit., 5-6. 40 Op. cit., 6. 41 Garretón 1993. 42 Op. cit., 23. 43 Op. cit., 18.

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nally held political, military and economical power, the defenders of the status quo, in the long run triumphed, so that the situation got worse than at the outset. The major challenge in Latin America in the 1990’s then, according to this analysis, is to implement a social change which implies a redistribution of power and wealth, but to do so by way of democratic means. This means that while seeking formulas that do not exclude conflicts, the main solutions will have to be found within the established legal and institutional framework, relying on some basic social consensus.44 Castañeda comes to a similar conclusion. He too speaks of the “recurrent Latin American – and almost universal – aspiration for squaring the circle: how to combine change with continuity, social justice with eco-

44 Op. cit., 18. See also the interesting passage on pages 24-25: “Estamos, así lejos del ideologismo revolucionario o contrarrevolucionario que suponía el fin de las contradicciones a partir de una lucha por el poder para resolver la ‘contradicción principal’, la que automáticamente resolvía las otras. […] (E)stamos también lejos del ideologismo reaccionario que afirma el fin de la historia y de las acciones colectivos por el mejoramiento de las condiciones de la vida individual y social. No han desaparecido las viejas luchas por la igualdad, la libertad y la independencia e identidad nacionales. Pero ahora tales luchas se complejifican, tecnifican, autonomizan, y no se dejan identificar con sistemas ideológicos monolíticos; y además se une a ellas la lucha por la expansión de la subjetividad, por la felicidad y la autoafirmación, que dejan de ser monopólio de los sectores socio-económicos priveligiados. La principal conclusión es que ya no puede pensarse en un sujeto único de la historia porque cada uno de estos procesos y dimensiones de la vida social reconoce sujetos y actores diferentes que a veces pueden incluso encontrarse en bandos contrarios en algunas de estas dimensiones. Ello implica, además, que el repertorio de las formas de acción colectiva heredado de la matriz clásica es insuficiente y entra en cuestión aunque no puede ni debe ser eliminado en la medida que no se resolvieron las contradicciones del pasado. Las puras luchas antagónicas deben ser combinadas con búsquedas de consensos básicos.”

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nomic growth, representative democracy with effective governance.”45 The principal distinguishing mark of liberation theology is an option for the poor and for their liberation. But within the new panorama of Latin America the character of the poverty of the poor has changed. Perhaps this change may briefly be formulated thus: the poor are no longer primarily oppressed and exploited, but rather excluded, dismissed and forgotten. They are the “left overs” of the “neo”-liberal market economies. This means that the strategies for liberation, for the overcoming of this poverty and situation of suffering and indignity, must change too. What does “liberation” mean in this new context? Furthermore, the new situation includes a new awareness of the pluriformity of the poor. The poor are many – and they may even have conflicting interests. The general term “poor” conceals a myriad of distinctions – cultural, political, racial, sexual… Who are “the poor”, then? Liberation theology has opted for the poor, but the poor seem to opt for popular Protestantism. The rapid growth of Pentecostal movements is the major religious phenomenon in Latin America today.46 Although statistics are uncertain, it has been stated that 400 Latin American Catholics convert to a Protestant confession every hour, i.e. 3,5 million persons a year.47 Between 1981 and 1987 the Protestant Churches doubled their membership, reaching a total of about 50 million members.48 Given that the growth pre45 Castañeda 1993, 129. 46 I have discussed this phenomenon and the challenge it represents for liberation theology more extensively in Stålsett 1995d. The bibliography on this phenomenon is growing rapidly. See Kirkpatrick 1988, Cook 1994, Martin 1990 Stoll 1990. See also Alvarez 1992, Boudewijnse 1991, Damen 1991, and Sjørup 1995. An older study is Willems 1967. 47 Damen 1991, 423. 48 Keen 1992, 563.

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dominantly takes place among the poor segments of the population,49 it represents a particular challenge to liberation theology. What is behind this phenomenon? What may its consequences be? In this matter, liberation theology seems to be moving from a position of neglect and superficial rejection to a more nuanced analysis. Among the self-critical questions particularly relevant to liberation theology in this connection is the following: Where is the true “church of the poor” to be found? These developments have put liberation theology to the test: is it still a liberating theology for the poor of Latin America, and elsewhere? Criticisms and self-criticisms abound.50 However, as Christian theologians know well, times of crisis and trial are simultaneously times of new possibilities. What future for liberation theology then: will it stand the test? Through our reflection on Sobrino’s expression “the crucified people”, or “the crucified in history”, and its constitutive relationship to the crucified Jesus Christ – the crucified and the Crucified – as a representative and central tenet of liberation theology, we shall join in this discussion on the validity and relevance of this particular strand in contemporary theology at the turn of the millennium. I hope to show that the focus chosen for this study will be particularly fruitful in view of the present situation of crisis and opportunities. For, in spite of all the changes, one thing is for certain: the reality of suffering has not disappeared from the Latin American continent. Neither has the need for real freedom, justice, and life with dignity for the masses. In view of the “new” situation – in which everything has changed, but all is the same – Jon Sobrino proposes that liberation theology should move from being “merely” a theology of liberation to becoming a “theology of liberation and martyrdom”.51 It is obvious to him then, that the crucified people, the “martyr people”, have not lost their primary human impor49 See i.a. Escobar 1994, 131, Sjørup 1995.

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tance, nor their theological significance. We shall accordingly approach the reality and theological significance of the crucified people within this “new”, old situation of exclusion and oppression – prevalent not only in Latin America, but throughout the entire globe.

50 In addition to the two “Instructions” issued by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, two other documents from this influential body should be mentioned, namely the “Ten Observations on the Theology of Gustavo Gutiérrez” (from March 1983), Congregation 1990d, and the “notification” sent to Leonardo Boff in March 1985: Congregation 1990c. Other selected works critical of liberation theology: Sigmund 1990, Chow 1992, Novak 1988, Gutierrez 1977, Ibánez Langlois 1989, Nash 1984 (contains a helpful bibliography, pp. 249-255), Kloppenburg 1974. For an overview and more nuanced assessment of the criticisms and responses, see McGovern 1989. See also Aruj 1984, Forrester 1994, Nickoloff 1992, Duquoc 1989, Mahan and Richesin 1981, Cunningham 1994, Ogden 1989, Bigo 1992, Libânio 1989. Noteworthy self-criticisms and -assessments are found in Assmann 1994b, Assmann 1995, Richard 1991 (English version: Richard 1994), Comblin, González Faus, and Sobrino 1993, Duque 1996. Garretón, op. cit., 28, concludes that liberation theology in view of this new situation should abandon the following four “traditional” views: 1) a certain economical structuralism which tended to see all social conflicts as rooted in the economical sphere; 2) the vision of a unified historical subject: the victims of oppression; 3) the identification of the utopia of liberation with a revolutionary methodology or model, and a relative negligence of an appropriate theory of representation and institutional mediation; and 4) a vision of civil society, everyday life, subjectivity, modernity and modernization which was identified – except in what concerned the social struggle against oppression – with traditional Catholic thought. 51 Sobrino 1993c.

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[4] Purpose and Plan of Study I intend in other words to discuss Sobrino’s proposal that we see the relationship between the crucified people and the Crucified Jesus as a key expression of the theological significance of contemporary suffering. “Theological significance” will here be taken in its double aspect, meaning both significance in theology and significance to theology. I shall begin by examining Jon Sobrino’s point of departure for doing theology, viz. the historical and theological context, background and preconditions which mould his theological praxis (Chapter i). Then I will be ready to take an initial closer look at the main concept of the study, namely “the crucified people(s)” (Chapter ii). When the development and relative novelty of this theme in Sobrino have been analysed and discussed, it will prove necessary to examine its internal function in his christology. As it stands in this “constitutive relationship” with the crucified Jesus, I must examine more thoroughly Sobrino’s interpretation of Jesus, and more precisely, the salvific meaning of his life and death. Before undertaking this examination, however, one must take due account of the historical context of christological reflection in Latin America (Chapter iii). An adequate interpretation presupposes that we set Sobrino’s christology of liberation against the background of the diverse “christologies” of domination and conquest that have been common on the continent. My exploration of Sobrino’s Jesus-interpretation will then be done in three steps. Firstly, we shall see how Sobrino interprets Jesus’ life as salvific, or in historical terms, how Jesus can be legitimately claimed to be a liberator (Chapter iv). When I re-read the history of the life of Jesus with Sobrino, considerable weight will be given to the increasing conflict in which Jesus becomes part. This conflict is due to the very structure of reality, Sobrino contends, a

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structure which he furthermore holds to be the same now as it was in the time of Jesus. We are accordingly at the very root of the (christological and soteriological) problem when we examine the causes for this crucifying conflict (Chapter v). Sobrino sees reality as subject to a struggle between antagonistic and absolutely incompatible forces: the God of life and the idols of death. This chapter, at the centre of my study, also marks something of a turning point in it. My contention is that in Sobrino’s theology, this struggle at the foundations of reality is the ultimate explanatory ground and framework. It is the root of the problem. However, it may also be seen as a problem in Sobrino’s thinking. Exposing the difficulties that it raises, and how they might be overcome, will thus be an important task. I will then continue with the culmination in history of that conflict, through an interpretation of Jesus’ salvific death, in order to understand how the terrible reality of contemporary crucifixions might possibly be accorded salvific significance by Sobrino (Chapter vi). The death of Jesus sharply poses the question if and how suffering affects God-self (Chapter vii). As already indicated, “the crucified people” is a further development of the concept of a crucified God, actualised by Moltmann. Understanding the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified in Sobrino will therefore also have to include this perspective of God’s suffering and death. We shall see that the particular emphasis and novelty of Sobrino’s treatment of this controversial theme poses the question of God’s relation to human suffering from the perspective of a “crucified people”. At this point, then, I will be ready to return to my point of departure, for a final discussion and assessment of the theological significance of contemporary suffering as it is expressed in the term “the crucified people(s)” (Chapter viii). I shall do so by presenting a

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series of thirteen theses resulting from my critical discussion with Sobrino’s proposals. The theses concern both what these proposals, when read from my vantage-point, may signify in terms of theological content (i.e. systematic theology or dogmatics), and what they may signify in terms of method (i.e. fundamental theology). Thus I will apply the critical insights gained through this study in Sobrino’s writings in making some more comprehensive – although tentative and suggestive – elaborations of a basic theme underlying this study: What is an adequate strategy and method for Christian theology in our time? I shall return to the challenges to theology of suffering and praxis. Everything concerning the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified throughout the study is said under the presupposition of the Christian faith in the resurrection of Jesus. Yet the resurrection will not be made an explicit object of study, nor will it play any primary role in the interpretation of this main relationship. The reasons for this are both substantial and practical, as I shall make clear. Before ending my study, however, I shall briefly consider what particular light faith in the resurrection sheds on the reality and symbol of the crucified peoples, and vice versa – what this contemporary suffering implies for Christian faith in the resurrection (Postscript). Finally, some words on the spirit in which this investigation is undertaken. Although Sobrino’s theology is a consciously contextual theology, this study is written under the expectation and prior understanding that “contextual” does not mean some sort of regionalism closed in on itself, nor some sort of sectarianism, expressing a dialogue into which only the carefully elected sect members are permitted to join. On the contrary, by undertaking this examination I accept Latin American liberation theology as an invitation to an open, cross-cultural, ecumenical conversation, built on the premises of

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respectful interchange and “mutual accountability.”52 I am quite aware of the differences between the theological and cultural traditions and real-life situations out of which Jon Sobrino reflects theologically and those of my own; although I have lived and worked in El Salvador and elsewhere in Latin America myself, these differences will not be wiped out. The awareness of these differences gives rise to a certain caution and humility with regard to my own findings and assessments, particularly when bearing in mind the atrocities of war and repression that Jon Sobrino and his colleagues have had to face daily for decades now, and which appear infinitely distant and nearly unimaginable from the calmness and security of a Northern European University. Nevertheless, no mutually respectful conversation can endure without an honest encounter in which all parties are permitted to speak from their own vantage-point, with plenty of room for both agreement and disagreement. In such a conversation, I hope and expect that these differences – when consciously admitted – may prove fruitful, at the very least by preventing our theological discourse and praxis from being just “more of the same”, and thus die the death of futility and boredom. My aim here is not primarily to detect what I may find to be weaknesses or lay bare possible flaws in Sobrino’s liberation christology. To the extent that this will be done, it will be subsumed under what I see as the more important and fruitful undertaking: to explore the possibilities which may be opened up through Sobrino’s reading of the tragic situation of contemporary suffering in the light of the Christian witness of Jesus; and vice versa. I shall try to reflect

52 Cf. Bonino 1993a, and various recent ecumenical documents, such as e.g. the “Message” from The Fifth World Conference of Faith and Order in Santiago de Compostela 1993: “Unity today calls for structures of mutual accountability” (Paragraph 9), in Best 1994, 227. See also Stålsett 1993.

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on and with Sobrino’s proposals, even if this may lead me to reflecting against them, in part or in toto. With a clear awareness of the contextuality of all theological reflection, then, this study does not in any way pretend to present a “universal” or “neutral” assessment of Sobrino, or of liberation theology in general. Rather, this study is undertaken with a determined and ultimately quite practical purpose: to contribute to an interpretation of Christian faith which is attentive to, responsible vis-à-vis, and empowering in the real lives and struggles of the many who are excluded and victimised in our communities, and on our planet, on the brink of the millennium. In so doing, it wishes to pay respect to the memory and legacy of Mgr Oscar Arnulfo Romero and Ignacio Ellacuría, who were pioneers in theologically reflecting the reality of crucified peoples, committing themselves to their cause to the point of joining in their martyrdom.

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i. Theology in a Crucified Reality Point of Departure and Fundamental Presuppositions

Vivir en la realidad crucificada de América Latina, aceptada como es y no sofocarla con nada es el primer paso para qualquier conocimiento teológico.1

Theology today ought to relate primarily to the concrete, historical reality in which it is embedded. This basic contention of Latin American theology of liberation plays a fundamental role in Jon Sobrino’s theological writings, both a priori and de facto. To understand the theological significance of contemporary suffering as it comes to expression through the centrality of the term “the crucified people” in Sobrino’s christology, it is therefore necessary to examine how this premise works. In other words, in this chapter i shall consider the point of departure and fundamental presuppositions of Jon Sobrino’s theological endeavour. First of all, we turn to the more immediate and personal context of Sobrino’s theology.

[1] Foundational Experience: Siding with the Poor in El Salvador2 Why has this term, “the crucified people”, become so important to Sobrino? The most obvious reason – not always taken into account in theological analyses – is to be found in Sobrino’s personal and communal experience. The recent history of the church and people of El Salvador in general, and of the Jesuit community to which 1

Sobrino 1982a, 78.

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Sobrino belongs in particular, conveys the immediate explanation why Sobrino finds it necessary to speak of a “crucified reality”.3 This history is well known and has been widely documented.4 It has been a history of suffering; a history of structural injustice through generations, resulting in civil war, with all its bitter consequences: persecution, disappearances, assassinations, massacres… More than 75,000 people were killed during the civil war in El Salvador between 1980 and 1992. Churches and church-members working with the poor and committing themselves to their cause had more than their share of these sufferings.5 The Jesuit University in San Salvador, Universidad Centroamericana “José Simeón Cañas”, under the guidance of its rector Ignacio Ellacuría, made an explicit option for the poor and marginalised in El Salvador early in the 70’s. Ellacuría wanted to use the resources of the university in the 2

3 4

5

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Roberto Oliveros uses the expression ‘foundational experience’ to describe the original experience and intuition of liberation theology: “Cuál es la experiencia fundante de la teología de la liberación? […] Cuál fue la experiencia e intuición originales de las que brota la teología de la liberación? No fue otra que la experiencia cotidiana de la injusta pobreza en que son obligados a vivir millones de hermanos latinoamericanos.” Oliveros 1991, 18. Cf., e.g. Hennelly 1990, xix: “By far the most important background experience of liberation theology is the widespread experience of poverty, the impoverishment of many millions of persons because of domestic and foreign socioeconomic systems.” Sobrino 1992b, 7. “[…] la realidad crucificada del Tercer Mundo, ante la cual hay que reaccionar, hoy como ayer […]”. See, i.a.: Anonymous 1982; Gispert Sauch de Borell 1990; Lernoux 1982; Vigil 1994; Vigil 1987c; Danner 1994; Vigil 1987b; Vigil 1987a; Hassett and Lacey 1991; Carranza 1992; Romero 1989; Gómez 1993; Gómez 1992; Wright 1994, Berrymann 1994, 63-106, United Nations 1993, and Stålsett 1994a. See Anonymous 1982. Sobrino often takes this particular experience of the Salvadoran church(es) as his point of departure, see i.a., Sobrino 1986, 171203, and 243-260; Sobrino 1987a, 109-125 and 185-188; Sobrino 1989c; Sobrino 1989e; Sobrino 1990a; and Sobrino 1993a.

struggle for a more just and humane society. He and his staff often took controversial and brave stands during the years of conflict. Accordingly, UCA – its leadership, staff and students alike – was the object of harsh criticisms and attacks from the authorities and sectors loyal to the regime, even to the point of violent persecution.6 Among all the difficult moments Sobrino has lived through during these years, there are two that have left particularly profound marks on his theological work. The first one was the assassination of Archbishop Oscar A. Romero. The Jesuits at the UCA, and especially Ellacuría and Sobrino, had become close co-workers with the Archbishop during his years of ministry. Romero’s pastoral commitment, willingness to change, spiritual strength and charismatic personality impressed Sobrino profoundly.7 The second horrifying incident was the killing of his colleagues – six Jesuit priests, amongst them Ignacio Ellacuría, together with their housekeeper and her daughter – at the UCA’s Pastoral Centre, the fifteenth of November, 1989. They were all cold-bloodedly massacred by an “elite” battalion of the Salvadoran Armed Forces.8 Jon Sobrino was abroad when it happened, while a colleague who had borrowed his room in his absence, was shot dead.9 Thus Sobrino lost his brothers and colleagues, and escaped himself by chance. In particular, the loss of Ellacuría, whom he admired and with whom 6 7

8

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See Ellacuría 1993c. Sobrino untiringly remembers Romero in his writings. In Sobrino’s opinion, “Mons. Romero representa un ejemplo preclaro y actual de cómo unificar práxis de liberación eficaz y espíritu de las bienaventuranzas.” Sobrino 1982a, 192, n.8. Cf. i.a. Sobrino 1981b; Sobrino 1989e; Sobrino 1990c; et passim. Those who were killed, were: Ignacio Ellacuría, Ignacio Martín-Baró, Amando López, Juan Ramón Moreno, Segundo Montes, Joaquín López y López, Julia Elba Ramos and her daughter, Celina Mariceth Ramos. See United Nations 1993; Doggett 1994. Sobrino’s own reflections on this tragedy can be found in Sobrino 1989b / Sobrino 1990a; cf. Sobrino 1992b, 249-267.

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he had a long-standing and mutually inspiring theological co-operation, has been hard on Sobrino. As will become clear in this study, Sobrino is avowedly dependent on Ellacuría’s theological and philosophical works in matters both methodological and substantial.10

[2] Theology in a Crucified Reality: Fundamental Presuppositions These traumatic personal experiences, in which Jon Sobrino’s theological reflection is profoundly rooted, are thus experiences of suffering in the midst of an active attempt to transform reality by contributing to the removal of what is seen as the root causes of general injustice, violence and suffering in El Salvador. In other words, they are concrete experiences of suffering which issue in a determined praxis. Sobrino has repeatedly reflected on these experiences and their effect on his theological labor. This has added a strong personal and emotive tone to his theological writings, giving them a notable existential and spiritual character. But they have also affected the main thrust and content of his theology. Drawing on these experiences, Sobrino’s reflections on doing theology “in a crucified reality” contain at least seven fundamental presuppositions. 10 Ignacio Ellacuría, born in Portugalete, Vizcaya (Spain) on the 9th of November 1930, came to be the most influential reference person to Jon Sobrino. The two had much in common: They were both Jesuits of Basque origin, nationalized Salvadorans and fully dedicated to contributing to the liberation of the poor in their capacity as theologians, scholars and priests. Ellacuría was the older, and Sobrino learned to value him highly, both as a colleague and as a friend. See Sobrino 1994a and Sobrino 1994b. Martin Maier calls their collaboration: “ein Modell theologischer Kooperation”, Maier 1992, 24.

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In all of these, it is obvious that Sobrino is a representative of the Latin American theology of liberation. Furthermore, the profound influence from Ellacuría on Sobrino shows through. a) To be Honest about Reality First of all, Sobrino stresses what he simply calls “honradez con lo real” – honesty about what is real.11 Doing theology today requires an act of honesty vis-à-vis the concrete reality in which the theological endeavour takes place. This honesty about the truth of reality not only refers to a mere recording of facts or an overcoming of ignorance, but is moreover “a positive act of the spirit to get to know the truth of things against the inherent tendency to oppress it”. Gaining knowledge is a matter of triumphing against lie. Since “suppressing the truth with injustice” – in Paul’s words – is a primary expression of the sinfulness of humanity, it is necessary for the theologian to take seriously this tendency to manipulate truth, and be willing to change. At the root of any Christian endeavour, including theology, lies the need for conversion. And conversion means a change not just of mind, but also of eyes and heart.12 The new eyes are needed to be able to see the truth of reality.13 In order to have an opinion about what the truth of reality is, one must have at least a preliminary understanding of what is meant by “reality”. Even though this philosophical topos of great 11 Sobrino 1992c, cf also Sobrino 1987a, 23-33; Sobrino 1992b, 64; et passim. 12 Cf. the Ignatian tradition of “application of the senses”, to which I shall return below, see Chapter i, [3]. 13 Sobrino 1992b, 16-19. By this, Sobrino introduces particular conditions into the very act of cognisance. And he frames these conditions in Christian theological concepts; conversion, sin, etc. This immediately raises some difficult issues regarding the status of theological knowledge vis-à-vis other branches of human knowledge. I shall return to this below.

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importance is such a fundamental concept in Sobrino’s theology, he has not yet undertaken a profound analysis of it in his writings. But at least two things can be said of his understanding of “reality”. First, he shares liberation theology’s general critique of what it sees as the prevalent idealism in the more traditional, Western theological methods. In accordance with Gustavo Gutiérrez, who deems it necessary to “salvage our understanding of the faith from all forms of idealism”14, because they are nothing but “forms of evading a cruel reality”15, Sobrino criticises modern European theology for attempting to solve real problems on an ideal level. In an important article on theological method, he claims that modern European theology sees its main task and liberative potential mainly as giving new meaning to faith, or regaining its lost meaning.16 Thus it becomes “ideological”, not only because it hinders liberative solutions to the problems of reality, but because it covers up the real problems, by presupposing that they can be solved through explanation and the giving of meaning. It covers up the “real misery of reality” with a “partial liberation through theological discourse”, as if Christian liberation in principle could co-exist with a reality which is not liberated.17 Second, this critique of idealism leads Sobrino to opt for an “open” or “transcendental realism” to which he ultimately gives a christological foundation: If Christ is like this, then reality too can be understood as the presence of transcendence in history, each with the proper identity and autonomy, with14 “It is in deeds, not simply in affirmations, that we salvage our understanding of the faith from all forms of idealism.” Gutiérrez 1980, 22. 15 Gutiérrez 1984, 69: “Se evitará así caer, sea en posiciones idealistas o espiritualistas que no son sino formas de evadir una realidad cruda y exigente; sea en análisis carentes de profundidad y, por lo tanto, en comportamientos de eficacia a corto plazo, so pretexto de atender a las urgencias del presente.” 16 Sobrino 1975a. This article was later published in Sobrino 1986, 15-47.

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out mixture or separation, by which I mean without the reductionisms that impoverish both. 18

This sacramental view of reality clearly goes back to Karl Rahner’s creative reformulation of the thomistic legacy (transcendental Thomism) in Catholic theology.19 But it also draws on Ellacuría’s reception and application of the “open realism” of his philosophical teacher, the Spanish philosopher Xabier Zubiri.20

17 “Sin minimizar lo auténtico del interés liberador de la teología europea hay que preguntarse sin embargo 1) si el carácter liberador del conocimiento teológico así entendido hace justicia a la liberación cristiana, es decir, si lo más profundo de la liberación consiste en liberar a la fe a través de un significado, que pudiera coexistir en principio con una realidad no liberada; y 2) si el carácter liberador del conocimiento teológico descrito no sólo no alcanza su plenitud liberadora, sino que la impide al presuponer que el conocimiento libera en cuanto explica y da significado a la realidad. En este sentido el conocimiento teológico no sólo no sería totalmente liberador, sino que se tornaría ideológico, pues trataría de encubrir la miseria real de la realidad con una parcial liberación del ejercicio del discurso teológico, desplazando la solución de un problema real (la liberación de la miseria de la realidad) al plano ideal (la recuperación del sentido de la fe.” Sobrino 1986, 23. – John Macquarrie sees this as “something close to anti-intelluctualism” in Sobrino’s work. “No doubt the aim of Christianity is ultimately to transform history, but theology is not the whole of Christianity, but is that specifically intellectual work which aims at explanation and understanding. […] Sobrino himself cannot escape the explicative work.” Macquarrie 1990, 318. In my opinion, Macquarrie’s criticism misses Sobrino’s point. Sobrino has never argued or procured to ‘escape the explicative work’. What he aims at, is to ensure that the explicative work is consciously rooted in a concrete praxis, in a specific context. 18 Sobrino 1993f, 7. Sobrino 1991d, 27: “Si Cristo es así, también la realidad puede comprenderse como la presencia de la transcendencia en la historia en la historia, con la identidad y autonomía que les son propias a ambas, y sin mezcla ni separación, es decir, sin reduccionismos empobrecedores de lo uno a lo otro, a lo que es tan proclive el ser humano.”

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Once reality is defined as “transcendence in history” and ultimately christologically founded, it makes possible the qualification of reality as “crucified”. Reality is “crucified” because the truth about the world is that it is a world of sin and premature death, according to Sobrino. This is its principal fact (“hecho mayor”), both quantitatively and qualitatively. It is a world of sin, because sin is that which brings death to the children of God. But this truth is usually “suppressed with injustice” (Rom. 1:18); it is not recognised to be the truth. It is consciously and unconsciously being covered up by all those who do not belong to the world of the poor, and who are at least partly responsible for the fact that the world is crucified the way it is. But discovering this truth about the world helps us to see 19 One important clue to the understanding of Rahner’s influence on Sobrino might be found in the following passage: “Con su genialidad acostumbrada, K. Rahner decía que el ser humano es ‘un modo deficiente de ser Cristo’. El que el modo sea ‘deficiente’ es cosa de esperar, pero el que existan en verdad seres humanos que son ‘modos de ser Cristo’ es cosa de agradecer, en la vida personal ante todo, pero también en la tarea teórica de intentar escribir una cristología.” Sobrino 1991d, 30. See also Sobrino 1984b. One critique against Rahner has been that his proposal of immanent transcendentality – by which Ellacuría and Sobrino are clearly influenced – comes close to “naturalising the supernatural”. John Milbank has made this observation a central piece in his sharp critique of liberation theology in Milbank 1993, 206-255; 207. Compare Hendrikus Berkhof ’s judgement, Berkhof 1989, 246: “In the end the reader is left with the impression that in Rahner the supernatural (in contrast with traditional church doctrine) is to such a high degree a self-evident and universal ‘existential’ that in ordinary usage it can really only be described as ‘nature’.” I think there is reason to hold that the strong continuity between Jesus and his followers, the Crucified and the crucified, etc. in Sobrino’s theology to some extent is made possible by this Rahnerian approach. 20 The influence from Zubiri’s thought on Sobrino is mostly indirect, mediated by Ellacuría. For presentations and analyses of Zubiri’s thinking, see e.g. Ellacuría 1983a; Gracía 1995; González 1993b.

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it with God’s eyes, see “how God looks upon this creation which is put on a cross”.21 Accepting Sobrino’s call for honesty about reality, it must be permitted to ask: Is it adequate to describe reality as “crucified”? That there is suffering – immense and unjustly inflicted suffering – is a fact that needs to be recalled and restated time and time again. But is it the truth about reality – about the whole of reality? It is a fact, but is it the principal fact of the world, as Sobrino claims? Is the experience of suffering more real than other experiences? There might be a danger here of universalising one particular aspect of reality – an error of which liberation theologians accuse traditional Western theology. Sobrino’s contention may be affirmed however, to the degree that its implication is that it is only through an active and persistent willingness to focus on the negative aspect of reality that it is possible to approach its totality. In other words, reality in its totality is not just suffering and conflict, not just crucifixion. It is also life and joy, also resurrection, also the presence of God’s love in history. But it is only possible to gain a true knowledge of the latter through an honest confrontation with the former. b) The Importance of the Theological Location This is the way it must be understood, then, when Sobrino confesses that for him, this “true reality” did not exist before 1974, when he returned to El Salvador from Europe.22 It was in El Salvador that he discovered what he holds to be the true reality: the 21 Sobrino 1992b, 18. “En El Salvador hemos redescubierto cómo mira Dios a esta creación suya puesta en cruz.” 22 Sobrino 1992b, 12.“Pues bien, he de comenzar confesando que hasta 1974, en que regresé definitivamente a El Salvador, el mundo de los pobres, es decir, el mundo real, no existía para mí.”

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world of the poor, the marginalised, the victims. Here we may determine the second fundamental presupposition that distinguishes Sobrino’s reflections on theological labour, namely the importance of the setting or location of theology – the lugar teológico. There is an intimate connection between the content and results of a theological reflection and the location in which it takes place. The context has a decisive influence on the content. This hermeneutical and epistemological insight, firmly rooted in the sociology of knowledge and contemporary hermeneutics, is made theologically relevant with increasing emphasis in Sobrino’s work.23 It is not that the location from which one reads the sources of revelation actually creates the content of the revelation, but reading the sources from a determined location can make one discover or re-discover important realities in these sources, that have been as if they were “buried”. Thus, “location” and “sources” of revelation cannot be distinguished with precision.24 Once more, this is a point that Sobrino has adopted from Ellacuría and further developed by applying it to christology in particular.25 I shall therefore briefly review Ellacuría’s basic contentions on this matter. (1) In order to avoid what he sees as a false universality on the part of traditional theology, Ellacuría gives priority to the context, i.e. to the concrete social, historical and even geographical situatedness of the theological reflection; its lugar.26 He underscores that any human reflection is conditioned by – although not totally determined by – this situatedness. In a central article from 1975, in which he investigates the possibilities for a proper Latin American theology27, Ellacuría notes that “history of theology shows that the his23 Drawing on Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s contributions in this matter, I have discussed the relevance and necessity of a contextual theology in Stålsett 1995b. 24 Sobrino 1991d, 53; 51-57. 25 Cf. Sobrino 1976, 8.

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torical situation makes possible and at the same time puts limits to the realisation of a dynamic theology.”28 A consciousness of how the concrete situation promotes or hinders the theological reflection is therefore crucial. “(T)he location of reception, interpretation and appeal is fundamental to Christian praxis and theory.”29 But because there are both “privileged” and “dangerous” locations for theological reflection30, a mere consciousness about the actual context is not enough. It is furthermore necessary to actively “place oneself in the adequate historical location”.31 A privileged location for theological reflection is what Ellacuría calls “el lugar teológico”.32 By that he means, firstly, a location of a special self-revelation of the God of Jesus. This manifestation is both a revealing illumination and a call to conversion. Secondly, lugar teológico means the most adequate place for living out faith through the following of Jesus. And finally, el lugar teológico is the most appropriate location for reflection on faith, for the realisation of a Christian theology. These three aspects are intimately related, according to Ellacuría: “(T)he optimal location for revelation and faith is also the 26 Lat.: Ubicatio. The contextual approach of liberation theology has been present since the beginning, and is one of its main characteristics. Cf. e.g.: Gustavo Gutiérrez 1980, 23: “Theological reflection framed in the perspective of liberation starts off from the perception that this particular context forces us to rethink completely our way of being Christians and our way of being a Church.” See also Bevans 1992, particularly pp. 63-80. 27 Ellacuría 1975b. 28 Ellacuría 1975b, 327 (Thesis 2.8). 29 Ellacuría 1984a, 169: “Hay que reconocer que es fundamental para la praxis y la teoría cristiana el lugar de recepción, de interpretación y de interpelación […]” 30 Ellacuría 1984a, 166. 31 Ellacuría 1991c, 393: “[…] es menester situarse en el lugar histórico adecuado.” 32 Ellacuría 1984a, 153-178; especially : 165-169.

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optimal location for salvific-liberative praxis, and for theological praxis.”33 It is this “Christian and epistemological location”, as opposed to its theme or object, which makes liberation theology special.34 Its location, its point of departure is Latin America, which Ellacuría sees as precisely one of these adequate historical places for theological reflection because of the omnipresence of the poor on this continent, many of whom have engaged themselves in a praxis for liberation.35 Thus the lugar teológico in Latin America is first and foremost “the poor”. Here one might wish to question or even disapprove of this identification of the poor as location. Does this not imply an objectification, and illegitimate reduction of “the poor”? Not necessarily. In Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s writings, “the poor” is certainly a dynamic concept, as we shall see in the next sub-chapter. Nevertheless, such an objection raises some fundamental difficulties in liberation theologians’ talk of “the poor”. Given the complexities and diversities of the reality to which it refers, is it a fruitful concept at all? The question is all the more important in our study, since it is related to the validity of the concept of “crucified people”. At this stage, however, my primary aim is to sort out the significance of the “location” as such. Methodologically, it is convenient to distinguish between “location” and “source”, according to Ellacuría.36 Source is that which – in one form or another – maintains the contents of faith, i.e. the Word of God and the tradition of the Church. It is reasonable to take this to mean that for Ellacuría, there is a content in the source, which in principle is independent of the context. However, this dis33 Ellacuría 1984a, 67: “[…] el lugar óptimo de la revelación y de la fe es también el lugar óptimo de la praxis salvífica liberadora y de la praxis teológica.” 34 Ellacuría 1991b 325. 35 Ellacuría 1991c, 394.

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tinction is not exclusive, because “in some way, the location is source” when it makes the source give certain content, in such a way that “thanks to the location and its virtues, the source actualises and makes present certain content”. What one can get from the source, depends to a certain extent on the location from which one approaches it. In the concrete activity of interpretation then, the ‘pure’ content of the source is not totally separable from the location. Again, the emphasis on the situated-ness of all reflection, and all human activity including theology, comes clear. “(T)he theologian and his undertaking are enormously dependent on the horizon in which they move and the praxis towards which they are oriented.”37 But this also means that Ellacuría holds that the source in itself requires from its interpreters that they place themselves in the adequate location. The different parts of revelation are directed to certain historical situations. They are not equally directed to all alike; to “any time, any place”. Ellacuría calls this “a requirement of the theological method as understood by the Latin American theology”, which he formulates in the following manner in the introduction to his key article “El pueblo crucificado”38: 36 Ellacuría 1984a, 168: “Pero para evitar eqívocos es conveniente distinguir, al menos metodológicamente, ‘lugar’ y ‘fuente’, tomando como ‘fuente’ o depósito aquello que de una u otra forma mantiene los contenidos de la fe. La distinción no es estricta ni, menos aún, excluyente, porque de algún modo el lugar es fuente en cuanto que aquél hace que ésta dé de sí esto o lo otro, de modo que, gracias al lugar y en virtud de él, se actalizan y se hacen realmente presentes unos determinados contenidos.” 37 Ellacuría 1984a, 167: “[…] el teólogo y su hacer dependen enormemente del horizonte en que se mueven y de la praxis a la que se orientan.” 38 Its complete title is “El pueblo crucificado. Ensayo de soteriología histórica”, and it was published for the first time in 1978: Ellacuría 1978a. This article was republished after Ellacuría’s death, both in Ellacuría 1989a and in Ellacuría 1991a.

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Every historical situation should be seen from its corresponding key in revelation, but revelation should be focused from the historical situation to which it is directed, even if no historical moment is equally valid for the correctness of the focus.39

The concrete historical situation actualises and enriches the fullness of revelation, according to Ellacuría. In order that the revelation may give of its fullness and authenticity, it is necessary for its interpreter to be situated in the right location.40 Hence, the importance of “el lugar teológico – epistemológico”. (2) This position seems to be shared completely by Sobrino. He applies it particularly to Christology. The ideal location for Christology is, according to Sobrino, the place from which one is best able to understand the sources of the past about Christ, and to grasp the reality of Christ’s presence in history and the actual, realised faith in him.41 It is noteworthy, however, that although there is in Sobrino – as well as in Ellacuría – a clear emphasis on the concrete location in its geographical, social and institutional meaning, it is not limited to nor totally determined by that. The lugar is not first and foremost a categorical ubi in its geographical or spatial meaning, for instance a university, seminary, or an ecclesial base 39 “Se trata, ante todo, de una exigencia del método teológico tal como lo entiende la teología latinoamericana: cualquier situación histórica debe verse desde su correspondiente clave en la revelación, pero la revelación debe enfocarse desde la historia a la que se dirige, aunque no cualquier momento histórico es igualmente válido para la rectitud del enfoque.” Ellacuría 1989a, 306. 40 Ellacuría 1989a, 306: “[…] se mantiene que la situación enriquece y actualiza la plenitud de la revelación y […] no cualquier situación es la más apta para que la revelación dé en ella de sí su plenitud y su autenticidad.” 41 Sobrino 1991d, 51: “[…] el lugar ideal de la cristología será aquel donde mejor se puedan comprender las fuentes del pasado y donde mejor se capte la presencia de Cristo y la realidad de la fe en él.”

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community, but rather a quid, “a substantial reality in which Christology can be formulated, affected, questioned and illuminated”.42 What does Sobrino actually mean by this? It seems to me that this quid could be explained as “perspective” or “horizon”. In a more recent publication, Sobrino writes that it is possible “to do theology at a desk, but there is no reason to do it from a desk.”43 In other words, the basic perspective which theologians choose in their work, is decisive. Likewise, Sobrino underscores thereby that this locus theologicus is not texts like the traditional loci theologici44, but something “real”, “a determined, historical reality in which it is believed that God and Christ continue to make themselves present”.45 42 Sobrino 1991d, 59. “Por lugar se entiende aquí ante todo un quid, una realidad sustancial en la que la cristología se deja dar, afectar, cuestionar e iluminar.” 43 Sobrino 1995b; 125, n.19: “[…] a quienes critican a la universidad como lugar de la teología por estar alejado físicamente de la realidad, hay que recordar que se puede hacer teología en un escritorio, pero que no hay por qué hacerla necesariamente desde un escritorio.” 44 In traditional Catholic teaching the following are considered loci theologici: Scripture, tradition, the magisterium, theological sentences. This goes back to M. Cano. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 58, note 14. – In Sobrino 1994d, Sobrino develops this priority of “reality” above “texts”: “[…] ni siquiera los más vigorosos textos – sean del pasado o del presente – tienen, en cuanto textos, suficiente capacidad para movilizar el espíritu humano y creyente de forma adecuada en la búsqueda de una respuesta. Esa fuerza para preguntar y para responder sólo proviene de la misma realidad.” Op. cit. 51, cf. note on p.76: “Los textos pueden llevar la realidad a su plenitud, si se les considera como ‘símbolo real’ en el sentido rahneriano. Pero sin realidad, digamos lo obvio, no hay texto. Y el texto tendrá su fuerza en relación con la realidad, no en independencia de ella. Por ello, la teología nunca puede basarse sólo en otra teología, sino que en algún momento tiene que enfrentarse con y basarse en la realidad.” 45 Sobrino 1991d, 58. Accordingly, lugar teológico has to do with the choice of perspective and priorities for the theological work.

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There is, then, a clear connection in Sobrino’s theology between this emphasis on contextuality and the talk of the crucified in history. He can – in an essayistic literary form, it should be noted – go so far as to say that from El Salvador he discovered that “the world is an immense cross, an unjust cross for the millions who die at the hands of executioners, ‘entire crucified peoples’, as Ignacio Ellacuría called them.”46 This last phrase is likely to be considered a rhetorical exaggeration by an outsider (non-Salvadoran, non-poor, etc.) – however justified by its intention it may seem. Consequently one is forced to ask once again about the relationship between this consciously contextual and particularistic outlook and the insistent reference to the “true” reality. Is there not an inconsistency here, revealed in the tendency to present one perspective as the one and only perspective on reality? There is a difference here between giving primacy to one particular aspect of reality, and imposing this aspect on the totality, thereby silencing other points of views on reality or covering up other aspects of it. Giving primacy to one aspect is admissible – even unavoidable and necessary, taking into account generally held hermeneutical insights. Giving primacy to the negative aspects, the testimonies of suffering, the perspective from below, etc. is also justified, in my opinion – but is something which should be grounded philosophically and theologically. The imposition of one point of view which may be implied in an unmodified talk of the “true” real-

46 Sobrino 1992b, 16-17. “Pues bien, lo primero que descubrimos en El Salvador, si no reprimimos su verdad, es que este mundo es una inmensa cruz y una injusta cruz para millones de inocentes que mueren a manos de verdugos, ‘pueblos enteros crucificados’, como los llamó Ignacio Ellacuría.” Sobrino continues: “Y ése es el hecho mayor de nuestro mundo; lo es cuantitativamente, porque abarca dos terceras partes de la humanidad; y lo es cualitativamente, porque es lo más cruel y clamoroso.”

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ity, is not admissible, however. What Sobrino actually does in this respect, will have to be examined further.47 c) The Poor as Theological Location So what is, then, the privileged location for theology in a crucified reality? In his answer, Sobrino subscribes to the fundamental maxim of Latin American liberation theology; la opción preferencial por los pobres (the preferential option for the poor).48 The poor is the primary lugar teológico in Latin America. But who are “the poor”? Once again, Sobrino presupposes Ellacuría’s treatment of the theme, which I shall therefore consider.49

47 Cf. below, Chapter v [4]; and Chapter viii [4], theses 1 and 13. 48 This phrase was the title of the Final Document of the Third General Conference of the Latin American Bishops “Evangelization in Latin America’s Present and Future”, in Puebla de los Angeles, Mexico, January 23 – February 13, 1979 (see Hennelly 1990, 253-258). It was then received as an important confirmation and consolidation of what had been the central intuition of liberation theology since its origins. Speaking of these origins, Gustavo Gutiérrez tells that this perspective – the opción – had been formed by his own experience with poor people in Lima, Peru, see McAfee Brown 1990, 32-33. Cf. the introduction to Teología de la Liberación: “In this book we intend a reflection that is based in the Gospel and in the experiences of men and women who have comitted themselves to the liberation process in this subcontinent of oppression and despoilment which is Latin America. It is a theological reflection that is born out of this shared experience in the effort to abolish the actual situation of injustice and build a different, more human society, in which there is more freedom.” Gutiérrez 1984, 15. Cf. also i.a., Gutiérrez 1991b, xxv-xxviii; Gutiérrez 1982; Gutiérrez 1991a, Boff and Pixley 1989. 49 Ellacuría treats this question especially in Ellacuría 1983b and in Ellacuría 1984a, 155-163.

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(1) Firstly, according to Ellacuría, the poor are the materially poor: The materiality of poverty is its “real and irreplaceable element”.50 It is not only the mere lack of even indispensable goods, but also “being dialectically deprived of the fruit of one’s own work, and of work in itself, as well as of political and social power”.51 By this, Ellacuría underscores the socio-economic, dialectical and political character of “poor” and “poverty”. For him, “poor is initially and radically a socio-economic concept” describing those who lack material goods. This is the analogatum princeps of poverty.52 It is a dialectical concept, because it describes the dialectical relation between the poor and the rich: “(T)here are rich ‘because’ there are poor and there are poor ‘because’ there are rich.” Being poor is not just lacking, but being deprived of essential things by people who themselves take advantage of this deprivation.53 It is a political concept, because “the poor […] are in themselves a political force.” In their mere existence they are a potential political force, which through awareness-raising, organisation and united struggle will and should become a real political force, according to Ellacuría.54 50 Ellacuría 1984a, 159: “La materialidad de la pobreza es el elemento real insustituible y que consiste no tanto en carecer incluso de lo indispensable, sino en estar desposeído dialécticamente del fruto de su trabajo y del trabajo mismo, así como del poder social y político, por quienes, con ese despojo, se han enriquecido y se han tomado el poder.” 51 Ibid. 52 Ellacuría 1983b, 788. 53 Ibid. Ellacuría notes further that it is not necessary to use Marxist categories to support this understanding. It is “more than sufficient” with Jesus’ condemnations of the rich in the Sermon of the Mount according to Luke; the letter of James’ exposure of the mechanisms of empoverishment through salaries; and the harsh accusations of the Church fathers in this matter, he holds. 54 Ellacuría 1983b, 788-789. To Ellacuría, the poor are not just ‘lugar teológico’, but also ‘lugar político’, cf. Ellacuría 1984a, 174-178.

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This real, material side of poverty cannot in any way be replaced by spirituality. It is a “necessary condition for the evangelical poverty, although not a sufficient condition.”55 That it is “not sufficient”, shows that Ellacuría holds that there is an evangelical poverty which goes beyond the pure materiality of poverty. The “evangelical poor” should not be identified with just any suffering person.56 To him the “most-perfectly-poor”57 are the “spiritually” poor, and especially the “poor with spirit”.58 Ellacuría sees being spiritually poor as the “coronation” of being materially poor. It is impossible, from a Christian point of view, to be spiritually poor and materially rich at the same time.59 True Christian spirituality of poverty implies, firstly, an individual and collective toma de conciencia about the fundamental injustice and lack of solidarity present in the dialectics wealth – poverty, which makes impossible “the historical ideal of the Kingdom of God,” the “love and real confession of the consubstancial filiation of the Son”, and “the brotherly love between fellow human beings.”60 Secondly, it requires that this consciousness is converted into praxis, through organisation and effective action. This implies, thirdly, the “historicised announcement of the great values of the Kingdom of God”. Ellacuría believes that it is possible in some way to realise these val55 “Esta materialidad real de la pobreza no puede ser sustituida con ninguna espiritualidad; es condición necesaria de la pobreza evangélica, aunque no es condición suficiente.” Ellacuría 1984a, 159. 56 “[…] sin confundir interesadamente a los pobres evangélicos con cualquier sufriente o doliente […]” Ellacuría 1984a, 154. 57 “(S)ólo poniendo los ojos en los ‘más-perfectamente-pobres’ es como se puede valorar todo lo que da de sí la pobreza evangélica.” Ellacuría 1984a, 154-155. 58 This unusual translation of the phrase follows Ellacuría’s Spanish wording “pobres con espiritu”. 59 Ellacuría 1984a, 159. 60 Ellacuría 1984a, 160.

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ues, in spite of their utopian and transcendental character, through historical processes. The fourth element is more personal, and builds on the following two observations: To change the human person, it is not sufficient to change unjust structures. Furthermore; it is only persons who themselves are radically changed who can promote and secure adequate structures in society. That is why it is so important to be “poor with spirit”, Ellacuría holds, alluding to the Sermon on the Mount according to Matthew 5. “This is where Christian faith as message and the grace of Jesus as operative gift have an immense field of action.”61 Here we can see how the two dimensions of historicity and transcendence and the particular way they are intertwined, is something which characterises Ellacuría’s theology. He insists that the poor are always historically poor, poor in a concrete, material way. But they may also transcend this poverty, by giving it “spirit” through having consciousness/faith and taking up a praxis of liberation/salvation. Strange as it may sound, this is what he sees as a “perfection” of poverty. Thus, the preferential option for the poor is fundamental to any truly Christian theology, in Ellacuría’s opinion. This option is for him an expression of the partiality which concretises the true universality of the gospel.62 But it is also a partiality which is conflictual and often leads to opposition, even persecution. This follows almost by necessity from the dialectical and political aspects of poverty. 61 Ellacuría 1984a, 162: “[…] no basta con cambiar las estructuras para que mecánica y reflejamente cambien las personas; […] sólo hombres cambiados radicalmente pueden propulsar y mantener cambios estructurales adecuados. Es aquí donde la fe cristiana como mensaje y la gracia de Jesús como don operativo tienen un campo inmenso de acción.” 62 Ellacuría 1983b, 800.

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There are several questions that emerge from a reading of Ellacuría’s explication of “the poor”. Is it at all helpful to operate with a hierarchy of poor, which it seems that Ellacuría does through his mentioning of “perfection” and “coronation” of poverty? And is it within the power and capacity of the poor themselves to become “poor with spirit” – i.e. to give their poverty a spiritual dimension or quality? Or should this rather be seen as the work of God? Through this last question it can be seen that accusations of some sort of Pelagianism quickly come to the fore in connection with Ellacuría’s positions. But then again, perhaps too quickly? (2) Jon Sobrino makes the same fundamental option as Ellacuría. Even though he never explicitly criticises Ellacuría’s definition and use of “the poor”, but rather presupposes it, he nevertheless seems to modify it somewhat in his own explication. However, we shall see that this does not solve all the difficulties I indicated above. For Sobrino, the preferred location for a theological-epistemological process is, firstly, the poor of this world (as substantial reality) and the world of the poor (as socio-theologal location).63 This initial choice is justified (a priori) from the special relationship between Jesus and the poor and his presence among them as it is attested in the New Testament, and (a posteriori) from the experience that “everything illuminates Christ better, when seen from the reality of the poor,” Sobrino contends.64 Within the world of the poor, the church of the poor plays a particular role as theological location.65 Sobrino supports I. Ellacuría’s 63 Sobrino makes a distinction between theological location (‘lugar teológico’), as a location apt for theological reflection, and theologal location (‘lugar teologal’), as a location in which God is present. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 55 and 64. 64 Sobrino 1991d, 59. 65 Sobrino 1986: 93-136.

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definition of the term: “a church in which the poor are the principal subjects, and the principle for its internal structure,”66 and he gives three reasons why this should be considered a lugar epistemológico:67 1) The church of the poor realises itself as a praxis of following Jesus; it has many martyrs, who are killed in a way similar to Jesus and for the same reasons as Jesus. 2) Its faith is celebrated in community in a particular way. Because they are poor, Sobrino believes, they are able to share faith, carry each other in faith, show solidarity, etc. Because they – as poor – are the privileged addressees of the gospel, their faith is able to challenge and correct the christological faith of others. 3) Christ makes himself present in the church of the poor and this church is his body in history, but only “to the extent that it offers Christ the hope and praxis and the suffering, that can make him present as the Risen and the Crucified”.68 Thus, the living faith in Christ in the church of the poor is a legitimate starting point for gaining christological knowledge, according to Jon Sobrino. There is a correlation between the fides quae (that which is believed) and the fides qua (the act of believing), he holds. But this correlation is not a determination in such a way that the fides qua would “create” the fides quae. To avoid any such misunderstanding it is necessary to return to the biblical witnesses about the origin and object of christological faith, Jesus of Nazareth. This distinction between “church of the poor” and “world of the poor” gives Sobrino a framework within which he may tackle the difficult issues raised in relationship with the “hierarchy of 66 Ellacuría 1984a, 207-208. 67 Sobrino 1991d, 62-64. 68 Sobrino 1991d, 64: “En la iglesia de los pobres […] se hace presente Cristo, y esa Iglesia es su cuerpo en la historia. Pero no lo es de cualquier forma, sino en cuanto ofrece a Cristo aquella esperanza y praxis liberadora y aquel sufrimiento que pueden hacerlo presente como resucitado y como crucificado.”

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poor” which he partly inherits from Ellacuría. Nevertheless, Sobrino does not always make this distinction clear. For instance, when it comes to the crucified people(s) – does he refer to the church of the poor, or the world of the poor – or both?69 In a more general sense, Sobrino speaks of two dimensions of “poverty”; beginning from the two types of “poor” which in his view appear in the gospels.70 Firstly, there are the “economically poor”. These are people who suffer some sort of basic need, the hungry, the sick, the naked, prisoners, the mourning… They are economically poor, because “their oikos (home or house, symbolizing that which is fundamental and primary to life) is in grave danger […]” In this manner, they are being denied even minimal conditions for life. Then there are the “sociologically poor”; the ones who are “despised by society”, the ones held to be sinners, the publicans, the prostitutes, the meek, the lowly, etc. In this sense, the poor are the marginalized. They are sociologically poor “because they are being denied their socium (symbolizing the fundamental interhuman relations)”, and thereby even minimal dignity. When these poor are seen as “theological location”, it comes clear that the “opción preferencial por los pobres” (“preferential option for the poor”) – understood in this two-fold sense – is not just seen as a priority commitment in a pastoral or ethical sense. It is also a necessary condition in order to gain Christian, theological knowledge, it is a “prerequisite for real cognition in the theological endeavour.”71 Sobrino gives several names to this preferential standpoint: “from the standpoint of oppression”72, “the poor of this world”73, “the crucified people”74, “the crucified peoples”75, or just 69 70 71 72 73

See below, Chapter ii,[3]; Chapter iv, [10] and Chapter viii, [2]. Sobrino 1991d, 144-145. Cf. i.a.: Sobrino 1982a, 105 and 164-166. Sobrino 1982b, 62 / Sobrino 1982a, 78. Sobrino 1982a, 185. Sobrino 1991d, 59.

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“the crucified”76 . This represents, in his view, the dialectical Sitz im Leben, a Sitz im Leben ‘und’ im Tode, of a Latin American Christology.77 When Sobrino raises these fundamental epistemological issues, one must ask what range they are intended to have. Is it necessary – according to Sobrino – to place oneself in these locations in order to gain knowledge at all? Or is it rather that without the knowledge that can be gained from these standpoints the content of the process of cognition is merely partial, insufficient, imprecise, – or even illusory? The exact scope of these epistemological contentions is significant for the discussion of their implications for (fundamental) theology. d) Liberation of the Poor as Theological Objective Opting for the poor as theological locus in a crucified world should not just be seen as a tool to gain theological insight, according to Sobrino. The fundamental objective is “to take the crucified down from their cross”. Working for the liberation of the poor is therefore not just an epistemological precondition or suitable context for theology; it is a theological objective in its own right. This distinctive mark of liberation theology is consciously and creatively taken up by Sobrino. To better grasp the richness and distinctiveness of the term “liberation” in Sobrino’s writings, it will prove helpful to recall some of its background. I will do so by looking briefly at Gutiérrez’ and Ellacuría’s use of this term.

74 75 76 77

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Sobrino 1991d, 423-451, cf. Sobrino 1982a, 188. Sobrino 1992b, 83-95. Sobrino 1982a, 178. Sobrino 1991d, 60.

(1) This new formulation of the theological objective goes back to the mid-sixties, which in Latin America was a time of transition from “development” to “liberation”, something which changed the perception of the situation and role of the poor.78 The dependencyapproach in economics and sociology made an increasing impact on other areas of academic and political thought.79 It gradually made its influence felt also on theological reflection. One of those who felt that the development-approach was becoming inappropriate when faced with the immense poverty of Latin America, was Gustavo Gutiérrez of Peru.80 In an ecumenical gathering in Cartigny, Switzerland 1969, though invited to speak on the theme “Theology of Development”, Gutiérrez chose rather to address the seminar under the title “Notes on theology of liberation”81, a theme he had elaborated on for the first time one year earlier, in July 1968.82 In this contribution, he outlined what was to be further developed in his opus magnum: Teología de la Liberación.83 Gutiérrez sets out to show the insufficiency of the general understanding of “development”, not only to economics and to the social sciences, but also to theology.84 Observing that the develop78 The Argentinean economist Raúl Prebisch had (in a report later known and published as the CEPAL-manifesto: “The Economic Development of Latin America and its Principal Problems”) as early as in 1948 suggested that the traditional development-theories had to be abandoned. When Prebisch was appointed the head of the UN Economic Comission on Latin America ECLA (Spanish Comisión Económica para América Latina – CEPAL) in 1950, his analysis was further developed and made the main foundation for ECLAs strategies for economic development in Latin America in the 1950’s and 1960’s. Poverty in the peripheries, in Latin America as well as in other Third World countries, was now seen as the negative consequence of the increasing wealth in the centres (USA, Europe). These countries were at a permanent disadvantage in their terms of trade with the “centre”. Underdevelopment is not a static situation of need, according to this view, but rather a dynamic process; it is the form progress and modernisation takes in the peripheries of the world economy.

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mentalist efforts that caused such optimism in the fifties and early 79 Though pointing to the radical differences and negative interrelation between development in the centres and in the peripheries, Prebisch and ECLA never left the modernisation paradigm. On the contrary, their recommendations for an “inward-directed” development in Latin-America had industrialisation, foreign investments and modernisation as central elements. They held the view that development in the periphery is possible within the framework of a capitalism dominated by the centre. This was what leading economists and sociologists in the 1960’s, like A. Gunder Frank, Th. Dos Santos, F. Cardoso and O. Sunkel criticised Prebisch for, when it appeared that also the ECLA strategies for development failed. The Latin American economic dependency (‘dependencia’) became now the main focus of interest. The negative connection between the rich and the poor countries, the structural dependency, needs to be broken, according to the dependency-school. Oliveros describes the nuclueus of the insight promoted by the dependency-school in the following formula: “Nuestra situación de explotación no era casual, sino causal”. Oliveros 1991, 30. Only the peripheries themselves, i.e. the poor groups and countries, can break this dependency. What they need is not primarily development with a little help from the rich countries, but a process of liberation, that will enable them to become independent economies. The poor masses of the Latin American continent are now seen as oppressed, who are in a critical need of liberation. See e.g. Dussel 1981, 127-136. 80 “Después del concilio la teología del desarollo captó brevemente el interés de los sectores modernizantes. A la valoración del progreso humano se unía aquí una mayor preocupación social por los pueblos pobres. Su perspectiva optimista y dinámica no ocultará sin embargo la cortedad de sus enfoques sobre las causas de la miseria y la injusticia, ni la parquedad de la experiencia cristiana de donde provenía.” Gutiérrez 1982, 255. 81 McAfee Brown 1990, 35. 82 This speech, which was delivered in the month before the Medellín Conference at a meeting of priests and laity that has been described by Pablo Richard as “the explicit break, the qualitative leap, from a worldvision tied to a ‘developmentalist’ kind of practice to one tied to the practice of ‘liberation’”, has, curiously enough, not been published in English until quite recently, Gutiérrez 1990b. 83 See Gutiérrez 1984, 18, n.1.

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sixties had not succeeded, but rather led to confusion, frustration and increased poverty, he locates the main reason for their failure to the lack of willingness to attack what he holds to be the root causes of underdevelopment: “One was careful to avoid attacking the great international economic interests and the interests of their natural allies: the national dominant groups.”85 Development has become equivalent to reform-policy and modernisation, while there is in Latin America an increasing recognition of the fact that other means are necessary, Gutiérrez continues, obviously indebted to the dependency-school. The poor countries are constantly gaining a clearer consciousness of the fact that their underdevelopment is nothing else but the by-product of the development of other countries which is a result of the kind of relation that they presently maintain with these. And therefore, that their own development will not be possible without a struggle to break the domination that the rich countries are exercising over them.86

In this perspective, Gutiérrez considers it to be more to the point – and “more humane” to speak of a process of liberation, even though this necessarily leads to a more conflictual framework of interpretation. Any liberation includes an unavoidable moment of rupture, something that is not present in the idea of development. If one 84 “La óptica desarrollista se mostró ineficaz e insuficiente para interpretar la evolución económica, social y política del continente latinoamericano.” Gutiérrez 1984, 116. 85 “Se evitaba cuidadosamente, por consiguiente, atacar a los grandes intereses económicos internacionales y los de sus aliados naturales: los grupos nacionales dominantes.” Gutiérrez 1984, 51. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 424. 86 “Los países pobres toman conciencia cada vez más clara de que su subdesarollo no es sino el subproducto del desarrollo de otros países debido al tipo de relación que mantienen acutalmente con ellos. Y, por lo tanto, que su propio desarollo no se hará sino luchando por romper la dominación que sobre ellos ejercen los países ricos.” Gutiérrez 1984, ibid. My translation.

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chooses to neglect this element of rupture or break, the discourse on development and social upliftment of the poor easily becomes a deceit.87 Liberation on the poor peripheries of the world system must be different from liberation processes at its centres. Latin Americans must define and be responsible for their own liberation. However, what is at stake in any liberation process, whether on the peripheries or in the centres, is “the possibility of an authentic human existence; a life in freedom, a freedom which is both process and historical conquest.”88 Thus Gutiérrez widens the perspective. The liberation he is speaking of is not merely poor people or countries breaking their dependence on the rich. It is further a comprehensive historical process in which human beings become agents of their own destiny, by taking part in the formation of their own future.89 The originality of Gutiérrez’ contribution, which has made his book one of the classics in contemporary theology, consists in making this analysis of the urgent need for liberation which he shares with social scientists of his time the basis for a renewed theological reflection: What relationship is there between the historical process of liberation and the Christian understanding of salvation?90 Gutiérrez thinks that there is an intimate relation. Liberation is not only a political imperative, it is “the will of God”, for the poor first and foremost, but through them for the whole of humanity. This can be seen in his understanding of “liberation”, which has three levels of meaning, according to Gutiérrez.91 First, a historical87 Gutiérrez 1984, 52. 88 Gutiérrez 1984, 54. 89 Gutiérrez himself traces the development of such a view on history as a process of human liberation from Descartes, via Hegel, Marx, Freud, Marcuse to Fanon. Gutiérrez 1984, 52-62. 90 Gutiérrez 1984, 73. 91 Gutiérrez 1984, 68-9.

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political level: It expresses the “aspirations of social classes and oppressed peoples”, and “underlines the conflictual aspect of the economical, social and political processes”. Secondly, on a deeper level which we may call historical-existential, liberation means the historical process in which human beings become agents of their own destiny. Thirdly, at a historical-theological level, liberation is that which Christ brings: Christ, the saviour, liberates the human person from sin, which is the ultimate cause of any rupture of friendship, any injustice and oppression, bestowing authentic freedom, that is, to live in communion with Christ, the foundation of any human fellowship.92

Gutiérrez argues, then, that liberation is a socio-political necessity for the poor and the poor nations, that it furthermore is the goal of all human activity and of history as such, and finally that it is the ultimate gift and will of God for humanity. These three levels of meaning are intimately interrelated in the Christian concept of “liberation” as Gutiérrez sees it. They form “one single and complex process which finds its profound meaning and its complete fulfilment in the salvific work of Christ.”93 Consequently, Gutiérrez insists that there is only one history94. Christ is Lord of history, and his work embraces all dimensions of existence. “The history of salvation is the very core of human history.”95

92 Gutiérrez 1984, 69: “Cristo salvador libera el hombre del pecado, raíz última de toda ruptura de amistad, de toda injusticia y opresión, y lo hace auténticamente libre, es decir, vivir en comunión con él, fundamento de toda fraternidad humana.” 93 Gutiérrez 1984, 69: “[…] estamos ante tres niveles de significación de un proceso único y complejo que encuentra su sentido profundo y su plena realización en la obra salvadora de Cristo.” 94 Gutiérrez 1984, 199-226.

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Reading this seminal work of Gutiérrez twenty-five years after its publication, one cannot help but note how several of the basic socio-economic analyses and premises that it draws from today seem outdated, or at least open to profound questioning.96 Gutiérrez himself notes this in the introduction to the twentieth anniversary edition.97 However, he maintains, the basic theological insight – that Christian salvation must spell some sort of historical liberation for the poor – still holds true. I shall return to this issue, and discuss whether Gutiérrez and his colleagues should be affirmed in this statement. (2) To opt for the poor is to opt for their liberation.98 Since for Ellacuría, liberation is a concept which expresses the very essence of the 95 Gutiérrez 1984, 199: “Lo que hemos recordado en el párrafo precedente nos lleva a afirmar que, en concreto, no hay dos historias, una profana y otra sagrada ‘yuxtapuestas’ o ‘estrechamente ligadas’, sino un solo devenir humano asumido irreversiblemente por Cristo, Señor de la historia. Su obra redentora abarca todas las dimensiones de la existencia y la conduce a su pleno cumplimiento. La historia de la salvación es la entraña misma de la historia humana.” 96 See the important analyses in Comblin, González Faus, and Sobrino 1993. Cf. below, Chapter viii [1]. 97 Gutiérrez 1991b, xxiv: “It is clear, for example, that the theory of dependence, which was so extensively used in the early years of our encounter with the Latin American world, is now an inadequate tool, because it does not take sufficient account of the internal dynamics of each country or of the vast dimensions of the world of the poor. In addition, Latin American social scientists are increasingly alert to factors of which they were not conscious earlier and which show that the world economy has evolved.” – For an updated discussion on fundamental problems in development theory, see e.g. Hettne 1990. 98 Ellacuría treats this term, among other texts, in Ellacuría 1993b, which according to a footnote is “[…] texto inédito de 1987.” As far as I can see, however, it is identical with Ellacuría 1989b.

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gospel, he asks, rather rhetorically, how it can be that this central concept has been practically forgotten by traditional theology.99 It is thanks to liberation theology that its profound biblical and Christian roots and implications now are coming to the fore, he claims. Liberation is for Ellacuría, in the first place, “an appeal to the believer from historical reality.”100 It is not something which is discovered in the Christian sources and then applied to historical reality. It comes from “outside”, from the urgent need for historical transformation. This emphasis corresponds with what I earlier called “the founding experience” of liberation theology. Second, liberation is for Ellacuría “an historical task, and within history, a socio-economical task.”101 Poverty is primarily socio-economical. Thus, liberation of the poor is a socio-economical task. As such, it is complex and ambiguous, Ellacuría admits. The question of how to realise an historical liberation for the popular masses is 99 Ellacuría 1993b, 213: “Liberación es un concepto que representa la esencia misma del mensaje revelado, del don salvífico de Dios a los hombres. […] No obstante esta importancia de la liberación, la atención magisterial y teológica que se le ha dado oficialmente por parte de la Iglesia ha sido hasta hace muy poco bastante reducida, prácticamente nula.” Ellacuría notes that liberty certainly has been discovered by traditional theology, but not its necessary relation to liberation. He discusses this relation on pp. 220-24, op. cit., where he holds that “no puede hablarse de libertad personal plena más que como resultado de un largo proceso de liberación” (p.221). “La liberación de las estructuras injustas y la creación de nuevas estructuras, fomentadoras de la dignidad y de la libertad, se constituyen por tanto en camino esencial de la libertad, de la libertad para los individuos dentro de su contexto nacional, y libertad para los pueblos dentro de su contexto internacional.” It is not liberty that will lead to liberation (justice), the solution proposed by liberalism, but liberation that will lead to liberty. 100 Ellacuría 1993b, 215: “[…] una interpelación de la realidad histórica a hombres de fe.” 101 Ellacuría 1993b, 215: “[…] una tarea histórica y, dentro de la historia, una tarea socio-económica.”

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one that has not found an answer once and for all. This certainly does not take away the responsibility to urgently search for such answer(s).102 Third, and most fundamental to theology, it is liberation from “sin, death and the law”. This Pauline expression must be taken not only in its individual meaning, in Ellacuría’s view. He interprets and actualises it as follows: 103 An understanding of what “liberation from sin” means must take into account the totality and profundity of the essence of sin. Sin is not primarily an offence against God, but a real deviation from and fundamental disobedience to God’s plan and purpose for humanity, nature and history. It is negation of faith and love. It has three analogical – not identical – expressions: original (natural) sin, personal sin and historical (social) sin. Liberation from sin – in these three different expressions – happens progressively and historically, on both the social and personal levels. It is in and through history that God, “in conjunction with the human person”104 intervenes to liberate from sin. This is what Ellacuría calls “salvation in history”, a theme to which he returns time and time again in his writings.105 Since death is the effect of sin and the law is its cause, Ellacuría argues, an integral liberation must include liberation from these two 102 Ellacuría dedicated much of his life and work, both as a Christian, philosopher, theologian and rector of the University, to the task of finding practical and adequate answers “[…] which unite short-term and long-term efficacy with respect for the Christian idiosyncrasy” (Ellacuría 1987b, 263) to this question. It is an ever-returning topic in his publications. Cf. e.g. Ellacuría 1987b, Ellacuría 1991c, Ellacuría 1993c, etc. 103 Ellacuría 1993b, 216-220. 104 Ellacuría 1993b, 217: “La liberación del pecado […] es también un proceso en que intervienen conjuntamente Dios y el hombre […]” 105 See e.g. Ellacuría 1976; Ellacuría 1993a; Ellacuría 1987a, especially 6-8; Ellacuría 1991b and Ellacuría 1989c.

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(death and law) as well as from sin itself. We note again Ellacuria’s fundamental structure, the dual unity between the historical and the transcendental: There is a definitive (transcendent) death, but this is often anticipated in history. Because of the omnipresence of sin, human history is full of premature death. Human beings are deprived of their life, and thus of their possibility of being God’s glory: gloria Dei, vivens homo.106 The total and definitive liberation from death is eternal life – in which there is no oppression, hunger, illness, division – yet this liberation should accordingly also be anticipated in history.107 Ellacuría finds room for the treatment of the category “law” within the same schema. The law leads to sin, and it is therefore something from which there is a need for liberation. This applies not just to the Mosaic law as a way to salvation, but to every human law. This is not “to preach anarchy”, Ellacuría assures, but he sees the problem as lying in the fact that in history, “the law is so often the institutional justification of a habitual practice of oppression and repression”.108 106 Adv. Haereses IV 20, 7. Archbishop Oscar A. Romero actualised these words of Irenaeus for the Salvadoran situation thus: gloria Dei, vivens pauper, “God’s glory is the living poor”. “La dimensón política de la fe” in Cardenal, Martín-Baró, and Sobrino 1996, 193. Cf. Sobrino 1989e, 179. 107 Ellacuría 1993b, 218: “(L)a muerte definitiva, como consecuencia del pecado natural (original), se adelanta de muchas formas en la historia. La sobreabundancia del pecado en la historia lleva consigo la sobreabundancia de la muerte en la historia, donde se hace presente la lucha entre la vida y la muerte, entendidas ambas en toda su plenitud y extensión […] La liberación de la muerte sólo se dará de forma total y definitiva por el paso a través de la muerte en el disfrute precisamente de una vida eterna […], vida en la que no habrá opresión, llanto, enfermedad, división, sino plenitud en la comunicación de Dios que es vida y es amor. Pero esa liberación definitiva debe ser anticipada.” 108 Ellacuría 1993b, 218-219.

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The two dimensions of sin, death and law, as well as of liberation-salvation, must be held together “in mutual openness”, Ellacuría insists: Not to see in sin, death and the law more than their theolog(ic)al dimension is, best case, to present an abstract vision, and worst case, to present an ideologized, manipulating and deforming vision of them. But, at the same time, a purely secular reading of sin, death and law deprives these fundamental realities of their own reality and their own transcendentality.109

Liberation is, for Ellacuría, a process of conversion on the personal level, and a process of transformation or revolution on the historical level. The elements of commitment and conflict that such processes require are thus clearly spelled out. The Christian understanding of liberation is, “unlike the bourgeois concept of liberty”, always related to the poor.110 It thereby becomes “more integral, more realistic and more universal” than the latter, Ellacuría holds.111 The final objective of liberation is justice; justice for the poor and justice for all. Justice is, in Ellacuría’s definition, that every human being may be, may have and may receive all that is inherent to him or her as human being.112 This is what the theological state109 Ellacuría 1993b, 220, my translation. The entire paragraph reads as follows in the original Spanish: “El pecado, la muerte y la ley están estrechamente vinculados entre sí. En esas tres dimensiones fundamentales se hacen igualmente presentes las cosas de Dios y las cosas del hombre, las cosas del individuo y las de la colectividad. No ver en el pecado, la ley y la muerte más que su dimensión teologal es en el mejor de los casos propiciar una visión abstracta de los mismos y en el peor de los casos una visión ideologizada, intersada y deformante. Pero, al mismo tiempo, una lectura puramente secular del pecado, de la muerte y de la ley, priva a esas realidades de su propia realidad y de su propia transcendencia.” It is necessary to affirm positively “[…] la apertura mutua de cada uno de los dos ámbitos,” Ellacuría concludes. – For a different treatment of this issue, still within the framework of liberation theology but with a Protestant point of departure, see Tamez 1991.

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ment of being liberated from sin in order to receive the liberty of the children of God means in history. It is therefore what the poor should strive for in their historical processes of liberation-salvation, in Ignacio Ellacuría’s opinion.113 At least two critical comments are necessary. Firstly, it has become increasingly clear that the socio-economic primacy that Ellacuría gives to the term liberation is insufficient in view of the actual character of the situation of oppression in Latin America – and elsewhere. The profound and particular ethnic, racial and sexist roots of oppression call for a more diverse and specified explication of what liberation means and how it can be gained. Secondly, we note at this stage even more clearly how the issue of a cooperatio between human being and God in the process of salvation becomes a crucial issue to discuss with regard to liberation theology. Does God save only those who “help themselves”? What is the relationship between gift and task, grace and works here? Is this 110 However, the theme and concept of “liberty” has in its own right gained more importance in Latin America during the last decade, given the dramatic shift to neoliberal economic policies in the region. This challenge has been taken up particularly by the theologians and social scientist related to the Departamento Ecuménico de Investigaciones (DEI) in San José, Costa Rica. See, e.g. Mo Sung 1993; Mo Sung 1991; Hinkelammert 1996b; Hinkelammert 1996a and Assmann 1994a. 111 Ellacuría 1993b, 224. 112 Op. cit., 225: “El objetivo primario de la liberación es, en cambio, la justicia, la justicia de todos para todos, entiendo por justicia que cada uno sea, tenga y se le dé, no lo que se supone que ya es suyo porque lo posee, sino lo que le es debido por su condición de persona humana y por su condición de socio de una determinada comunidad y, en definitiva, miembro de la misma especie, a la que en su totalidad psico-orgánica corresponde regir las relaciones correctas dentro de ella misma y en relación con el mundo natural circundante. Puede decirse que no hay justicia sin libertad, pero la recíproca es más cierta aún: no hay libertad para todos sin justicia para todos.” 113 Ibid.

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soteriology in the end only good news for the strong and committed among the poor? Major themes are involved here. What is the relationship between salvation and human liberation? What is the relationship between salvation and history? What is the relationship between salvation and praxis? As can be seen, these fundamental issues are profoundly intertwined in liberation theology. (3) Against this background, let us now return to Sobrino and see how he views the liberation of the poor as a theological objective.114 In outlining the main differences between the way theological knowledge is understood in Latin-American and modern European theology115, Sobrino takes as his point of departure two basic questions: 1) Presuming that theological knowledge is a Christian theological knowledge, how does the Christian reality influence the process of gaining knowledge itself? 2) What is the ultimate interest behind gaining theological knowledge? Regarding the first question, Sobrino selects three main characteristics that, in his view, need to be present in the process of gaining theological knowledge in order to make that knowledge specifically Christian: i) The liberative aspect of the history of Jesus leads to the question whether the theological epistemological process has a liberating function, and if so, what kind of liberation this is. ii) The dialectical relationship between present and future in Jesus’ preaching of the Kingdom of God leads to the question of the relationship between theory and praxis in a given theological epistemology. iii) The difference between religion and Christian faith, or, christologically stated, the dialectics between cross and resurrection, 114 “Lo que es específico de la teología de la liberación pensamos que va más allá de los contenidos, y consiste en un modo concreto de ejercitar la inteligencia guiado por el principio liberación.” Sobrino 1995b, 116. 115 Sobrino 1986, 15-47.

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refers to the need for an ‘epistemological rupture’ within the process of gaining theological knowledge. By comparing European and Latin American theology with respect to these three points, Sobrino intends to uncover the main differences between the two, and thereby indirectly answer the second question, about the ultimate interest behind gaining theological knowledge. It is the point about the liberative aspect of the history of Jesus which is of particular interest here. The story about Jesus has always been told with the expectation and claim that it contains a liberative message. Thus a Christian theological knowledge must be liberative in some way. But how? Theological knowledge in Latin-American theology is liberative in a way distinct from European theology, claims Sobrino. Whereas modern European theology is responding to the “first moment” of Enlightenment, the liberation of the reason of the subject vis-à-vis authoritarianism and dogmatism (Kant), Latin American liberation theology is “spontaneously” inclined to give priority to the “second moment” of Enlightenment, the liberation of the concrete reality from its state of misery (Marx).116 This liberation of the reality implies the necessity not of a new way of thinking in order to explain or give meaning to reality (“first moment”), but of a new way of acting, in order to transform the world (“second moment”). To recover the threatened meaning of faith, Latin American theology opts for the transformation of reality so that the reality may recover meaning, and through this reaffirm the meaning of faith. So what does Sobrino mean by “liberative” – or “liberation”? His usage of the word corresponds with Gutierrez’ and Ellacuría’s historical-transcendental definitions. “Liberation” is an urgent necessity of transforming history that emerges both from the misery of “real reality” – the crucified reality – and from reading the gospel of Jesus Christ. It has accordingly socio-political as well as theologi116 Cf. Karl Marx’ 11th thesis on Feuerbach. See also Gutiérrez 1984, 57.

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cal aspects. “Liberation” means “the end of oppression and crucifixion”, it means “life and dignity for the poor and for everyone.” Sobrino adds: “But this same term ‘liberation’ points also to a utopia – the ‘integral’ liberation […] – that the kingdom of God becomes a reality and human beings come to be just that.”117 Sobrino underscores the theological signification of liberation as the coming of the kingdom to the poor in history against the present reality of the “antirreino” – the “anti-Kingdom.”118 Thus he too stresses the conflictual and historical aspects of the term. As with Ellacuría, however, it seems that Sobrino would be well advised to widen his concept of liberation. Introducing to this concept the struggle against other fundamental forms of oppression – racial, ethnic, sexual – would not soften the radical character of it, but rather bring out the nuances that are absolutely crucial in order to formulate a theology which may answer to the needs of the oppressed Latin Americans of today. In his later writings, Sobrino does in fact seem more attentive to these nuances.119

117 “[…] con el termino de liberación se describen realidades que no tienen nada de misteriosas, sino de muy claras y necesarias; el final de la opresión y de la crucifixión, la vida y dignidad de los pobres y de todos […] Pero con ese mismo término liberación se apunta también a una utopía – la liberación ‘integral’ en el lenguaje verdadero aunque poco dicente del magisterio -, el que el reino de Dios llegue a ser realidad y los seres humanos lleguen simplemente a serlo.” Sobrino 1991d, 19. 118 I shall return to this conflictual framework of Sobrino’s christology – the struggle between the God of Life and the idols of death – in Chapter v below. 119 Cf. e.g., Sobrino 1995b and Sobrino 1993c, 48: “[…] el reto mayor o, al menos, el más novedoso es dirigirnos, tratar de comprender ‘al otro’, y recibir ‘del otro’, ese otro que es pobre, pero que con relación a nosotros es ante todo y más primariamente ‘otro’: indígenas, afroamericanos, la gente de los barrios […]”. On Sobrino’s theology in a feminist perspective, see Chapter iv [7] below.

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In any case, it can be seen that according to Sobrino, the very process of gaining theological knowledge – in order for it to be truly liberative, and thereby truly Christian – cannot be separated from its practical and ethical implications.120 Thereby we are led to the next fundamental feature of a theology carried out in a crucified world: the priority of praxis. e) The Priority of Praxis Sobrino’s theology is, as liberation theology in general, a theology of praxis.121 Once more, I shall let Gutiérrez and Ellacuría spell out the background for this emphasis in Sobrino’s thinking. (1) Theology is critical reflection on praxis in the light of the word of God. Theology is the second act. This fundamental definition of theology, coined by Gustavo Gutiérrez, continues to play a significant role. At the origin of Latin American liberation theology is a new encounter with the poor and a new conception of their role and rights in society, resulting in a theological (re-)discovery of them as “other” revealing God, and “oppressed” needing liberation. This gives liberation theology the following methodological structure, often called its “two acts”, using Gutiérrez’ terminology.122

120 Cf. Sobrino 1976, 26, where Sobrino states that Latin American christology, emphasises “[…] all the christological elements that point to the paradigm of liberation (kingdom of God, resurrection as utopia, etc.) and to the praxical disposition to realise them and thereby understand them (Jesus’ sociopolitical praxis, requirement to follow).” 121 For the centrality and development of this self-understanding, see i.a., Segundo 1970; Assmann 1973; Gutiérrez 1982, 51-95; Bonino 1975, 86-105; Boff 1991 and Boff 1980, compare discussion in McGovern 1989, 32-40 and Nordstokke 1996, 26-36.

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The “first act” has two aspects. The first aspect, that I prefer to call the passive aspect of the foundational experience, is the mere being affected by the suffering of the innocent “other”.123 It is the realisation that the immense poverty of Latin America is a scandal which “cries to the heavens”124; an “ethical indignation” (Boff )125 that leads to a refusal to accept this situation as “normal”.126 This is the moment of “discovery”, of conscientisation and conversion, it is a change of perspective that eventually influences the understanding of both society and Christian faith.127 The other aspect of the discovery or the foundational experience is active. It should not be described as a second moment 122 “Lo primero es el compromiso de caridad, de servicio. La teología viene después, es acto segundo”. Gutiérrez 1984, 35. 123 The prevailing interest for “the other” in contemporary philosophical and theological discourse is heavily influenced by the writings of the GermanJewish theologian F. Rosenzweig and, more recently, the Lithuanian-FrenchJewish philosopher E. Levinas. Especially the latter has had a significant indirect influence on the development of liberation theology. Most notable is the influence on Enrique Dussel – once a student of Levinas – who explicitly admits his indeptedness to both these thinkers, e.g. in Dussel 1978, 9, compare Dussel 1981, Dussel 1983. But also Gutiérrez sees the thinking of Levinas as a source of inspiration for liberation theologians. 124 Cf. the “Document on Justice” adopted by the Second General Conference of the Latin American Episcopate (CELAM) in Medellín, Colombia, 1968: “There are in existence many studies of the Latin American people. The misery that besets large masses of human beings in all our countries is described in all these studies. That misery, as a collective fact, expresses itself as injustice which cries to the heavens” (quoted from Hennelly 1990, 97). Sobrino constantly refers to the actual situation of poverty as an “escándalo”, see e.g. Sobrino 1992b, 54. 125 Boff 1981b, 14. See also Boff and Boff 1987, 1-4. 126 Gutiérrez’ very first words in “Toward a Theology of Liberation” confirms this: “As Christians come in contact with the acute problems that exist in Latin America, they experience an urgent need to take part in solutions to them.” Gutiérrez 1990b.

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because it is inseparable from the first. It is characterised by commitment. It is the moment for discovering that the poor are not just suffering, they are also in the process of struggling for liberation. This is what Gutiérrez has described as the “irrupción del pobre” (“irruption of the poor”), which he interprets as the most important “sign of the times”.128 This struggle calls for participation. Neutrality is not possible, according to liberation theology. Either one joins the cause of the suffering and struggling other, or one supports the prevailing situation which keeps the poor in their situation of misery. This is the moment of option for the poor, of joining in a liberative praxis, of commitment. It is important to notice that in the discovery of the other which I have described, there is also a crucial element of the poor “discovering themselves.”129 The process of liberation starts with this self-discovery of the poor, and is completely dependent on it to succeed. The poor must be the main actors or protagonists of the process as 127 “It sounds ironic but it is the truth: the churches discovered the poor”, says the Argentinian theologian José Míguez Bonino, describing the birth of liberation theology in “The Need for a Contextual Theology in Latin America”, lecture given at the seminar “Theology and Context” at Trollvasshytta, Oslo March 5-6, 1993: Bonino continues: “They (the poor) had always been there -- hidden away in indian reservations, as semi-slaves in large ‘haciendas’ or plantations, invisible as poor peasants. Now they became visible. It would be futile to try to say whether it was the new awareness that some people in the churches had developed that triggered the ‘discovery’ or whether the now visible poor alerted and led to look for for new answers. Certainly the two things combined -- they are two sides of a single social and cultural process. And this is the birth of a new theological quest in Latin America.” Bonino 1993b, 4. 128 Spanish: signos de los tiempos. This is an important theme in liberation theology. Juan Luis Segundo calls it a distinguishing mark: “Attention to the signs of the time is the theological criterion which sets off a theology of liberation from a conservative academic theology.” Segundo 1976, 40. See also Gutiérrez 1984, 30, and Gutiérrez 1990b, 64.

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well as of the theology of liberation, as Gutiérrez repeatedly stresses:130 We will only have an authentic liberation theology when the oppressed themselves are able to freely raise their voices and express themselves directly and in a creative manner both in the society and within the people of God; when they ‘give account of the hope’ which they bear, and become promotors of their own liberation. 131

These two inseparable aspects of the foundational experience of liberation theology constitute together its methodological startingpoint. It is, in Gutiérrez’ terminology, the “first act”. This first act is pre-theological. The “being-affected-and-committing-oneself ” of this experience, resulting in liberative praxis, is not originally motivated or legitimised in a Christian theory or reflection, although it often is, de facto, a praxis of faith.132 It is, rather, a spontaneous response to (experienced) reality.133 P. Frostin 129 Cf. Gutiérrez 1982, 52: “Los últimos años de América latina se caracterizan por el descubrimiento real y exigente del mundo del otro: el pobre, el oprimido, la clase explotada. En un orden social hecho económica, política e ideológicamente por unos pocos y para beneficio de ellos mismos, el “otro” de esa sociedad – las clases populares explotadas, las culturas oprimidas, las razas discriminadas – comienza a hacer oír su propia voz. Empieza a hablar cada vez menos por intermediarios y a decir verdad directamente su palabra, a redescubrirse a sí mismo y a hacer que el sistema perciba su presencia iquietante. Comienza a ser cada vez menos objeto de manipulación demagógica, o de asistencia social, más o menos disfrazada, para convertirse poco a poco en sujeto de su propia historia y forjar una sociedad radicalmente distinta.” 130 This is where the Pedagogy of the oppressed of Paulo Freire has its important contribution. Freire 1972. Cf. Gutiérrez 1984, 132-3. 131 “(N)o tendremos una auténtica teología de la liberación sino cuando los oprimidos mismos puedan alzar libremente su voz y expresarse directa y creadoramente en la sociedad y en el seno del pueblo de Dios. Cuando ellos mismos “den cuenta de la esperanza” de que son portadores. Cuando ellos sean los gestores de su propia liberación.” Gutiérrez 1984,387.

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points to the importance of this experience, which he chooses to call “the Third World experience”, and holds that it is the common denominator of various liberation theologies. These theologies may not be judged properly without due consideration of the centrality of this experience.134 Thereafter comes theological reflection, as the “second act”, starting from the basic and very simple intuition, in the words of Gutiérrez: “The demands of the gospel are incompatible with the social situation in which we live here in Latin America.”135 In what does that “incompatibility” consist? How should it be overcome? It is in this “second act” that the new, spontaneous understanding and self-understanding involved in the “first act” is critically reviewed and analysed. On a more profound level, “the poor” can be interpreted politically in this act as “potentially revolutionary”, socioeconomically as “dependent” and “oppressed”, pastorally as “neighbour” calling for Christian love and care, philosophically as “other” coming from “beyond” and calling for “service”, and theologically as “the poor of Yahweh”, “people of God”, “the other, who in their need for liberation, reveal The Other (God)”136, or, as is the particular focus of this study, “the crucified”.

132 Faith is understood as liberation praxis, according to Vidales 1979: “Liberation theology begins with concrete experience of faith as a liberation praxis.”, see also p.45: “Insofar as it is “liberation praxis”, faith entails a discovery of the world of the “other” in the light of the new scientific line of reasoning, and also an option for their cause. 133 In this sense, one could perhaps see a parallel to the so-called “ethics of proximity”, usually related to such thinkers as E. Lévinas and K. E. Løgstrup. Is liberation theology a “theology of proximity”? Cf. thesis 12.1 in Chapter viii, below. 134 Frostin 1992. 192-6. Compare his doctoral thesis, Frostin 1988, 4ff. 135 Gutiérrez 1980, 27.

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(2) To Ellacuría, the priority of praxis is closely related to his conception of reality and history. He holds that the historical character of reality corresponds to the historical character of mind. The human mind or intelligence (inteligencia) is affected by history, it is always historical. Its formal structure and differentiative function “is not that of being a comprehension of being nor understanding (captación) of meaning, but that of apprehending reality and confronting oneself with it.”137 There is a mutual (and constitutive) interdependence between human intelligence and “real things” in the world. Things are real, not just conceptualised in the human mind. Thus intelligence is receptive to the impression that real things make on it, it is a “sensing intelligence”; inteligencia sentiente (Zubiri).138 But real things can only have this or that meaning because of their “essential respectivity to the human person.”139 136 Gutiérrez 1980, 15, cf. p.1. See also e.g. Gutiérrez 1982, 215-276, especially “La otra historia: la historia del otro.” p. 259, cf. 243. Following Levinas, Dussel gives much weight to the concept of ‘the other’ who from ‘exteriority’, from ‘beyond’, transcendentally breaks the ‘totality’ (‘flesh’) and domination of the ontological ‘ego’. It is ‘the other’ as indicated by Schelling, but not in the way his pupil Hegel incorporates it in his dialectical system, says Dussel. Because ‘the other’ in Hegels thinking remains within the totality, it is not totally other, exteriority, and cannot serve to really challenge the system. Dussel suggests, then, an analectical overcoming (‘superación’) of the Hegelian dialectics. It is ana-lectical because it comes “from beyond”, originating in a “face-to-face” encounter with the other (Dussel 1981, 6.) The reality of the other is anterior to Being (Dussel 1985, 19.) Within this framework, the origin of liberation theology is described philosophically as a face-to-face encounter with the poor as other. 137 Ellacuría 1975a, 419: “La estructura formal de la inteligencia y su función diferenciativa […] no es la de ser compresión del ser o captación de sentido, sino la de aprehender la realidad y la de enfrentarse con ella.” 138 Zubiri 1984. 139 Ellacuría 1975a, 419: “[…] en tanto que sólo por su esencial respectividad con el hombre pueden tener para éste uno u otro sentido.”

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When real things appear in the human intellect through the unifying process of intellection, its primary effect is to “install” the human person in reality140, i.e. in historical reality, which, in Ellacuría’s understanding, embraces the totality and yet remains “open”. This historical openness towards something more – which according to Ellacuría makes it possible to speak of transcendence without accepting the duality that traditionally is implied141 – secures human freedom, and calls for historical transforming action. Thus, the process of intelección, of gaining knowledge, as a process of installation of the human person in reality, takes on ethical and praxical dimensions. And here perhaps lies the most important contribution of Ellacuría to the founding of a new theological method. His formulation of three dimensions of inteligencia as a ‘hacerse cargo’, ‘cargar con’ and ‘encargarse de’ constitutes a Spanish play on words which is difficult to translate.142 The hacerse cargo de la realidad means gaining knowledge of reality, the process of cognition. The Spanish expression “alludes to an understanding that goes far beyond a mere objective intellection, and that links understanding and empathy.”143 It is thus a profound 140 Domínguez Miranda 1992, 993. 141 Cf. Ellacuría 1991b, 327-329. 142 Ellacuría 1975a, 419: “Este enfrentarse con las cosas reales en cuanto reales tiene una triple dimensión: el hacerse cargo de la realidad, lo cual supone un estar en la realidad de las cosas – y no meramente un estar ante la idea de las cosas o en el sentido de ellas, – un estar ‘real’ en la realidad de las cosas, que en su carácter activo de estar siendo es todo lo contrario de un estar cósico e inerte e implica un estar entre ellas a través de sus mediaciones materiales y activas; el cargar con la realidad, expresión que señala el fundamental carácter ético de la inteligencia, que no se le ha dado al hombre para evadirse de sus compromisos reales sino para cargar sobre sí con lo que son realmente las cosas y con lo que realmente exigen; el encargarse de la realidad, expresión que señala el carácter práxico de la inteligencia, que sólo cumple con lo que es, incluso en su carácter de conocedora de la realidad y comprensora de su sentido, cuando toma a su cargo un hacer real.”

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– although basic – epistemological process, “which implies a standing/being in the reality of things – and not just before the idea of things or their meaning”.144 Ellacuría holds that this epistemological process of necessity implies the other two moments. The cargar con la realidad expresses “the fundamental ethical character of intelligence, which has not been given to the human person to permit the evasion of his real responsibilities, but to facilitate the ‘taking on’ of what things really are and what they really require.”145 Here, there is also an element of passion, of ‘pathos’.146 An authentic cognition of reality implies taking responsibility for it and bearing its consequences. This comes clearer to the fore in the third expression, encargarse de la realidad, which signifies taking responsibility for, taking charge of reality. It is the praxical dimension of intelligence, “which only complies with what it is […] when it takes charge of a real task (hacer).” The way Ellacuría plays with the word “cargar” could perhaps be maintained in the following explication: To gain knowledge of 143 Gonzalez Faus 1990, 256: “Las mismas expresiones castellanas como ‘!ahora me hago cargo!”, o “hazte cargo”, aluden a una compresión que va mucho más allá de la mera intelección objetiva, y que vincula conocimiento y empatía.” Cf. English translations in Ellacuría and Sobrino 1993. 144 Ellacuría 1975a, 419. 145 Ibid. 146 González Faus, op. cit., 256, sees in Ellacurías definition a linking of logos, ethos and pathos, which is different from both the ‘modern’ and the ‘postmodern’ mentality. The modern “instrumental reason” wanted to gain knowledge (‘hacerse cargo’) of reality without bearing with it and taking responsibility for it. It totalised the first dimension, even to the extent of putting it up against the two others, i.e. to get to know the reality in order to escape the burden of it and the responsibility for it. The ‘post-modern’ reason reacted correctly against this totalisation, but in order to avoid a any totalisation, it tends to split and separate the three dimensions in a “weak thinking” that results also in a weak responsibility and weak love – an “individualism without subjectivity”, says González Faus.

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reality implies to let the ‘burden’ of real things as real make an impression on the ‘sensing intelligence’, to accept ‘carrying the burden’ of reality and its consequences, and to take responsibility for ‘carrying the burden of reality away ’, i.e. to transform it into a “better” reality. Within this framework, transforming action, i.e. praxis, becomes an integral part of the process of human cognition.147 This process is rooted in and conditioned by a historical and social praxis, and it has such praxis as its destination. This does not mean, however, that human intelligence is totally conditioned by its historical setting in such a way that it does not have any relative autonomy, nor critical capacity vis-à-vis this historical context. On the contrary, such criticism is one of its fundamental tasks.148 Furthermore the process of cognition is in itself praxis, according to Ellacuría. Praxis is its constitutive character. It is praxis, and at the same time one of the essential elements of any possible praxis. Cognition is the active function of intelligence as an inteligencia sentiente confronting the dynamic historicity of reality. It is this reference to praxis that secures and conditions its scientific status.149 At the same time it is this moment of active cognition – or reflection – that makes praxis a human praxis, and not a sheer reaction.150

147 Ellacuría 1975a, 418ff, cf.: González 1990, 986-987. See also Gutiérrez 1980, 19: “Praxis that transforms history is not the degraded embodiment of some pure, well conceived theory; instead it is the matrix of all authentic knowledge, and the decisive proof of that knowledge’s value. It is the point where people re-create their world and forge their own reality, where they come to know reality and discover their own selves.” 148 Ellacuría 1975a, 421: “Lo que se necesita, entonces, para no caer en oscuras ideologizaciones es llevar la hermenéutica hasta el análisis crítico y el desenmascaramiento, cuando sea preciso, de los orígenes sociales y de las destinaciones sociales de todo conocimiento.” 149 González 1990, 986.

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Here Ellacuría clearly develops his methodology within a ‘Zubirian’ framework, although demonstrating obvious familiarity with Marxist thought. Antonio González sees Zubiri’s theory on intelligence as incorporating and answering two great intuitions of post-Hegelian philosophy151: First, Nietzsche’s fundamental critique of the separation between sensibility and intelligence, and secondly, the insistence of the young Marx that since human sensibility is not merely passive and receptive, but constitutively active, the human person’s primary relation to the natural and social world does not consist in contemplation, but in transforming action. Ellacuría criticises a Marxist understanding of praxis, however, for being a “closed immanent praxis”.152 Ellacuría holds that historical praxis must be transcendentally open.153 This last point is not surprising, given the profound theological roots of Ignacio Ellacuría’s emphasis on praxis. In the article “Historicidad de la salvación cristiana” Ellacuría investigates the interrelation between Christian salvation and historical liberation, between human efforts for a socio-political liberation and the coming of the kingdom which Jesus announced.154 Through an analysis of what he calls the historical transcendence in the Old and New Testa150 Ellacuría 1975a, 421: “El conocer humano tiene también una inmediata referencia a la praxis, aun como condición de su propia cientificidad. Es, por lo pronto, la misma praxis y uno de los momentos esenciales de toda posíble praxis; para que la praxis no quede en pura reacción, es decir, para que sea propiamente praxis humana, necesita como elemento esencial suyo un momento activo de la inteligencia.” 151 González 1990, 985-986. 152 Ellacuría 1976, 17-18. 153 Ellacuría 1991b, 340: “Y por eso, no es una praxis meramente política, ni meramente histórica, ni meramente ética, sino que es una praxis histórica trascendente, lo cual hace patente al Dios que se hace presente en la acción de la historia.” 154 Ellacuría 1991b.

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ments, he speaks of a historical “theo-praxis” and “praxis of salvation” as the place where the work of God and the activity of human beings come together in a “dual unity of God in human being and human being in God.”155 This is expressed in the Bible in the historical praxises of Moses, of the people of Israel, and – ultimately – of Jesus. Participating in such a praxis is then the core of Christian existence. It is what makes “salvation history become salvation in history”: “Action in and on history, the salvation of the social human person in history, is the real pathway whereby God will ultimately deify the human person.”156 We have seen then, that according to Ellacuría a theological reflection on the incarnational, historical-revelational and christological aspects of Christian faith, as well as a philosophical reflection on reality in itself and the very structure and function of intelligence, lead to the necessity of giving priority to praxis. Before I proceed, it may seem relevant to ask if Ellacuría’s proposition is not merely an immanent activism, and thereby a reduction of Christian faith to its historical and social functions? Such accusations of reductionism and functionalism have in fact repeatedly been raised against liberation theology.157 To fully comprehend Ellacuría’s position on this point, however, one should note carefully his understanding of transcendence. History and transcend155 Op. cit., 340: “[…] afirma la unidad dual de Dios en el hombre y el hombre en Dios. Este en juega una distinta función y tiene distinta densidad cuando la acción es de Dios en el hombre y cuando la acción es del hombre en Dios, pero siempre es el mismo en.” 156 Ellacuría 1976, 18. Regarding this deificación, see Chapter ii [3] (2), below. 157 See, i.a. Gutierrez 1977, 96-98; Kloppenburg 1974, 15-20; Ratzinger 1990 particularly 373-374 (directed explicitly against Sobrino, whom Ellacuría in turn defends in Ellacuría 1984b, 170, calling Ratzinger’s rendering of Sobrino’s points of view a “caricature”); and, most importantly Congregation 1990a, paragraph 17, pp. 411-412. Again, McGovern’s overview is helpful, McGovern 1989, especially 58-59.

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ence are two dimensions, but they are intimately united, according to Ellacuría. Transcendence is not something over and above history, but something which emerges in, through and from history, and reaches beyond it. It is something “more”. We can recognise the same pattern in Ellacuría’s understanding of human praxis and God’s saving activity. This structure, in which the influence of Karl Rahner’s transcendental method is apparent, is fundamental to Ellacuría’s thinking. Nevertheless, reading Ellacuría, the impression remains that the unification of these dimensions seems somewhat strained. One can understand and follow the reasons why Ellacuría deems it necessary to overcome old distinctions, which furthermore have been so manipulated as to have a negative ideological effect in society. However, it is difficult to see how Ellacuría actually solves the fundamental problems that have given rise to these distinctions in the first place. – What is actually the difference between the “over and above” history (which he rejects) and the “beyond”, the “more” that emerges “in and through” history (which he affirms)? (3) Moving to christology, Jon Sobrino starts from the fact that Jesus expressed his faith in the coming of the kingdom through both words and deeds. Therefore, the relationship between theory and praxis is fundamental to the understanding of Christian theological ‘knowledge’. Sobrino understands “praxis” as an “intent to operate on the surrounding historical reality in order to transform it in a determined direction”.158 In a Christian praxis this direction is towards the kingdom of God. As already pointed out, Sobrino insists that Latin American liberation theology does not start primarily from a long theoretical theological tradition, but from an encounter with a concrete, specific reality – a crucified reality – in which there is an ongoing attempt “to make love and justice believable to oppressed people”159; a praxis of liberation.

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This praxis, when it is a praxis of faith, is at the same time a process of theological cognition. It is ‘the real way’ to theological knowledge, i.e., it is the main method of theology, states Sobrino.160 In the deepest sense, then, method is understood as content. The method is the process of gaining knowledge, it is the way. But going this way, ‘doing theology’ is also the content of theology. For christology, this means an affirmation of the biblical statement that “Jesus is the way”. Following Jesus is the method to gaining christological knowledge. But true knowledge of Jesus implies the following of him.161 Which praxis, then, is a way to gaining theological knowledge? Obviously not just any practice that can be defined as ‘liberative’. It has to have a specific content, and it has a preferred social-theologal and ecclesial “location” or “ubication”, as pointed out earlier. The motive power behind theological knowledge in a crucified world is not wonder (“admiración”), but passion (or pain) (“dolor”),162 Sobrino continues. The present state of suffering in 158 Sobrino 1982a, 166: “La práctica de Jesús en cuanto praxis, es decir, en cuanto intenta operar sobre la realidad histórica circundante para tranformarla en una determinada dirección, revela, indirecta pero eficazmente, de qué se trata el reino de Dios”. – In this quotation one can see how Sobrino defines “praxis” as a particular form of “practice”. However, this distinction between “practice” and “praxis” (Sp.: práctica and práxis) is sometimes blurred in Sobrino’s writings. Translations into English do not make the matter easier, as they vary on this terminology. I shall point out the distinction when this seems to have a particular significance in Sobrino. 159 Sobrino 1986, 30. See also Sobrino 1992b, 47-80. 160 Sobrino 1986, 32: “En este caso el método más fundamental es el mismo camino, es la misma praxis de la fe y lo que ella da de si.” 161 Sobrino 1991d, 72: “[…] conocer a Cristo es, en último término, seguir a Cristo.” – On this basis, one could claim that Sobrino’s christology is methodology. It is reflection on “the way” (compare the Greek origin of the word “method”: “meta hodos” ‘about way’) in a double sense, the way to know Jesus and the Way that Jesus himself is.

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Latin America provokes the question of God. Theological cognition is born out of the cries of the oppressed. In this moment of passion or pain in theological cognition, its practical and ethical orientation is also uncovered, according to Sobrino, since there is only one correct response to the experience of a “generalised” pain: to eliminate it. What is at stake in theological reflection is not the (theoretical) truth of its analyses, but the (practical) elimination of the real misery. Theological cognition in Latin America has, accordingly, the form of a historical and political theodicy 163: The only way to “reconcile” God and reality in its concrete state of misery and injustice, is to transform this reality, to make it more according to the will of God (hacer un mundo según Dios).164 In other terms, the fundamental quandary (aporía) of theological knowledge, which for Sobrino is the fact that sin has power, is not ‘solved’ through reflection alone, but only through praxis:165 Any serious process of gaining knowledge sets out to solve a fundamental “aporía” (literally: “without way”, “pathlessness”). To Latin American theology this “aporía” is that the negativity of reality – injustice, suffering, sin – seems to be stronger than its positive side; the love that effectively seeks justice. Theological cognition in the presence of this quandary, i.e. to solve the ‘without way’, is to ‘open a way’. This should not be done primarily in thought, but in real life. Once again, theological cognition is remitted to praxis. The influence and fruits of Sobrino’s close collaboration with Ellacuría are easy to detect here. Particularly Ellacuría’s definition of cognition as a hacerse cargo, encargarse and cargar con reality, has had great impact on Sobrino´s theology.166 These three dimensions – 162 163 164 165

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Sobrino 1986, 27-28. Sobrino 1986, 38-39. Sobrino 1986, 38. Sobrino 1986, 42-44.

the notional, ethical and praxical – which all are unified in the same process of cognition, corresponds to what Sobrino in more recent writings formulates as pre-socrático, socrático and aristotélico.167 The “pre-Socratic” dimension consists in being confronted with (Ellacuría: hacerse cargo de) reality as it is without the presumption of always already having appropriate conceptual categories with which to interpret it. The “socratic” dimension consists in the willingness to bear the consequences of the knowledge gained about reality (Ellacuría: cargar con), i.e. – like Socrates – working for the transformation of reality (polis) through suffering its negative impact; without fleeing even fatal confrontations with the powerful of this world. The “Aristotelian” dimension is the analytical, instrumental dimension; being able and willing to practically intervene in order to transform reality (Ellacuría: encargarse de). Applied to christology, this conception of cognition means the following, according to Sobrino: It means ‘hacerse cargo de la realidad de Cristo’, which is most effectively done through a turning to the historical reality of Jesus of Nazareth. It means ‘cargar con la realidad de Cristo’, i.e., the readiness to listen to and respond to his real ethical demands and to persist in this. It means ‘encargarse de la realidad de Cristo’, i.e. [letting Christ generate] a liberative praxis which makes his cause become reality.168

It thus becomes clear that Sobrino shares the fundamental option of liberation theology, giving priority to orthopraxis above orthodoxy:169 Time and again in his writings he affirms “the irreplaceable

166 Sobrino cites this definition many times, and in a note in Jesucristo liberador, he writes: “Quisiera decir que en lo personal, esto (sic) modo de concebir el funcionamiento de la inteligencia es de las cosas que más me impactaron del pensamiento de I. Ellacuría.” Sobrino 1991d, 71, n.40. 167 Sobrino 1993c, 35.

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and essential nature of orthopraxis, since without it we simply do not enter into a right relationship with the God of the Bible.”170 The process of gaining knowledge presupposes, includes – and is in itself – a kind of praxis, Sobrino contends, in accordance with Ellacuría. With regard to gaining knowledge about Jesus Christ (christological epistemology) such praxis is most adequately defined as a “following” (seguimiento) of Jesus. This concept is fundamental to Sobrino, as the sub-title of his first book on Christology shows: “Esbozo a partir del seguimiento del Jesús histórico.” The term ‘following’ has of course a wide historical and theological range of meaning and implications. Sobrino does not give a thorough exegetical examination of it.171 He notes simply that all the gospels report that Jesus in the beginning of his ministry calls disciples to follow him (Mk:1,17 par. and 2,14 par.); that this call is 168 Sobrino 1991d, 71: “Este modo de concebir la inteligencia significa para el pensar cristológico, para ‘conocer’ a Cristo, lo siguiente. Significa ‘hacerse cargo de la realidad de Cristo’, para lo cual lo más eficaz es volver a la realidad histórica de Jesús de Nazaret. Significa ‘cargar con la realidad de Cristo’, es decir, la disponibilidad para escuchar y responder a sus exigencias éticas reales y mantenerse en ello. Significa ‘encargarse de la realidad de Cristo’ es decir, ponerlo a producir en una praxis liberadora haciendo real su causa.” Cf. English translation in Sobrino 1994c, 35. 169 “Pero con ortopraxis se quiere indicar algo más. No se trata sólo de pensar a partir de la experiencia, sino de pensar a partir de una experiencia determinada, a partir de una praxis que no sólo se siente influenciada por la miseria del mundo […] sino a partir de la transformación de esa miseria, que es sentida no sólo como la destrucción del sentido de la realidad del sujeto, sino como la destrucción del sentido social, de la convivencia entre hombres.” Sobrino 1986, 30-31. 170 “Con esto se afirma lo insustituible y esencial de la ortopraxis, pues sin ella simplemente no se entra en la correcta relación con el Dios de la Biblia.” Sobrino 1991d, 351. 171 He does, however, provide an exegetical argument for the case that there is a “return to Jesus” already in the New Testament : Sobrino 1991d, 104-112.

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an ultimate call, confronting the follower already from the outset with “the absoluteness of God”, without explanations or conditions, to which the only possible response is absolute obedience (Mk: 1,18 par and 2,14 par.) and radical renunciation of all competing claims (Mt: 8,21; 19,10-12; Lk: 9,59f; 14, 25-35; Mk: 10,21); that it is a call to follow Jesus in a mission, namely the service of the kingdom (Mk: 1,17 par; 3,13ff; 6,7 – 8,12f par.), which consists in a salvific and liberative practice; and that it is at the same time a call to assimilate oneself to (asemejarse a) Jesus, participating in his life and destiny (Mk: 3,14; 6,8; Lk: 2,28; 6,8f ), which includes readiness to “carry the cross” (Lk: 14,27; Mt: 10,38). Finally, Sobrino uses the theological composition of Mk: 8, 27-38 to support his argument that “following” is the only way to gain knowledge of the real reality of Jesus. In addition to these biblical roots, Sobrino finds a return to the following of Jesus in many important protagonists and movements for renewal, particularly in situations of crisis regarding the identity of theology and of the Church. Such was the case with Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order. In the second week of his “Spiritual Exercises”, St. Ignatius calls for “inner knowledge of the Lord in order to love and follow Him more.”172 There is little doubt that the emphasis of “following” – and obedience – in the Jesuit tradition is an important background for Sobrino’s preference for this concept. In Ignatius’ Exercises Sobrino finds a “theological intuition which modern theology has elaborated under the formula of hermeneutics of praxis: without a willingness to act, there is no comprehension.”173 Ignatius thus gives priority to the ‘óptica del seguimiento’, he holds, as well as emphasising the personal and conflictual aspects of this following.174

172 Sobrino 1991d, 104-105: “Ignacio Loyola, en la segunda semana de sus ejercicios espirituales, sólo pide ‘conocimiento interno el Señor para que más le ama y le siga’.”

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Sobrino sees Dietrich Bonhoeffers call for “Nachfolge” and J.B Metz’ statement that it is “due time for following in the Church” as expressions of similar interventions in times of crisis as that of Ignatius Loyola.175 J. Moltmann’s use of the term, especially in The Crucified God, has also had an influence on Sobrino here. In his doctoral thesis, Sobrino qualifies Moltmann’s christology as a “cristología de ‘seguimiento’.”176 What about liberation theology? Although Gutiérrez emphasized the encounter with and cognition of God in the work for justice in his Teología de la Liberación177, seguimiento was not a central term in that book. Ignacio Ellacuría on the other hand – being a Jesuit – immediately gave the term central significance in his search for a new Latin American theology: “Latin American christology understands Christian life as following.”178 “The following of Jesus” accordingly embraces the whole Christian existence, in Sobrino’s use. He calls it a “short formula of Christianity” and a “key to the totality of Christian life”.179 The following of Jesus is not only the location for the practice of faith, but it makes it possible to know which faith we are practising. It is that which uni173 Sobrino 1976, 311: “Hay aquí una intuición que la teología moderna ha elaborado bajo la fórmula de la hermeneútica de la praxis: sin una disposición a hacer no hay comprensión”. Cf. 303-326 “El Cristo de los ejercicios de San Ignacio.” 174 Op. cit., 311-316. 175 Sobrino 1983b, 937. The citation of Metz is taken from Zeit der Orden? Freiburg 1977, 27. 176 Sobrino 1975c, 390. 177 Gutiérrez 1984, 251-254; cf. 243-274. 178 Ellacuría 1975b, 344, quoted by Sobrino in Sobrino 1983b, 937. Galilea 1978, is another proof of the centrality given to this term in contemporary theological reflection in Latin America. 179 Sobrino 1983b, 936-938 and 942-943. – Cf. Sobrino 1976, 297: “Proponemos el seguimiento de Jesús como paradigma general de existencia cristiana.”

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fies – in its realisation – the transcendental and the historical in Christian life.180

This means also – our particular interest here – that he insists that it is a condition for gaining knowledge about Jesus. It is the epistemological location for christology. Although at times sensible to the importance of following for christology, European theology has “almost ignored” its epistemological relevance, Sobrino holds.181 Latin American theology, however, gives it primary significance, which makes “theological method” in this theology become a “real way”, where method in the deepest sense becomes content: “To know Jesus is to follow Jesus”. This emphasis on following leads Sobrino to seeing christology ultimately as a form of mystagogy. Christology can never conceptualize adequately the total truth about its “object”, Jesus Christ. That is because “Jesus Christ” expresses – for faith – the “real, authentic and insuperable manifestation of the mystery of God and the mystery of human being”.182 The object of christology is ultimately a 180 Sobrino 1983b, 943: “El seguimiento de Jesús no es sólo el lugar de la práctica de la fe, sino lo que posibilita saber qué fe es la que practicamos. Es lo que unifica – en su realización – lo que ha de transcendente y de histórico en la vida cristiana.” 181 Sobrino 1986, 31: “En la teología europea el “seguimiento de Jesús” se ha relegado normalmente a la teología espiritual y apenas si ha influído en la cristología, y cuando lo ha hecho ha sido para mostrar la peculiar conciencia de Jesús que se muestra en la exigencia de un seguimiento incondicional. Sin embargo, el “seguimiento” de Jesús como lugar epistemológico de “conocer” a Jesús ha sido ignorado casi siempre y está ausente en las cristologías contemporáneas sistemáticas. La teología latinoamericana sin embargo, comprende el método teológico en el sentido de camino real. Continuando con el ejemplo de la cristología, es el seguimiento real de Jesús, aun cuando ésta deba ser también esclarecida usando una pluridad de métodos, análisis y hermenéuticas. El método en su sentido más profundo es comprendido como contenido.”

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mystery. Therefore all formulations and conceptualisations are provisional, and fall short. So it is absolutely necessary that christology be carried out with great modesty, Sobrino holds.183 It should therefore become a “mystagogía”184– an introduction to mystery, which means that christology can show a way, the way of Jesus, in which the human being may be confronted with mystery, may be able to call this mystery ‘Father’, as Jesus did, and may be able to call this Jesus the ‘Christ’.185

182 Sobrino 1991d, 19. 183 Sobrino 1991d, 28 “La ‘modestia’ […] tiene su contrapartida en que la cristología, puede convertirse en mystagogía, es decir, una introducción al misterio.” 184 Sobrino 1992b, 78: “Mystagogía no es lo mismo que esclarecimiento teórico, sino que la iluminación que trae consigo es originada por el contacto con la misma realidad del misterio. Sin mystagogía siempre queda en penumbra aquello que se quiere esclarecer, y en la actualidad – recuérdese la insistencia de Rahner –, una teología que no sea mystagógica acaba por no esclarecer nada.” – Mystagogy is a theological concept with deep Christian roots. Church Fathers (e.g. Clement of Alexandria and John Chrysostom) use the word ‘mysterion’ (lat.: mysterium) referring to Christ himself. This understanding goes back to Pauline Christology, where Jesus Christ is presented as the one who reveals God’s secret saving purpose, cf. I Cor 2; Eph. 1; Col 1-2, 7. Ignatian spirituality, as expressed in the spiritual exercises of Ignatius of Loyola, also has clear mystagogical aspects. However, as the quotation from Sobrino 1992b indicates, Sobrino here takes his lead from Karl Rahner. For Rahner, mystagogy is: “Hilfe zur unmittelbaren Erfahrung Gottes, in der dem Menschen aufgeht, dass das unbegreifliche Geheimnis, das wir Gott nennen, nahe ist, angeredet werden kann und gerade dann uns selber selig birgt, wenn wir uns ihm bedingungslos übergeben.” Rahner 1978, 10-38; 1011. Quoted from Fischer 1986, 26. 185 Sobrino 1993f, 7, see also p. 55.-/ Sobrino 1991d 28: “Más en concreto, esto significa que la cristología puede mostrar un camino, el de Jesús, dentro del cual el ser humano se puede encontrar con el misterio, puede nombrarlo ‘Padre’, como lo hizo Jesús, y puede nombrar a ese Jesús como el Cristo.”

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For Sobrino, this mystagogy consists in the following of the historical Jesus, because that is the best way to gain access to the Christ of faith.186 It means travelling the same (logical and chronological) way that made the first believers reach the full confession of Jesus as the “Son of God”: from the mission of Jesus to the kingdom, via the question for Jesus’ identity, and on to the confession of his salvific and unique reality and significance. For Sobrino, then, christology is the reflexive moment of this travelling. Travelling the way of the Son and systematic reflection on Jesus Christ are inseparable and occur simultaneously. It is at the same time “reflection on the way” (methodology) and “reflection on Jesus Christ” (christology). f ) Theology as Interpretation of Reality These presuppositions, summed up in the phrases honradez con lo real, el lugar teológico, opción por los pobres, liberación, and ortopraxis or seguimiento, lead to a reformulation of the theological task. Formally, theology consists in theologically conceptualising contemporary reality – elevar a concepto teológico la realidad actual 187 – Sobrino contends. But if theology is a science, or logos, about God, how can this be? It is possible because it is believed that this reality, 186 Cf. Rahner, according to Fischer, op. cit., 21: “Nachfolge des Gekreuzigten heisst demnach eben ‘jene glaubend-liebende Übergabe seiner selbst an die Unbegreiflichkeit Gottes’.” The quotation of Rahner is from Schriften zur Theologie XIII, Zürich, 1978, 201. 187 “[…] hacer teología es formalmente elevar a concepto teológico la realidad actual en lo que ésta tiene de manifestación de Dios y de responder y corresponder en la fe a esa manifestación.” Sobrino 1989a, 402. Compare Sobrino 1993c, 28: “Con esto queremos decir que la teología ha actuado teniendo ante sí no sólo conceptos – sean éstos filosóficos, políticos, o teológicos, bíblicos o sistemáticos –, sino realidades, o, si se quiere, teniendo ante sí los conceptos de liberación y martirio, pero con el peso específico que les otorga la realidad.”

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as such, contains something of God. In this concrete, historical reality there is a manifestation of God that theology must heed. The historical situation becomes thus a source for theology, in addition to – and even prior to – the traditional sources. This is a novelty of liberation theology, in Sobrino’s opinion.188 This presence of God in history finds expression in the “signs of the times”189: “Our theology takes absolutely seriously the present as a location of God’s manifestation, i.e. it takes seriously the signs of the times.”190 Sobrino supports this view with two central texts from the Second Vatican Council, in which he finds two different dimensions of these signs. In Gaudium et Spes no. 4191, the Council speaks of the “historical-pastoral” dimension of the signs of the 188 Sobrino does not develop on what is meant by “concept”. It seems to me that the “elevar a concepto teológico la realidad actual” parallels what is elsewhere described as “concept formation”: “Concept formation refers to a process by which one learns to sort his specific experiences into general rules or classes […] Concept formation is a term used to describe how one learns to form classes. A concept is a rule that may be applied to decide if a particular object falls into a certain class.” According to the Analytic school of philosophy, “concept” is the subject matter of philosophy. Concepts are according to this understanding logical, and not mental entities. – Source: Encyclopaedia Britannica 1995a and Encyclopaedia Britannica 1995b. 189 This theme has been central to liberation theology since its beginnings. Juan Luis Segundo calls it a distinguishing mark: “Attention to the signs of the time is the theological criterion which sets off a theology of liberation from a conservative academic theology.” Segundo 1976, 40. Cf. Gutiérrez 1984, 30, and Gutiérrez 1990b, 64. See also Gutiérrez 1984, 30; and Segundo 1991b. 190 Sobrino 1989a, 398. Cf. Sobrino 1989d. 191 Gaudium et Spes 1966, no. 4: “(T)he Church must continually examine the signs of the times and interpret them in the light of the Gospel. Thus she will be able to answer the questions men are always asking about the meaning of this life and the next and about the relation of one to the other, in a way adapted to each generation. So the world in which we live, its expectations, its aspirations, its often dramatic character must be known and understood.”

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times. It expresses the necessity for the Church to “scrutinize” “that which characterises an epoch”192 in order to fulfil its pastoral task. The second dimension, which is more important with regard to the process and possibility of gaining theological knowledge, Sobrino terms “historical-theolog(ic)al”. This is what he believes is meant in Gaudium et Spes no. 11: Believing that they are led by the Spirit of the Lord who fills the whole earth, the People of God sets out to discover among the events, needs and aspirations they share with the contemporary man what are the genuine signs of the presence and purpose of God.193

What is at stake here, Sobrino insists, is not just the relevance of the Church or of theology vis-à-vis the modern world, but its very identity. He asks, rhetorically: If God is continuing to be present, to reveal God-self in history today, how can theology then content itself only by examining the manifestations of God in the past? Theology must, if it does not want to end up in some sort of “theological deism”, take God’s actual presence seriously, and then investigate how this presence is noticable, and what it calls for. The history of theology shows with perfect clarity that searching for the “signs of the times” is a risky undertaking. There may be a short distance between locating God’s presence in history, and arbitrarily placing “God on our side”. Sobrino is, of course, aware of this danger. Yet he claims that his standpoint regarding the importance of the sign of the times “does not necessarily introduce theology into the dangerous world of lofty imaginations and manipulation of God’s revelation.”194 There is a need for external 192 Sobrino 1989d, 250: “Signos de los tiempos significa aquí aquello que caracteriza una época y que ofrece una novedad con respecto a otras épocas del pasado […]” 193 Gaudium et Spes 1966, no. 11. 194 Sobrino 1989d, 252-253.

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criteria against which the sign of the times may be tested. That is why Sobrino, in line with liberation theology in general, proposes the return to the historical Jesus – God’s revelation in the past – as the main criterion (norma normans) with which to judge whether it is God who ‘speaks’ – and what God ‘says’ – through the present signs of the times. In Chapter iii I shall discuss what Sobrino means by this criterion of “the historical Jesus”. But before that, we should note that even this criterion is not, according to Sobrino, equally accessible from all locations or standpoints. The (hermeneutical) circularity of understanding affects this criterion as well. Liberation theology […] insists on the actual presence of God and believes that the reality and word of God that are represented in revelation, are better rediscovered and safeguarded (when read) from the vantage point of the actual signs of the times.195

What are these signs? As we saw earlier, in the citation from the introduction to El principio-misericordia, Sobrino also follows Ellacuría in holding that among the actual signs of the times – when seen from the “true reality”, the world of the poor in El Salvador – there is one which overshadows the others: The existence of the crucified people.196 This last point shows why Sobrino wants to give primacy to the reality of the poor and oppressed: because that reality, as sign of the times, reveals the presence of God and thereby the truth about real195 Sobrino 1989d, 253-254: “La teología de la liberación […] insiste en la actual presencia de Dios y cree que desde los actuales signos de los tiempos mejor se redescubre y salvaguarda la realidad y la palabra de Dios plasmadas en la revelación.” 196 Sobrino 1992b, 7: “[…] quiere asentar que el signo de los tiempos por antomasia es ‘la existencia del pueblo crucificado”, y la exigencia más primigenia es la de ‘bajarlo de la cruz’.”

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ity. This is the basis for Sobrino’s position on the theological significance of contemporary suffering. g) Theology as ‘Intellectus Amoris’ In some more recent articles, Sobrino has reflected further on these presuppositions, proposing intellectus amoris as the adequate and ideal definition of the theological endeavour – in particular of liberation theology.197 Theology understood in this manner has the following elements, then: 1) It means doing theology in the actual moment of history. Its content is God’s actual manifestations (signs of the times) and the active response of faith (fides qua). 2) It means doing theology as a reaction of mercy to the reality of the crucified peoples. 3) It means doing theology with a particular subjective preunderstanding (option for the poor) and in a particular objective location (the world of the poor).198 The qualification of this as intellectus amoris stems particularly from the second element. Sobrino finds that according to revelation, mercy199 is the kind of love which is the primary and ultimate reason for God’s salvific intervention, and that this is the love which is “historicized in the practice and message of Jesus”,200 that which “shapes his whole life, mission and destiny.”201 It designates the ultimate reality of God and Jesus according to revelation, and therefore also the ultimate reality of the human being.202 197 Cf. Sobrino 1989a, and Sobrino 1988c, also published in Sobrino 1992b, 4780. 198 Sobrino 1989a, 398. 199 Mercy – misericordia – means to Sobrino “[…] reaccionar ante el sufrimiento ajeno, una vez que se ha interiorizado en uno mismo, sin más razones para ello que su existencia.” Sobrino 1992b, 66. 200 Sobrino 1992b, 34. 201 Sobrino 1992b, 37: “[…] configura toda su vida, su misión y su destino.”

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The designation “mercy-principle” indicates that mercy is at the beginning and the end of a process, as both cause and purpose, and that it structures the process as a whole. This love, that is reaction to the suffering of the other, is what should direct and shape any Christian and human endeavour, Sobrino believes. Thus, theology, being a Christian theology in the world of suffering, must be guided by this principle. Theology is, then, not primarily understood as an intellectus fidei as in the tradition from Augustine and Anselm. Because mercy is re-action, and therefore action, it is intimately related to praxis. The only correct answer to the recognition of the suffering of the other, is action in order to eradicate the reason for suffering. This means – faced with the concrete reality of the poor – a praxis for liberation and justice. Theology as intellectus serving this praxis could be called intellectus iustitiae or intellectus liberationis. But in order to express its ultimacy and totality, Sobrino prefers to speak of it as an intellectus amoris, which for him is a “universalization in biblical terminology of the intellectus misericordiae”, that “needs in its turn a historical concretion as intellectus iustitiae.” 203 A praxis of justice and liberation is necessary, not only in order to remove suffering per se, but also for that which is particular to theology as “intellectus” – viz. an argumentative reasoning about the contents and characteristics of Christian faith. It is therefore an amor quaerens intellectum, Sobrino writes, twisting another classical theological formulation.204 The ultimate theological question – the 202 Sobrino 1989a, 404: “(E)n la revelación la misericordia es una forma eficaz – que aparece en pasajes fundamentales – para mostrar lo último de la realidad de Dios, de Jesucristo y del ser humano.” 203 Sobrino 1992b, 74: “(E)s absolutamente razonable que una teología que surge como respuesta al sufrimiento ingente en el tercer Mundo se conciba a sí misma como intellectus amoris, lo cual es universalización en terminología bíblica del intellectus misericordiae, y exige a su vez una concreción histórica como intellectus iustitiae.”

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question of the truth of faith – can in a suffering world find a more adequate response from a praxis of justice and liberation, launched by mercy.205

[3] Main Theological Heritage and Framework: Jesuit Spirituality Up until this point, I have reviewed some of the main influences and roots of Jon Sobrino’s fundamental theological approach in a reality he describes as “crucified”. First and foremost, I pointed to the importance of his concrete experience of suffering and generalised oppression in El Salvador. Second, I have briefly indicated important influences from European theology (particularly Rahner and Moltmann) and philosophy (Marx, Zubiri), and Latin American mentors (Gutiérrez and Ellacuría). I do not believe that Sobrino’s theology can be adequately analysed without a due reference to these factors. To these two background elements must be added a third, which is at least as important. It is the simple observation that Jon Sobrino is a Jesuit. Although obvious, it is nevertheless not seldom overlooked or played down in European and non-Catholic readings of Sobrino. By reviewing some main elements of authoritative Ignatian texts like the Spiritual Exercises (Ejercicios espirituales – Ej.)206 and the Autobiography of San Ignatius (Autobiografía)207, it will come clear how embedded in the Jesuit tradition are Sobrino’s presuppositions. 204 205 206 207

Sobrino 1992b, 71-75. Sobrino 1992b, 77. Iparraguirre, de Dalmases, and Jurado 1991, 221-305. Iparraguirre, de Dalmases, and Jurado 1991, 100-177.

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One of Ignatius Loyola’s (1491-1556) famous dictums is that it is possible to seek God in all things.208 For God’s majesty is present in all things, through his indwelling, through his working and through his essence, and can therefore be found in all things, in speaking, walking, seeing, tasting, hearing, thinking, and in whatever else we may do.209

This transparental-mystical view of reality210 does not lead Ignatius’ attention away from reality in order to find God some place behind or beyond it, but on the contrary leads to a more profound appreciation of the things in the world – “and most especially in the small insignificant things”.211 Or, put more dialectically, just because God is beyond the world – Deus semper maior212 – God may be sought in all things in the world: “Ignatius stood resolutely in the world below because it was God’s or was destined once more to become God’s.”213 Sobrino’s expression “honradez con lo real”, with its close connection to the thinking of Rahner and Ellacuría (both Jesuits), is clearly coined within the framework of this Ignatian view of reality and of how to gain knowledge of God in and through it. We saw that Sobrino emphasized that the honesty required is a triumph over against the sinful tendency of covering up the true reality. It is 208 Ej. 39: “[…] porque los perfectos, por la assidua contemplación y iluminación del entendimiento consideran, meditan y contemplan más ser Dios nuestro Señor en cada criatura según su propia essencia, presencia y potencia.” Cf. also Ej. 60 and 236. 209 Monumenta Ignatiana (MI) 1, 3:510, quoted from Rahner 1968, 21-22. 210 Ignacio Iparraguirre sees transparencia as a distinctive feature of Ignatian theology. See Espíritu de San Ignacio de Loyola Bilbao 1958 :177-186. Cited from Rahner 1968, 3-4, n. 14. 211 Rahner 1968, 21. 212 See below, Chapter vii, [4]. 213 Rahner 1968, 21.

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an honesty which can only come about through a conversion; a granting of not just a new mind, but also “new eyes” and a “new heart”. Likewise, for Ignatius, finding God in the most insignificant things in reality is not an easy task. This is the main theological point behind the Ignatian Exercises. Searching for God and God’s will is something which needs dedication, discipline and great effort on the part of the believer.214 Ignatius underscores at least three aspects of this dedicated effort which have left their mark on Sobrino. First, it involves an application of the senses,215 – applicatio sensuum. Ignatius speaks very concretely of the necessity of involving all five senses in the process of gaining knowledge of the mysteries of God and God’s will. The exercitant is admonished to even taste, smell and touch the divine realities. In this way, he seeks to overcome the possible onesidedness of a spiritual contemplation which only engages the mind or the inner life of the pious. The “application of the senses” in Ignatius’ experiences promotes a “synthesis of mind and heart”216, and even of “hands”, in the sense that what is experienced in contemplation must be put into action: Intelligo ut faciam. This unity of contemplation, love and action comes clearly to the fore in Ej. 230, where it is stated: “Love should be expressed 214 Ej. 1: “[…] por este nombre, exercicios spirituales, se entiende todo modo de examinar la consciencia, de meditar, de contemplar, de orar vocal y mental, y de otras spirituales operaciones, según que adelante se dirá. Porque así como el pasear, caminar y correr son exercicios corporales, por la mesma manera todo modo de preparar y disponer el ánima, para quitar de sí todas las affeciones desordenadas, y después de quitadas para buscar y hallar la voluntad divina en la disposición de su vida para la salud del ánima, se llaman exercicio spirituales.” 215 Cf. Ej. 2, 66-70, 122-125, 193, 252. Cf. Rahner 1968, 147. 216 Rahner 1968, 182.

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through deeds rather than words.”217 It is altogether difficult to miss the practical orientation at work in Ignatius’ writings. Among the first circle of followers of Ignatius, this orientation found expression in the formula in actione contemplativus.218 The influence on Sobrino is thus obvious: Sobrino’s “new eyes”, “new heart” and “new hands” – as an expression of the primacy of praxis in his theology – belong to this Ignatian tradition.219 Second, Ignatius underscores the importance of a discernment of the spirits,220 in which “spirit” is taken to mean any external influence on the exercitant. The discernment of spirits is a “centrepiece” in the exercises.221 It is presented as a method for the exercitant to gain insight into the will of God. There are good and bad influences, good and evil spirits, which the pious believer needs to discern, i.e. to detect and reveal the true nature of the spirits. Sobrino’s understanding of theology as conceptualising theologically the actual, contemporary reality by heeding the signs of the times fits well into this Ignatian picture. Furthermore, this background helps explain the centrality that Sobrino gives to following, seguimiento, in christological endeavour, as not just a consequence, but indeed a prerequisite for that endeavour, because this process of discernment is intimately related to the Call of the Heavenly King 217 “[…] el amor se debe poner más en las obras que en las palabras.” My translation, SJS. Cf. Ej. 230-237, “Contemplación para alcanzar amor.” 218 See Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations, vol III, 280-293, quoted from McCool 1975, 316. 219 It is also reasonable to see Sobrino’s main epistemological approach, in which he adopts Ellacuría’s theory of cognition (see above), which in its turn builds on Zubiri’s inteligencia sentiente, within this framework. 220 Cf. Autobiografía, paragraph 8, and Ej. 32, 118, 135, 313-344. 221 See Rahner 1968, 136-180. There is an abundance of literature on the meaning of this Ignatian terminology, both historically and for our present time. For our purposes here, see particularly González Faus 1980 and Sobrino 1980.

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(Jesus)222 and to the thought of Election in the Ignatian Exercises. The believer needs to discern the spirits in order to be able to follow Christ towards the goal of his kingdom; the goal of perfection, of salvation. This framework makes the discernment of the spirits an exceptionally difficult task, since the Heavenly King is crucified. Accepting his call, following him, leads to humiliation and suffering.223 This paradox calls for particular alertness, since the spirits may not be what they appear to be: “[…] a man may be overcome not only by what is evil, but also, very frequently, by what appears to be right and good.”224 Thus, the theme of discernment of the spirits implies a conflictual framework of interpretation: there are good and evil spirits; the exercitant must be sure to make the right choice. This choice is costly and painful, leading to humiliation and suffering because of the resistance of this world to the will of God. In a world of contradiction and mutually opposing forces, human beings are called to choose the right path. Here we have a third Ignatian theme which is easily recognizable in the structure of Sobrino’s theology. It is the theme of conflict, of choice and partisanship.225 In his Autobiography, Ignatius gives clear testimony to how he interprets reality as being subject to a continuous struggle between God and the Devil, el Enemigo.226 This struggle, according to Ignatius, is a struggle of absolutely contradictory forces. Any choice between them would be mutually exclusive. Accordingly, Ignatius operates with a series of dichotomies, several of which are taken over by Sobrino: God of life 222 Ej. 92-100, 167. 223 Autobiografía, 31 and 52; Ej. 48, 53, 116, 146, 203, 208, 297-8. 224 See The Official Directory of 1591 (xxii, 1), quoted from Rahner 1968, 140. – Cf. Chapter v, below. 225 See Ej. 136ff, 146, 167-174. 226 Autobiografía, 20.

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– idol(s) of death, wealth – poverty, honour – humiliation, etc […]227 Thus, it is clear that Sobrino’s envisioning of a practical theologia crucis228, consisting in following Jesus in the midst of a crucified reality, does have unmistakably Jesuit characteristics. In addition to these, several other key terms in Sobrino’s writings are also directly present in these Jesuit sources. I will mention two more central themes of particular interest; first, the emphasis on the location, and second, the theme of poverty. In Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises the term “lugar” plays a significant role. Over and over again, the exercitant is exhorted to prepare the exercises with a “composición, viendo el lugar.”229 By this is meant an effort to place oneself in the same “location” as the reality which is about to be contemplated.230 Here, the placing of oneself in another location is primarily an act of imagination. Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s use of the term “lugar” is somewhat different. Nevertheless, their embracing of this theological concept echoes one of Ignatius Loyola’s fundamental intuitions: that there exists a relation 227 See particularly Ej. 146: “[…] considerar el sermón que Cristo nuestro Señor hace a todos sus siervos y amigos, que a tal jornada envía, encomendándoles que a todos quieran ayudar en traerlos, primero a pobreza spiritual, y si su majestad fuere servida y los quisiere elegir, no menos a la pobreza actual; 2.0 a deseo de opprobrios y menosprecios, porque destas cosas de sigue la humildad, de manera que sean tres escalones: el primero, pobreza contra riqueza; el 2.0, opprobrio o menosprecio contra el honor mundano; el 3.0, humildad contra la soberbia; y destos tres escalones induzgan a todas las otras virtudes.” 228 See Chapter vii, below. 229 Ej. 47 (n.17), 91, 103, 112, 132, 151, 192, 202, 220. 230 Ej. 47: “Aquí es de notar que en la contemplación o meditación visible, así como contemplar a Cristo nuestro Señor, el cual es visible, la composición será ver con la vista de la imaginación el lugar corpóreo donde se halla la cosa que se quiere contemplar.”

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between God’s revelation in history and the place (from) which it is experienced, a relation which is of theological significance. For Ellacuría and Sobrino, the primary lugar teológico is the poor. Here too, they may find support in the writings of the founder of the Jesuit order. In the Autobiography, Ignatius’ care for and service to the poor is emphasized.231 In his pilgrimage he often shares the lot of poor and despised people.232 He and his followers take the vow of poverty in accordance with traditional monastic piety.233 They dedicate themselves to diaconal work, and speak for the rights of the poor.234 In the Spiritual Exercises, the poverty of Christ in which the pious has to share in order to become a true follower, is given great weight.235 In fact, Ej. 167, which may be read as something of a climax in the Spiritual Exercises, pinpoints exactly this connection. It deals with the “most perfect humility”, by which the exercitant “in order to imitate and become more like Christ our Lord” opts rather for poverty with the poor Christ, than for wealth.236 Again, Sobrino and the other liberation theologians take the concept of the poor and poverty further than Ignatius, giving it a more central theological significance. But they may do so with a notable amount of support in the theological traditions of the Jesuit order. All in all, Sobrino’s theology is profoundly marked by this Ignatian heritage. Only by paying attention to this tradition will it be 231 232 233 234 235 236

Autobiografía, paragraph 89. Autobiografía, 87. Autobiografía, 93. Autobiografía, 77. Ej. 98, 114, 142, 146, 157, 166-7, 277, 344. Ej. 167. “[…] por imitar y parescer más actualmente a Cristo nuestro Señor, quiero y elijo más pobreza con Cristo pobre que riqueza, opprobrios con Cristo lleno dellos que honores, y desear más de ser estimado por vano y loco por Cristo, que primero fue tenido por tal, que por sabio ni prudente en este mundo.”

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possible to give a just evaluation of the interrelatedness of life, experience, praxis and theological reflection which is so characteristic to Sobrino’s approach to theological method. The “Ignatian logic of existential cognition” – as Karl Rahner has called it237 – finds in Sobrino a particular, actualised and contextualised expression.238

[4] Critical Questions This rather detailed analysis of Sobrino’s point of departure has been necessary in order to establish the basis for our interpretation of the theological significance of contemporary suffering as this comes to expression in his novel suggestion in christology: seeing the crucified Jesus in the light of “crucified people” in history – and vice versa. We have come to the point where we can unfold further the questions and difficulties that we have encountered so far. I shall focus on five questions, which deal with themes that are central to this study.

237 “Individual knowledge in Ignatius Loyola” in The Dynamic Element in the Church, Freiburg-London 1964, 170, quoted from Rahner, H.: op. cit., 28. 238 While it is certainly true that Sobrino, Ellacuría and other Jesuits among the leading liberation theologians (like e.g. Juan Luis Segundo and João Libânio) are clearly marked by the Jesuit tradition, one may also describe their works as attempts of reforming, criticising, and renewing the Jesuit heritage. As Higgins and Letson comment, “[…] liberationist theological and pastoral strategies have called into question the long tradition of Jesuit commitment to structure, system and sodality. The contemporary Jesuit is more inclined to rugged independence, grassroots networking, and conscientizing than to the maintaining of dying institutional enterprises.” Higgins and Letson 1995, 244; see also Chapter iii, “Jesuit as liberationist” in op. cit., 102-134.

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(1) Do these different elements to which Sobrino in particular and liberation theology in general give priority – i.e. the poor, the epistemological location, the unity of history, and praxis of liberation – relate well to one another? Is this, in other words, a coherent methodological proposal? Since it is a response to a particular historical situation and a reaction to what is seen as weaknesses in traditional theological method, one could suspect that the different elements of the alternative proposal would somehow acquire a character of “ad hoc”-answers, and thereby lack the necessary coherence. The main theological locus according to liberation theology is the praxis of the poor for their liberation in (the one) history. In this sentence we see how the different methodological elements are interrelated in a mutually constitutive manner. Its fundamental point, without which the others lose their function, is the new theological subject: the poor. In what sense the poor are theological subject(s), is a debated issue.239 Parting from what I have examined so far regarding the poor and their protagonist role, at least this can be said: the poor are the primary subjects of liberation theology insofar as their situation, praxis and faith constitute the point of departure, the material and the sine qua non for the theological enterprise. However, it is not just the poor in their mere existence who trigger the theological reflection, but the poor as they undertake some sort of action, a struggle to overcome the forces that oppress them, a praxis of liberation. This is the verb in the sentence. Here lies the emphasis on the operational, dynamic view of human existence and history. Since there is only one history, this praxis of liberation is at the same time a salvific process, which is open-ended towards transcendence. It goes through history and beyond history. Liberation theologians stress that the poor must be the main agents of this salvific praxis of liberation. This is so, not thanks to some internal historical quasi-automatic law, as in Marxism, but because

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of God’s free and gracious identification with the poor and outcasts of this world. Here liberation theologians also differ clearly from both classical and modern European theology, who next to God, see either the Church or the enlightened, modern human person (most often thought of as man) as the main agents in the process of emancipation-liberation-salvation.

239 Cf. e.g.: Segundo 1990 in which Segundo claims that a notable shift within liberation theology occurred during the seventies. At the outset, he says, liberation theology was developed in the universities among middle class intellectuals, with the purpose of de-ideologising theology and thereby turning it into an effective tool for the liberation of the poor and oppressed. The long term objective was to awake the poor from their passivity and fatalism and enable them to be agents for liberation. But it was thus theology done on behalf and in favour of the poor, not by the poor themselves. Then the change occurred, according to Segundo. The popular movements had neither understood nor appreciated this “first line” with liberation theology. It was perceived as something only relevant to “Europeanised,” middle-class intellectuals. But then, many among the – now frustrated – liberation theologians became “converted to the poor”, in the sense that they now held that it was the poor themselves that should do theology – and not the theologians. The theologians should rather become “organic intellectuals” in Gramsci’s concept. Segundo claims to detect this change in e.g. Gutiérrez’ theological reflection by comparing the difference between Teología de la liberación – which he esteems highly – and La fuerza de los pobres en la historia which he thinks is of much lower quality. The problem with the “second line” in liberation theology according to Segundo, is that it loses its critical potential vis-à-vis the popular culture and the popular faith. This has paralysed liberation theology which has become more “repetetive apology” than constructive theology, Segundo sternly states. Segundo himself wishes to remain faithful to the “first line”, whereas he thinks that Gutiérrez, Dussel, Sobrino, Boff etc. all have passed from the first to the second line. Interesting as this self-criticism from one of the founders of liberation theology is, it is hard to agree with this analysis. For a further discussion, see my article Stålsett 1996b.

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From this, it follows that the poor according to liberation theology also are theological locus, or location, in two senses. Firstly they are the theological location in a hermeneutical and epistemological sense; it is necessary to adopt their standpoint in order to gain knowledge about God, and to be able to interpret the sources of theology correctly. Secondly, and more fundamentally, the poor become in this outline the theological location in a more direct, soteriological sense. The poor bring salvation. Their transformative action has liberation as its objective, a liberation which will not only aim at innerworldly goals, but which stretches towards the “more”, the “beyond”, toward salvation in the full Christian sense. And since the poor are the ones on the margins, on the “reverse side of history”, the only way that history may be one history of salvation for all, is that they break the power of division, conflict and oppression, in a word, sin, from the outside, from “exteriority”.240 Although there are many variations of the treatment of these main points among liberation theologians, including those to whom I have referred to so far, I find the structure and main line of thought sufficiently consistent to be regarded as a coherent methodological proposal, when judged by its internal standards.241 The theological implications and consequences of this proposal are, of course, wider-ranging. Indirectly, this is the subject matter of my entire study. (2) What concept regarding the nature of human being, of the world and of history is presupposed here? I have shown (and I shall elaborate in greater detail on this below) that Sobrino, following Ellacuría, sees both the nature of human beings and of the world as “constitutively” and radically historical. History is where human beings and the world are intertwined in a mutually interdependent manner. Even the working of the human mind is ultimately historical. This is why he insists that the Christian concept of salvation too

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is historical, and should be historicised.242 God is the God of history, who acts in and through history for the liberation-salvation of human beings and the world. This historical view of human being and world is not the same as a purely immanent view, however. History is open-ended, Ellacuría and Sobrino reiterate, time and time again. Nevertheless, this repetitious insistence leaves one with the suspicion that they them240 The poor are the other inasmuch as they are excluded from the system, coming from beyond, challenging the totality. “Others reveal themselves as others in all their acuteness of their exteriority when they burst in upon us as something extremely distinct, as nonhabitual, nonroutine, as the extraordinary, the enormous (“apart from the norm”) – the poor, the oppressed” (Dussel 1985, 43). The other as other is a mystery, that reason can never embrace – only faith can penetrate it, continues Enriaue Dussel (Dussel 1985, 46.) The other – the poor – is thus ‘the Holy One’ (“The Other is the Holy One. Poor people are holy ones inasmuch as they are outside the system”, Dussel 1978, 30) who reveals the totally Other, who is God. “God is the absolute Other, since he is eschatological and therefore does not give himself entirely to us in history, but only at the end of history” (Dussel 1978, 13.; compare Gutiérrez 1980, 16) “The Other as exteriority is definitively God. Whenever we respect the Other as other, we live our lives as we should. Evil enters our lives when we do not respect the Other, but use the Other as a thing.” Furthermore (Dussel 1978, 31): “In the totality of the system (contrary to Wittgenstein, who thinks that “God does not reveal in the world”), in the world, the self-revelation of the absolute Other takes place through the oppressed” (Dussel 1985, 189). Dussel calls this an “epiphany through the poor” (ibid.). Liberating philosophy and liberating theology both stem from this encounter with the poor and oppressed, understood as a revelation of the other, according to Dussel. 241 This assessment does not mean that I have accepted the methodological alternative en bloc, only that it rightly presents itself as a coherent alternative. Even Ratzinger does not disagree on this: “If one seeks to offer a global judgement, one must say that when we try to understand the fundamental options of liberation theology, one cannot deny that the whole theology contains an almost irrefutable logic.” Ratzinger 1990, 374. 242 Cf. Chapter ii, [2].

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selves in fact are struggling with this point. The question is whether Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s open realism in fact is able to carry the weight of the theology they formulate. Is it “open” enough? From the reading of Ellacuría and Sobrino on the issue of history and transcendence, arises the suspicion that their insistence on “reality” as “historicity” as opposed to any form of idealism and dualism, creates difficulties in the direction of monistic and synergistic tendencies.243 This suspicion and its possible consequences in soteriology and christology will have to be examined further. (3) Do we find here a too optimistic view of the nature of human being, world and history, as has been objected by some?244 Some elements do point in an “optimistic” direction: liberation-salvation in history is thought to be possible. And human beings act “in conjunction” with God in this process of salvation. Yet at the same time Sobrino’s and liberation theology’s foundational experience is an experience of being victimised by the historical and very concrete consequences of sin. The power of evil, sin and death is by no means overlooked or regarded less significant in their theological concept. For them, theology belongs to the “real” reality, the reality of unjust suffering, and can never escape the presence and power of the negative forces. This is also why Ellacuría and Sobrino point to the necessity of being “poor with spirit.” Only through conversion and by the 243 This critical point is exaggerated beyond any reasonable interpretation by Ratzinger, however. In Ratzinger 1990, 372-373, he faults Sobrino for fundamentally substituting historical fidelity for faith. Ratzinger sees this as a result of “[…] a Marxist, materialist philosophy in which history has assumed the role of God.” Ellacuría is included in the same criticism. Such simplistic characteristics leave the impression of being the result of a superficial and indeed averse reading of the texts of Sobrino and Ellacuría. 244 See e.g., Congregation 1990d, 349-350, paragraphs 6 and 7c; or from a conservative, evangelical perspective, Almeida 1990, 29-36, 51-52.

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strength and power of God’s spirit can the poor transform this world in the direction of the Kingdom of God, and thus lead history towards its fulfilment. The ability of the poor to transform history in the direction of the Kingdom is, according to this view, not rooted in some inherent quality of theirs as poor, but in their theological status as the priveleged addressees of the gospel. Is this, nevertheless, not to expect too much from the poor? Are not the poor also sinners?245 Is this a way of burdening the poor with a soteriological role which they cannot and should not play?246 Ultimately, is there not too much voluntarism and activism, and too little mystery and grace in the position of liberation theology on this point? These questions will follow us as we proceed, in particular when examining the term “the crucified people”. 245 Christian Duquoc rejects such criticism of the liberation theology position: “A los teólogos de la liberación se les ha acusado de omitir el pecado. Esta acusación me parece infundada por un doble motivo: nunca han asimilado a los ‘pobres’ con los ‘justos’ ni han negado que los pobres fueran también pecadores; por otra parte han subrayado que el pecado habita nuestra historia, ya que su forma estructural, la opresión es perceptible en sus destructivos efectos.” Duquoc 1989, 92. 246 Cf. Bedford 1993, who launches this as the most serious criticism of the concept of the crucified peoples in the thinking of Ellacuría and Sobrino, see p. 295. Bedford wrote her thesis under professor Jürgen Moltmann in Tübingen, and her conclusions clearly seems to concur with his views. In a recent review of the German edition of Mysterium Liberationis in Orientierung, Moltmann puts forward the following criticism of Ellacuría’s classic essay on the crucified people: “Er [i.e. Ellacuría, my comment, SJS] folgert daraus: ‘Es ist das Opfer der Sünde der Welt, und es ist dasjenige, das der Welt Erlösung bringt’ […]. Zu dieser kühnen Aussage kommt mir die kritische Frage in den Sinn: Wenn das gekreuzigte Volk der Welt Erlösung bringt, wer erlöst dann das gekreuzigte Volk? Ist das nicht eine religiöse Überforderung des Volkes, und macht es seine Lasten nicht noch schwerer, von denen das Volk doch befreit werden soll?” Moltmann 1996, 205. Cf. Maier 1992, 339.

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(4) What kind of hermeneutics is employed here? One fundamental characteristic is that the historical, social and even geographical situatedness of any hermeneutical process is strongly underlined. Sobrino’s and Ellacuría’s insistence on the strong connection between source and location leads in the direction of what we might call a “contextual” or “situational” hermeneutics. Furthermore, it evidently has to be labelled a “hermeneutics of praxis.” The emphasis on historicisation is not just a matter of a hermeneutical interpretation in terms of giving an actual explanation, but also involves making something effective and operational in history.247 The interpretation of any text or event has to be verified through praxis in actual history, according to Ellacuría and Sobrino. Speaking in classical hermeneutical terms, this may be seen as an affirmation of the statement that “without some applicatio, there is no real hermeneutical intelligentia or explicatio.”248 The element of historical application through praxis is crucial to liberation theology hermeneutics. But does this mean that liberation theology, so to speak, “solves” the hermeneutical problem with its insistent reference to praxis? Does it not rather naïvely seem to presuppose that praxis in itself and automatically frees the interpreter from the complex task of understanding? The polemical and unprecise use of the term “praxis” in some works of Latin American liberation theology, especially in its early phase, may give legitimate cause to such suspicions.249 This immediately takes us to the question of how theory and praxis relate to each other in the framework of the liberation theology method. In French theologian C. Duquoc’s opinion, liberation 247 See below, Chapter ii [2]. 248 Tracy 1987, 101. 249 Cf. Duquoc 1989, 45-57. However, Clodovis Boff ’s work Boff 1980, shows that leading liberation theologians are perfectly aware of the problem.

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theologians have not been sufficiently clear on this issue. He holds that theory and praxis cannot be separated, but should “nurture each other mutually.”250 This is not denied by liberation theologians, he admits, but “their language sometimes give the impression that it is the praxis which, almost spontaneously, engenders the theory which interprets it.”251 He consequently blames them for not taking due account of the “correcting capacity of theory,”252 by almost taking for granted that the praxis of the poor generates a theory which “corresponds to the transcendental meaning of the tranformation of the world”.253 Is this critisicm valid in relation to Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s outline? It does at least seem to address a vulnerable point. Their use of “praxis” is so wide that it seems to embrace every aspect of human existence in history. And as we have seen, even the process of cognition itself is already a praxis, according to them. Theory becomes thus only an inner moment of critical reflection on and in this historical existence. Nevertheless, as this inner moment it not only can be critical, but should be critical. Being critical is the fundamental task of theory, of reflection, Ellacuría holds. Furthermore, we saw that Ellacuría makes the scientific status and human character of praxis depend on this critical reflection on it. Without a critical theoretical examination and eventually correction, praxis is a mere reaction, and not human praxis at all. But is this sufficient to escape the serious accusations of something close to a praxis-determinism? How can theory be critical if it 250 Duquoc 1989, 50. – See also e.g. Tracy 1987, 140, n. 51, where he calls for “mutually critical correlations”, and Moltmann 1987, 10: “Ambas magnitudes, la teoría y la práctica, se corrigen recíprocamente a la luz del evangelio liberador.” 251 Duquoc 1989, 50. 252 Ibid: “[…] capacidad correctora de la teoría […]” 253 Duquoc 1989, 51.

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is only an inner moment of praxis? From where does it get its critical potential if it is totally dependent on praxis? The question is still open. (5) Earlier in this chapter i outlined what I called presuppositions for doing theology meaningfully in “a crucified reality”, according to Sobrino. But as was also pointed out, these presuppositions are based on previous experiences of suffering and oppression – experiences that make it meaningful to speak theologically of reality as “crucified”. These presuppositions are then theoretically a prioris, but de facto they emerge a posteriori. The criteria of how to do theology in a crucified reality can only be discovered when experiencing the reality as “crucified”. This points to a profound circularity in Sobrino’s fundamental theological method. Theoretically, this circularity may be understood as the circularity which affects any process of understanding. In other words, it may be (just) another version of the hermeneutical circle. Yet it could also be a closed circle, a circular argumentation that in fact presupposes its own conclusions.254 If this should be the case, such a theological method would become irrelevant for anybody who does not uncritically accept its presuppositions, or share the basic experiences that precede it. Worse, it could then become totally closed to outside criticism and testing or verification, thus in fact precluding any meaningful dialogue, and in the final analysis becoming manipulative and ideological, in the pejorative sense of this word.255 But is this the case in Sobrino’s theology, given the centrality that it accords to the crucified people? In order to be able to give an answer to this fundamental question, we need to have a clearer 254 Rahner speaks of “the circular structure of faith knowledge”, see Rahner 1993, 230-232. 255 Cf. Sobrino 1982a, 92.

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understanding of what significance Sobrino actually gives to “the crucified people”. This is what I will explore in the subsequent chapters.

[5] Conclusions In this chapter I have shown that the reality of contemporary suffering is fundamental to the theology of Jon Sobrino. The principal reason for this fact is to be sought in Sobrino’s own experiences of suffering in the midst of a concrete praxis for justice and peace. These experiences make Sobrino describe reality as crucified. Reflecting upon what it means to do theology in such a crucified reality, Sobrino emphasises seven basic points: (1) First, that it requires an act of honesty in relation to reality. This act of honesty implies that the theologian is willing to undergo a profound change of mind, eyes and heart, i.e. a conversion in order to be able to see the truth of reality. (2) Second, that there is a close relationship between the context and content of any given theological thinking. Theological reflection is always influenced by its situatedness, its location. It is thus necessary to have a conscious and critical focus on the way in which theology is being shaped and conditioned by the concrete location from which it takes place. It is only by being critically aware of its situatedness that theology can overcome the limitations which follow from this situatedness, and take advantage of the opportunities that it represents. Furthermore, Sobrino believes – together with Latin American liberation theologians in general – that there are privileged locations for theology. This privileged location is what he calls the lugar teológico. This requires from the side of the theologian a consciousness about the dialectical relation between the sources of theological reflection and its concrete

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location, and a willingness to move to locations from which the content of the sources can be better grasped. (3) This privileged location for interpreting the Christian sources, Sobrino holds to be “the poor”. Sobrino suggests that theological method should give priority to the conscious and committed siding with the poor in their struggle for liberation, in order to avoid the danger of a false neutrality inherent in any reflection and discourse, and not least in theology. This means that, (4) in a crucified reality where the poor are considered to be a theological locus, the liberation of the poor becomes a theological objective in its own right. This in turn, implies almost by necessity that (5) there be a major emphasis in theological method on concrete history and historical praxis, in order to overcome the reductionist and escapist consequences of an erroneous idealism in theology. Rather than orthodoxy, the stress is laid on “orthopraxis”. In terms of christology, this emphasis on praxis is expressed in the centrality of the following of Jesus (seguimiento), which Sobrino sees both as a precondition and as a consequence of gaining knowledge about the content of faith. This leads Sobrino to affirm that (6) theology formally consists in conceptualizing reality theologically. The material for theological labour is thus not just written texts of the past, but also contemporary events and phenomena, which may be interpreted theologically as signs of God’s presence, i.e. “signs of the times”. Finally, Sobrino proposes that (7) through such a reformulation of the theological task, theology should be understood as an ‘intellectus amoris’. In all this, we have seen that Sobrino is profoundly indebted to other liberation theologians, in particular to his late colleague, Ignacio Ellacuría. In addition, Sobrino has received important influences from modern European philosophy and theology. But

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perhaps more significantly, we have seen that this approach to theology has deep roots in the tradition of Jesuit spirituality. In the course of this consideration of Sobrino’s point of departure and fundamental presuppositions, I have raised some questions, doubts and critical objections. These have evolved in particular around a complex of problems related to the inter-connection and understanding of concepts such as “reality”, “history”, “the poor” and Christian salvation, which will be of importance in my further inquiry. Concluding the present chapter, I would like to highlight one of the major issues that in my view is at stake here, formulated as a challenge: How can one combine the absolute, partisan commitment to “the poor” – i.e. the excluded and oppressed ‘other’ – with a balanced, nuanced view of the fragmentariness and incompleteness of our perception of reality, thus taking seriously the ambiguity and plurality of history and reality? Applied to the “world of the poor”, this challenge can be formulated as follows: How can one take due account of the diversity of forms of oppression, of the faces of the poor, of their strategies for survival and liberation, without losing sight of the common denominator of their situation? How can one appreciate both the historical potential for strength that lies in the consciousness of this similarity on the one hand, and the necessary (and promising) theological analysis of this similarity-in-difference on the other? With these challenges in mind, I shall now concentrate on the term “the crucified people”.

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ii. The Crucified People (1) From Historical Reality to Theological Concept

[…] en esas cruces se hace presente Jesús y su Dios […]1

Sobrino holds that theology, formally speaking, should be a theological conceptualising of historical reality. Accordingly, in this first approach to an analysis of “the crucified people”, I shall follow its journey from historical reality to theological concept. It is this basic understanding of theological endeavour which makes it possible for Sobrino to include such a concept in his theological thinking in the first place, given that it is not a concept that can be derived directly either from the Scriptures or from the Christian tradition. By saying this, it is not implied that the idea of ‘crucified people’ is without any precedent or parallel, or that it does not have any biblical legitimation.This remains to be shown.2 But its main source is an interpretation of a contemporary historical phenomenon. It is thus a new theological concept, a theologoumenon.3 We have seen how crucial it is for Sobrino to make ‘true’ reality the point of departure for theological reflection. Consequently, he emphasises that the crucified people is primarily a historical reality, and only thereafter a theological concept. Because theological concepts are “limit-statements”, and accordingly “not directly accessible to human understanding”, they require “prior experience of historical realities,” Sobrino holds.4 I have shown which personal experi1 2 3

Sobrino 1993g, 358. See, e.g., Boff and Pixley 1989 and González Faus 1991. Cf. treatment below, in Chapter viii, [1]. See definition in Introduction above.

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ences, according to Sobrino himself, have led him to give such theological weight to the crucified people.5 But a few more points could be made regarding the crucified people as historical reality. By defining this historical phenomenon with the word ‘crucified’, at least three central traits are indicated. First, it is thereby designated as a dialectical and conflictive reality. Where there are crucified, there are also crucifiers. Crucifixion means conflict with deadly consequences. Calling the world of the poor, the Third World, or suffering people in general ‘crucified’, consequently implies that their situation is seen in an antagonistic framework, not merely as a result of dysfunctions, natural causes or unfortunate circumstances. 6 This antagonistic perspective inevitably leads to the second trait, which is the political. The determination ‘crucified’ carries political connotations. It is a fact that execution by crucifixion was a penalty for what one now would call political crimes. But because of the spiritualisation this symbol has undergone during the centuries, there is a need to recover this political aspect of crucifixion. Third, and most obviously, it indicates that this historical phenomenon is not exhaustively described in purely secular terms. To call poor and oppressed people ‘crucified’, is to give them some sort of religious significance. Thus, we move from historical reality to theological concept. The aim of this chapter is to seek answers to the following questions: Where does this new concept, “the crucified people”, come from? How did it develop? What role does it play in Jon Sobrino’s christology? What is meant by it? Having made some introductory observations on the origins and development of the term, I shall proceed to a more thorough 4 5 6

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Sobrino 1994c, 37. See Chapter i [1]. Sobrino 1991d, 424.

study of Ignacio Ellacuría’s innovative and suggestive treatment of this theme. Once again, the study of Ellacuría is required in order to grasp the particularity and meaning of Sobrino’s thinking on this matter. Having examined Sobrino’s writings on the topic, then, I move to a preliminary critical assessment. This assessment will be only preliminary because, as I will show, it will be necessary to see the concept in light of other main tenets of Sobrino’s christology in order to make a fair judgement. Accordingly, I return to a final consideration and evaluation in Chapter viii, on the basis of which I shall present my own position.

[1] Development of the Theme; Influences and Parallels (1) The theme of ‘the crucified people’ and how to do theology in its presence, has gained increasing importance in Jon Sobrino’s theological writings. In his early works, the theme was only indirectly present. In Cristologia desde America Latina7, where the framework and structure of Sobrino’s theological thought is outlined, this idea is implicit in his discussion on the “Death of Jesus and Liberation in History”8. Treating the theme of the cross of Jesus from the viewpoint of the historical suffering and processes of liberation in Latin America, there comes an oscillation in Sobrino’s use of theological concepts as “cross” and “crucifixion”, from a reference exclusively to the suffering of Jesus to include also a reference to the sufferings of Latin Americans today. First, Sobrino interprets the death of “the other”, i.e. the oppressed, the Indian, the poor, etc. as the mediation in history of 7 8

Sobrino 1976. Sobrino 1976, 135-176.

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God’s suffering and death.9 Then he goes on to determine this suffering of the other as a suffering on the cross: “[…] the privileged mediation of God continues to be the real cross of the oppressed.”10 There is a profound interrelation between “the cross of Jesus and the historical crosses.”11 However, Sobrino does not yet develop this relationship further. One reason may be found in the fact that Sobrino wrote this book a short time after his return to Central America from Germany, where he had finished his doctoral studies on the christologies of Wolfhart Pannenberg and Jürgen Moltmann.12 Thus, it is clearly influenced by Jürgen Moltmann’s theology, and especially Der gekreuzigte Gott13 – an influence Sobrino openly admits.14 Moltmann also speaks metaphorically of contemporary crosses; “cross of reality”15, “cross of the present time”16, etc. He speaks of “conformitas crucis”17, “following the cross”18, “crucified Chris9 Sobrino 1976, 147. 10 Sobrino 1976, 166: “[…] la mediación privilegiada de Dios sigue siendo la cruz real del oprimido.” 11 Sobrino 1976, 172: “[…] la cruz de Jesús y las cruces históricas.” He also speaks of “[…] una historia que sigue siendo de cruz e injusticia”, Sobrino 1976, 175. 12 Sobrino 1975c. 13 Moltmann 1973, English translation: Moltmann 1974. 14 “De Moltmann he aprendido mucho. Pero, tal vez, la diferencia radica en la diversa situación existente en Alemania y Latinoamérica. Moltmann trata de un modo general cosas que nosotros tratamos de un modo concreto, por cuanto que en Europa no existen esos conflictos reales que existen entre nosotros. Yo diría que en Latinoamérica hacemos concretamente lo que Moltmann presenta idealmente.” Sobrino according to Gibellini 1981, 465473; 472. – Cf. Gutiérrez on Moltmann: Gutiérrez 1984, 270-271. 15 Moltmann 1974, 4; 35. 16 Moltmann 1974, 9. 17 Moltmann 1974, 45. 18 Moltmann 1974, 54ff.

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tian”199, and he discusses the relationship between the cross of Jesus and the crosses of his followers. Although Moltmann gives these issues a nuanced treatment which would need more thorough examination in order to make a just comparison with Sobrino, it is fair to say in broad terms that his main point regarding Jesus’ cross and other crosses – in Der gekreuzigte Gott, at least – is to point out the qualitative difference between these: “The qualitative difference […] should not be ignored”20. “(T)he cross of Jesus is prior to the taking up of the cross by others.”21 Moltmann’s discussion is also basically held within the traditional framework of “taking up the cross” as a conscious, committed act of faith by the followers of Jesus, rather than a more general description of historical victims.22 Although differences in emphasis can be noted then, Sobrino does not go much further than Moltmann in conceptualising the crucified people at this early stage. Some years later, in an article Sobrino originally published in Sal Terrae in March 1982 (later reprinted in Jesús en América Latina), the concept of the crucified people comes more to the foreground. In “’The Risen One is the One Who Was Crucified’: Jesus’ Resurrection from among the World’s Crucified”, he explicitly takes his point of departure in the “crucified of history”23, trusting that this will better recapture the original meaning of the resurrection as a 19 20 21 22

Moltmann 1974, 17, cf. 24, 25, 55, 124, 149, 152. Moltmann 1974, 64. Ibid. This seems to have changed in Moltmann’s later works, however. See e.g. Moltmann 1990, 198, where he too speaks of the “[…] martyrdom of whole groups, people, races, and so forth.” 23 Sobrino 1982b, 148 / Sobrino 1982a, 173: “[…] los crucificados de la historia.” Note the following error in this Spanish edition: the titles of the two final chapters have been switched. Chapter 7 is in fact “El resucitado es el Crucificado […]”, while Chapter 8 is “La Fe en el Hijo de Dios desde un pueblo crucificado.”

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resurrection not just of “any person”, but of the crucified Jesus of Nazareth. Here it becomes evident that for Sobrino, the “crucified of history” are not the conscious and faithful followers of Jesus alone. It is a wider concept: “In the human race today – and certainly where I am writing – many women and men, indeed entire peoples, are crucified.” 24 It is significant that this first approach to the theme of crucified people emerges in the context of a reflection on the resurrection. In Sobrino’s later writings on the theme the perspective of resurrection is not as explicit. He also deems it important to focus particularly on the experience of crucifixion in its harshness and darkness, i.e., in some sense prior to, or independent of, the light of the resurrection. This is the focus he chooses in Jesucristo liberador, which is reflected also in the present study. Such focus and methodological procedure do not imply a negligence or playing down of the resurrection. On the contrary, it is legitimate and necessary to choose this approach both from the actual experience of suffering from which Sobrino’s thinking emerges, and from the theological observation that the early Christian witnesses, even having experienced the joy of Easter, make an effort not to forget the painful experience of the crucifixion. Yet, faith in the resurrection of the crucified one is in Sobrino’s work always seen as a fundamental premise for theological reflection on the crucified ones of our time. Seeing these crucified people as carriers of hope and even salvation appears to be possible only on the basis of the confession that this crucified Jesus was raised from the dead. In another article, published the same year,25 Sobrino starts a more explicit reflection on the reality of the crucified people. He

24 Sobrino 1982b, 148. 25 In Concilium, Vol. 153, 1982, also reprinted in a revised version in Sobrino 1982a, 185-192 / Sobrino 1982b, 159-165.

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takes his cue from Ignacio Ellacuría, seeing the crucified people in relation to the Songs of the Servant of Yahweh in Isaiah. More recently this concept of the crucified people has moved into the very centre of Sobrino’s theology, to such an extent that it can be used to characterise his theology as such. This is shown i.a. through his inclusion of an entire chapter on this term in the first volume of his reformulated and expanded christology, Jesucristo liberador26, and in the subtitle of his El Principio Misericordia. Bajar de la cruz a los pueblos crucificados from 1991. In this book, Sobrino “wishes to set down that the sign of the times par excellence is the ‘existence of the crucified people’, and the most urgent demand is ‘to take them down from the cross’.” 27 (2) Sobrino is not the first to introduce “the crucified people” as theologoumenon. As in so many other aspects of his theological thinking, here too he follows Ignacio Ellacuría, who in 1979 wrote a groundbreaking article on the subject. Sobrino also remembers some of Archbishop Romero’s sermons as a direct influence that made him develop this theme, and in particular he gives significance to the pastoral visit to Aguilares in June 1979, which I referred to at the beginning of this study.28 There are also other contemporary theologians in Latin America who have been exploring similar approaches, although with dif26 Sobrino 1991d, 423-451. 27 Sobrino 1992b, 7: “[…] quiere asentar que el signo de los tiempos por antonomasia es ‘la existencia del pueblo crucificado”, y la exigencia más primigenia es la de ‘bajarlo de la cruz’.” This last formulation gives cause to some wonder already at this stage. Why is it a task “to take the crucified down”? Would not the challenge for Christian faith be rather to see them resurrected? And – is there any difference? The formulation “to take the crucified down” has Jesuit roots, which may throw some light on this vagueness. See Chapter viii [4], thesis 10.2. 28 See Introduction above.

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ferent emphases. The most important among these are E. Dussel, G. Gutiérrez, L. Boff, C. Mesters and F. Hinkelammert, all major proponents of Latin American liberation theology.29 But Sobrino also finds historical roots for a “theology of the crucified people” in Latin America. These are particularly to be found in Bartolomé de Las Casas’ (1484-1576) writings. Gutiérrez, in his seminal work on Las Casas’ life and theology En la busca de los pobres de Jesucristo, sees the recognition of Jesus in the mistreated and oppressed Indians as the central point in Las Casas’ spirituality and theology.30 A central quotation from Las Casas to which Sobrino makes repeated reference, is the following:

29 In Dussel 1969, 127-170, which is actually a reprint of a study from 1963, the author makes an analysis of the aspects of universalism and mission in the Servant Songs. The perspective of this early study is not as contextually rooted and socially committed as that of Dussel’s later writings. He does not (yet) relate the suffering poor people of Latin America to the mission of the Servant. In Gustavo Gutiérrez’ writings, the central theme is God’s particular solidarity and identification with the poor and suffering, as already pointed out. See e.g., Gutiérrez 1982, 96-130; 112, and Gutiérrez 1993a, 148-158; 153: “Desde el sufrimiento cotidiano del pueblo pobre y desde la vida entregada en la lucha contra las causas de esa situación se produce una nueva vigencia del mensaje pascual.” In Leonardo Boff ’s Boff 1987a and Boff 1987b the connection between the suffering of the people and the suffering of Jesus is made explicit, to the point of being unified in the term “crucified”. The biblical scholar Carlos Mesters (Mesters 1983), also from Brazil, presents a popular re-reading of the Servant Songs which concludes that “El Siervo de Dios es el pueblo oprimido”; pp. 144ff. The economist and lay theologian Franz Hinkelammert develops a profound and peculiar criticism of capitalism in terms of crucifixion in Hinkelammert 1981, 223-268. 30 “Esta vivencia lo condujo al punto central de su espiritualidad y su teología: el reconocimiento de Jesús de Nazaret, el Cristo, en los maltratados y flagelados de la Indias.” Gutiérrez 1992, 71, cf. 71-100. English version: Gutiérrez 1993b.

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In the Indies I leave Jesus Christ, our God, being whipped and afflicted, and buffeted and crucified, not once but thousands of times, as often as the Spaniards assault and destroy those people. 31

Moreover, it seems that the theological reflection on contemporary suffering in terms of “crucifixion”, is something which has emerged in several areas of the so-called Third World during the last decades.32 This trend has been taken up by the Ecumenical Institute in Strasbourg, which in 1992 organised and published a studyproject called The Scandal of a Crucified World.33 The study explores the relationship between a traditional theologia crucis and these new reflections on contemporary suffering, and their possible ecumenical potential. To my knowledge, however, Sobrino is the first among these contributors who (1) explicitly speaks of a crucified people and (2) integrates this in a complete christological framework, and finally (3) explicitly reflects upon the consequences of such a reality/concept for the theological endeavour as a whole. This is why I have chosen to concentrate on his elaboration of this theme.34 This cannot be done, however, without a due consideration of Ignacio Ellacuría’s contributions.

31 Sobrino 1994c, 11 /Sobrino 1991d, 31: “[…] yo dejo en las Indias a Jesucristo, nuestro Dios, azotándolo y afligiéndolo y abofeteándolo y crucificándolo, no una sino millares de veces, cuanto es de parte de los españoles que asuelan y destruyan auellas gentes.” The quotation is from Bartolomé de Las Casas’ Historia de las Indias, II. 511b. Sobrino takes it from Gutiérrez 1989, 169 f. 32 From an African context, see e.g., Nolan 1988, 49-67. From an Asian context: Song 1990. 33 Tesfai 1994. 34 For a discussion of the term ‘people’ / ‘pueblo’, see below, Chapter viii, [2].

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[2] Ignacio Ellacuría: The Crucified People and Historical Soteriology Ellacuría wrote “El pueblo crucificado. Ensayo de soteriología histórica”35 during the preparations for the Latin American Bishops’ Conference (CELAM) in Puebla in 1979. The subtitle is significant: Ellacuría sets out to deal with this theme primarily within the field of soteriology. That this soteriology is furthermore defined as historical, is in accordance with perhaps the key concern in his own theological and philosophical contributions; namely that which he terms ‘historización’ – ‘ historisation’.36 From his early writings37 until his last38, it remains the focal point.

35 Ellacuría 1978a, see also Ellacuría 1989a. An English translation of this essay is found in Ellacuría and Sobrino 1993, 580-603. 36 José Maria Mardones sees the emphasis on historicization of the theological concepts in liberation theology in general and in Ellacuría’s writings in particular as “one of these questions that characterize a whole way of thinking, correcting a deficiency and omission of predominant theology” – “[…] una de esas questiones que señalan todo un estilo de pensamiento teológico, corrector de una deficiencia y olvido de la teología predominante” Mardones 1992, 84. 37 See e.g. Ellacuría 1973 (English version: Ellacuría 1976) which was Ellacuría’s first theological book, where he straightaway outlines his position, saying “we must historicize salvation” (Ellacuría 1976, 5), and “(S)alvation history is a salvation in history: This statement is the theme of this whole book” 15. Cf. e.g. Ellacuría 1975a, 425: “[…] ha de historizarse la salvación […]” 38 See Ellacuría 1991c, in which he proposes “profetismo” as method and “utopía” as horizon for the “historización del reino de Dios”, 394. Ellacuría wrote this article, which was first published in Revista Latinoamericana de Teología (RLT) 17 (1989), pp. 141-184 (with the full title “Utopia y profetismo desde América Latina”), just a few months before he was assassinated. Sobrino considers it a “verdadero testamento”, cf. Sobrino 1994b and Sobrino 1994a.

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What is meant by ‘historización’? Obviously, it is more than the mere analysis of the historical origin and development of a given theological concept. It does not mean to “tell its story”, but to “put it in relation to history.”39 It means giving it “socio-historical flesh”,40 filling it with a “concrete historical content”.41 This also goes beyond the (hermeneutical) actualisation of meaning, because it does not only intend to explain what the concept could signify in the historical situation today, but furthermore seeks to make the concept historically effective, to make it operational. Put in classical hermeneutical terms, one could say that it moves beyond the mere explicatio, and on to applicatio. But even more than this, the historicity that Ellacuría seeks “takes at least three forms: 1) historicity as real-life authenticity, 2) historicity as effectiveness in history, 3) historicity as hope in an eschatological future.”42 This corresponds to Ellacuría’s insistence that the biblical definition of truth is “not a factum, given once for all, but a faciendum”, which always seek to be verified, literally “made true”, through praxis in actual history. It has, in other words, a future-oriented and practical character – carácter futuro y práxico.43

39 Ellacuría 1984a, 181: “Para ello [recuperar la plenitud del sentido de términos como ‘sacramento’ y ‘salvación’], nada como ‘historizarlos’, lo cual no significa contar su historia, sino ponerlos en relación con la historia.” 40 Mardones 1992, 83. NB: The word “utilizar” in this article’s first sentence is most probably an error. I believe the correct wording should be: “Una de las insistencias que recorren los escritos de I. Ellacuría es la necesidad de historizar los conceptos teológicos (my emphasis, SJS.)” Mardones continues: “Formulado libremente quiere decir que es necesario dar carne históricosocial a conceptos como pecado, gracia, salvación, cruz, Iglesia, reindo de Dios, etc.” 41 Ibid. 42 Ellacuría 1976, 93.

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We can see then, that the movement between theology and history goes both ways: Theology means both to conceptualise theologically historical reality and to historicise theological concepts. This dual movement is clearly found in Ellacuría’s conceptualisation of “the crucified people”, which Sobrino subsequently develops further. Ellacuría sets out from historical reality, which he sees as “simply the existence of a vast portion of humankind which is literally and historically crucified.”44 What is the meaning of this from the perspective of salvation history, which to Ellacuría means salvation in history? The question is thus posed in terms of historical soteriology,45 and the dual movement is clear: Faced with this historical reality he asks what it might mean in theological terms (historical soteriology). In terms of the crucified people: the people are crucified. And he asks what the main theological theme – salvation – might mean when one finds oneself confronted with this historical reality (historical soteriology). The people are crucified. It is important at this stage to note carefully two presuppositions that Ellacuria sets forth in his understanding of historical soteriology: (1) It deals with a salvation that has to be realised within human history, which according to him is the only history there is. 43 Ellacuría 1975b, 346: “El verum de la Biblia no es un factum dado, una vez por todas, sino un faciendum. De ahí que la reflexión teológica, ejercitada desde un logos histórico, no intenta tan sólo determinar la realidad y el sentido de lo ya hecho, sino que, desde esa determinación y en dirección a lo por hacer, debe veri-ficar, hacer verdadero y real lo que ya en sí es principio de verdad. Por este carácter futuro y práxico no basta con la mera aceptación e intelección de la Biblia; o, si se prefiere, la intellección real de la Biblia implica desde sí misma el ejercicio de una determinada inteligencia, la del logos histórico”(Thesis 10.2.4.). 44 Ellacuría 1989a, 305. 45 Although it involves “many christological and ecclesiological themes” as Ellacuría puts it (ibid.).

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And (2) humanity participates actively in the realisation of this salvation in history. 46 (1) That there is only one history, is a basic contention of Latin American liberation theology, which Ellacuría had been advocating since the early 70’s, when he launched a fundamental critique of the traditional Catholic division between natural and supernatural. Like e.g. Gustavo Gutiérrez47 then, Ellacuría holds that there is no separation between a ‘secular’ history and history of revelation,48 although he is forced to admit that one may experience “some differences” between what may be a history of salvation and the real history in which one lives empirically. The point is however that “the believer sees these two as unified or, better, united in what may be called the great history of God.”49 This is possible, in Ellacuría’s view, because history is in itself transcendentally open, and because in this openness, God is present.50 Ellacuría makes a great effort to give a solid basis for the unity of history. This is not the place for a profound analysis of his application of the philosophical-theological positions of Rahner and Zubiri, and his own development of a philosophy of history. Nevertheless, it seems to me that the very struggle of Ellacuría to reach such an understanding of history, and his somewhat insistent and repetitive tone when discussing it, points to some profound difficul46 Ellacuría 1989a, 306. 47 Gutiérrez 1984, 199-226; 200: “(L)a afirmación es clara, en concreto: Hay una sola historia. Una historia cristofinalizada.” Cf. above, Chapter i [2]. 48 Ellacuría 1984a, 195. 49 Ellacuría 1991b, 352. “Aceptando que puede darse alguna diferencia entre lo que puede ser una historia de salvación y la historia real que le toca vivir empíricamente, puede decirse que en el fondo el creyente ve estas dos historias unificadas o, más bien, unidas en lo que pudiera llamarse la gran historia de Dios.” 50 Ellacuría 1993a, 8 : “La historia es de suyo transcendentalmente abierta y en esa transcendentalidad está ya la presencia, al menos incoada, de Dios.”

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ties in defending his view – and overviewing its consequences.51 I have already voiced the suspicion that Ellacuría’s realism in the end becomes too narrow, too closed – in spite of his many assertions of the opposite – so that it is not able to carry the full weight of the theological implications that are intended. (2) The idea of the unity of history is so important in liberation theology because it unites the quest for salvation with the struggle for liberation in history. Ellacuría, as we recall, speaks of a historical “theo-praxis” and “praxis of salvation” as the place where the work of God and the activity of human beings come together in a “dual unity of God in human being and human being in God.”52 This dual unity is expressed in the Bible in the historical praxis of Moses, of the people of Israel, and – ultimately – of Jesus. Consequently, participating in such praxis is the core of Christian existence. This is what makes “salvation history become salvation in history”: “Action in and on history, the salvation of social man (sic) in history, is the real pathway whereby God will ultimately deify man (sic!).”53 This anti-dualistic view of history and salvation and God’s salvation and human participation has been and continues to be one of the key issues in the debate or controversy on Latin American liberation theology. Its intention is clearly to avoid, on the one hand, religious quietism or escapism, and the vulnerability to ideological manipulation, which easily follows any theological thinking in two rooms (cf. Bonhoeffer) or two levels (cf. Gutiérrez). And, on the other hand, to rule out the possible use of religion as a legitimi51 If there is only “one” history, what does it actually mean that this history is “transcendentally open”? What would it be open towards? 52 See particularly Ellacuría 1991b, 232-372; 340: “[…] afirma la unidad dual de Dios en el hombre y el hombre en Dios. Este en juega una distinta función y tiene distinta densidad cuando la acción es de Dios en el hombre y cuando la acción es del hombre en Dios, pero siempre es el mismo en.” 53 Ellacuría 1976,18.

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sation of unjust structures through a one-sided doctrine of salvation/justification which justifies the oppressor and bids the oppressed to resign and be content with their lot. These dangers, and the urgency of overcoming them, are something which the history of the church, not least in Latin America, clearly demonstrates.54 As they concern fundamental and classical theological loci, these two soteriological presuppositions immediately actualise traditional dividing lines within theology, such as the one between Catholic and Protestant soteriology.55 And at the same time they present new dividing lines: First World/Third World theology, European political theology/liberation theology, etc. It will become clear through this inquiry that the conclusions regarding the legitimacy and usefulness of speaking theologically of crucified people(s) and the relevance of a theological methodology along the lines proposed by Sobrino, depend to a considerable degree on how one views these presuppositions. Let us now return to Ellacuría’s essay on the crucified people. Continuing in this constantly dialectical movement between contemporary history and theological interpretation, Ellacuría wishes to analyse “the figure of Jesus and the oppressed humankind from that point of view which unifies them: their passion and death.” 56 Their unity or likeness in suffering makes it, in Ellacuría’s opinion, hermeneutically justified to let them shed light on each other: the crucified people sheds light on the historical significance of the 54 See Chapter iii, below. 55 These issues have been in the forefront in recent Lutheran – Roman Catholic dialogue, see e.g. Lutheran-Roman Catholic 1994 and the process towards a Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification Between the Lutheran World Federation and the Roman Catholic Church. Although differences and unresolved problems still remain, it is fair to say that there has been considerable rapprochement between the two churches in this field. 56 Ellacuría 1989a, 306.

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death of Jesus, and the death of Jesus points to the salvific “character” of the crucified people. Focusing on the historicity of Jesus’ death, it is clear, according to Ellacuría, that his death had historical causes – just like the death of the crucified people. The necessity of Jesus’ suffering of which the evangelists speak (Gr.: edei pathein), was first and foremost historical, not theological, he believes.57 It was the necessary historical consequence of a life which corresponded to God’s word. Through long historical experience culminating with Jesus, the conclusion emerges: “(I)n our (historical) world it is necessary to pass through persecution and death in order to reach the glory of God.” 58 This is only so, however, because of sin. The realm of sin and the realm of God are opposite realities.59 There is a collective sin which “governs the world and the peoples”, “destroys history” and is an “obstacle to God’s future”. We all share in this collective sin, which is anterior to the individual sins of each.60 This historical, collective sin puts Jesus to death. That is the true meaning of the confession that Jesus “died for our sins,” Ellacuría believes.61 This means that Jesus did not “have to die” primarily for sacrificial or expiatory purposes, according to Ellacuría. Although he admits that interpretations along these lines – of such major importance in the Christian tradition – do contain some valid elements, they are insufficient in Ellacuría’s view, because they underscore the historical ‘necessity’ neither of the collective sin nor of the human action to confront it by ‘destroying injustice’ and ‘constructing love.’ 57 58 59 60

On the “necessity” of suffering, see my discussion in Chapter vii [5], below. Ellacuría 1989a, 313. Ellacuría 1989a, 314. The collective sin “grounds” the individual sins and “makes them possible”, Ellacuría holds. 61 Ellacuría 1989a, 314.

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Here we reach a main point in Ellacuría’s soteriological thinking: The power of sin can only be overcome through bearing its consequences: suffering under it. Salvation in history can be achieved only through confronting sin in an active struggle against it, and bearing the consequences of the opposition which such a struggle always – by historical necessity – will meet. So it was with Jesus in his time, and so it is with the crucified people today, according to Ellacuría. This point is indeed problematic when applied to suffering people today, as I shall show. There is a striking vagueness in Ellacuría’s expressions here, and pressing questions emerge: Why is this so, that sin is overcome by suffering under it? How is salvation actually brought about? These questions are not answered by Ellacuría. The vagueness could be explained by the nature of the matter: In the “why” and “how” of salvation, theology reaches its definite limit; it is facing the unfathomable mystery. Nevertheless, theology must always be prepared to give convincing reasons for why it holds this (and not that) to be such a mystery, and why it chooses to express that mystery in exactly these terms. This becomes increasingly urgent in an attempt to historicise theological concepts, as we find in Ellacuría. Is this vagueness perhaps rather a symptom of inconsistency – an inconsistency that Sobrino would inherit? We shall have to pay close attention to this as we proceed.62 A historical interpretation of the death of Jesus is thus necessary in order to understand its salvific value, Ellacuría insists. It is, in fact, not possible to separate the historical and the soteriological in Jesus’ case.63 It is his historical announcement and service of the coming Kingdom which meets resistance to the point of persecution and execution. And it is because it was this particular man (Jesus of Nazareth) who was crucified for these particular reasons (the service of the Kingdom), and who suffered the consequences 62 See below, Chapter vi. 63 Ellacuría 1989a, 317.

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without resignation, that he was raised from among the dead, – something which testifies to his unique salvific significance. The point in asking about the historical aspects of the death of Jesus is to uncover “where and how the saving action of Jesus was carried out in order to pursue it in history ” . 64 Recalling now the two presuppositions mentioned above, it follows that according to Ellacuría, (1) the salvation that Jesus brings must be continued, made effective in and through (the one and only) history (it is by no means a-historical, but trans-historical65), and (2) humankind must participate in this continued realisation of Jesus’ salvific action. But interestingly, by this he does not refer to humankind as such, in a universalistic meaning, but to a concrete part of it. Which part, then, can be held to be the “historical continuation of Jesus’ life and death?” Ellacuría’s answer is clear: the crucified people. Then, turning from Jesus to the crucified people, Ellacuría asks about its salvific significance. Herein lies the boldest, most original and radical novelty of his essay: to see the oppressed people as “not only the main addressee of the salvific effort”, but furthermore the “principle of salvation for the whole world.”66 This is obviously a scandal, Ellacuría admits.67 To expect to find salvation in the outcasts and downtrodden of this world is foolishness.68 But it is in his view exactly the same foolishness and scandal which is linked to the Christian interpretation of the death of Jesus. 64 Ellacuría 1989a, 317: “La soteriología histórica lo que hace es buscar dónde y cómo se realizó la acción salvífica de Jesús, para proseguirla en la historia.” 65 Ellacuría 1989a, 318. 66 Ellacuría 1989a, 319. “Lo que añade la fe cristiana a la constatación histórica del pueblo oprimido es la sospecha de si, además de ser el destinatario principal del esfuerzo salvífico, no será tambén en su situación crucificada principio de salvación para el mundo entero.” 67 Ellacuría 1989a, 307-308.

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By “the crucified people” Ellacuría understands […] that collective body, which as the majority of humankind owes its situation of crucifixion to the way society is organized and maintained by a minority that exercises its dominion through a series of factors, which taken together and given their concrete impact within history, must be regarded as sin. 69

By this definition he emphasises that it is a collective entity, and not just suffering individuals, and that its suffering is a result of historical causes, and not primarily natural. It is not something novel or strange to the Christian tradition to attribute a salvific role to a collectivity. To show this, and to concre68 It is a scandal both from the point of view of those who struggle for historical liberation, and for Christians. The former (it is obvious that Ellacuría here has political forces of some sort of Marxist inspiration in mind) have had the merit of attributing to a lower class – the proletariat in Marxist thinking – a salvific-liberating role on behalf of the whole society, but at the same time they rejected the idea that the even lower class, the Lumpenproletariat, could play any such role. In Christian thinking, which firmly holds that there is salvation in the cross of Jesus, nevertheless there has been a tendency after the resurrection to forget the shame and scandal of the cross in view of the victory and glory of the resurrection. Ellacuría 1989a, 308-309. 69 English text taken from Ellacuría and Sobrino 1993, 590. Ellacuría 1989a, 318: “[…] aquella colectividad que, siendo la mayoría de la humanidad, debe su situación de crucifixión a un ordenamiento social promovido y sostenido por una minoría que ejerce su dominio en función de un conjunto de factores, los cuales, como tal conjunto y dada su concreta efectividad histórica, deben estimarse como pecado.” In spite of this clear division into “majority” and “minority” and their respective role and responsibility for the situation of oppression, Ellacuría warns against a simplistic interpretation of the historical causes of oppression: “[…] no caer en una división maniqueísta del mundo, que pondría a un lado todo lo bueno y al otro lado lo malo.” In order to avoid this, he deems it necessary to study with care the “subsystems of crucifixion” which exist among the oppressed as well as among the oppressors (p. 320).

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tise the salvific role of the crucified people, Ellacuría now turns to an analysis of the Suffering Servant in the book of Isaiah. Faithful to his hermeneutical principles, Ellacuría’s interpretation of these texts is not a mere historical-critical exegesis, but a re-reading from a particular point of view, a particular locus theologicus.70 The choice of reading the texts of the Suffering Servant from the point of view of the crucified people is not arbitrary, he holds, because the crucified people, in his opinion, must be considered the true addressees of these texts in our historical moment. That this is so, can be confirmed only if it turns out that the texts shed new light on the reality of the crucified people, and if this reality helps clarify and actualise the texts. This certainly does not exclude a rigorous exegetical examination, but it subordinates this, Ellacuría is eager to point out.71 So, what does the Suffering Servant tell about the crucified people, according to Ellacuría? In short, (1) the Servant is chosen by God (Is. 42,1-7) in order to (2) bring justice to all the peoples of the world (42,4). In this election, (3) God shows preference for the lowly, the one(s) despised by the powerful (49,4; 7). (4) The Servant’s task will lead to persecution and suffering (50,7; 52,14; 53), but the Suffering Servant shall (5) endure the hardships (50,5-9; 53,7) and gain victory through them (53,11-12), a victory which (6) means salvation not just for the Servant but for ‘many’(53,4-5; 11-12). The description of the Suffering Servant in Isaiah reaches its climax in chapters 52,13 -53. From this ‘fourth song’, Ellacuría draws the following eight conclusions: (1) The Servant is someone who is crushed because of the historical intervention by human beings.

70 Ellacuría 1989a, 306, 321-2. Cf. Chapter i [2] b) and c) above. 71 Ellacuría 1989a, 322.

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(2) The Servant is not just someone who is not expected to be a possible Saviour, but someone who is treated with disgust, and considered to be humiliated and punished by God. (3) The Servant is considered to be a sinner, because he bears the sin of others. He dies ‘as the fruit of sin, and as filled with sins.’ (4) From a perspective of faith it is discovered that the cause of the Servant’s sufferings is not his own sins, but the ‘rebellions’ and ‘crimes’ of the people. (5) The Servant accepts this destiny, takes on the full weight of the sins which put him to death, even though they are not his own. By doing so, he takes away the sins of the people. The death of the Servant is expiation and intercession for the sins of the world. (6) The Servant triumphs: His death was not the failure it seemed to be, but leads to justification of others, light and wisdom through generations. (7) The believer sees in the fate of the Servant the act of God. God takes on this situation: By accepting to carry the crimes of human beings, the Servant pleases God. This is by far the most difficult and scandalous aspect in the Servant Songs, Ellacuría admits: […] God accepts as having been wished by himself, as salutary, the sacrifice of someone who has concretely died for reason of the sins of human beings. Only in a difficult act of faith is the sacred writer able to discover, in the Songs of the Servant, that which seems to the eyes of history to be the complete opposite. Precisely because he sees someone burdened with sins that he has not committed, and crushed by their consequences, the singer of these songs makes bold, by virtue of the very injustice of the situation, to ascribe all this to God: God must necessarily attribute a fully salvific value to this act of absolute concrete injustice. And the attribution can be made because the Servant himself accepts his destiny to save, by his own suffering, those who are actually the causes of it.72

And finally, (8) Ellacuría holds that the global orientation or universal scope of these songs about the Servant makes it impossible to

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determine once and for all who this Servant is: “Suffering Servant of Yahweh will be anyone who discharges the mission described in the songs – and par excellence the one discharging it in a more comprehensive fashion.”73 Since Christian faith first and foremost identifies the Servant with Jesus, Ellacuría thinks that the link between the Servant and the crucified people should be seen in light of the Servant christology of the New Testament. He notes that direct reference to this title (Gr.: pais theou) is not frequent in the New Testament texts, and that it virtually disappeared early on as a direct reference to Jesus or a christological title, since it did not mean much to the early-Christian Hellenistic communities.74 Nevertheless the Servant christology is of primary importance in the New Testament when it comes to interpreting the salvific value of the death of Jesus, Ellacuría holds. To what extent Jesus himself attributed any salvific value to his death, is disputed. He probably did not see himself as the Servant. The main point for Ellacuría, however, is that Jesus did not seek 72 Ellacuría and Sobrino 1993, 598. Spanish original: “Son las frases más fuertes, pero que admiten la interpretación que Dios acepta como querido por El, como saludable, el sacrificio de quien históricamente es muerto por los pecados de los hombres. Sólo en un difícil acto de fe el cantor del siervo es capaz de descubrir lo que aparece como todo lo contrario a los ojos de la historia. Precisamente porque ve cargado de los pecados y de las consecuencias del pecado a quien no los cometió, se atreve, por la misma injusticia de la situación, a atribuir a Dios lo que está sucediendo; Dios no puede menos de atribuir un valor permanente salvífico a este acto de absoluta injusticia histórica. Y se lo puede atribuir porque el propio siervo acepta su destino de salvar por el sufrimiento a quienes son los causantes de él.” Ellacuría 1989a, 326. 73 “Siervo doliente de Yahvé será todo aquel que desempeñe la misión descrita en los cánticos, y lo será por antonomasia quien la desempañe de forma más total.” Ellacuría 1989a, 326. 74 Ellacuría 1989a, 327.

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death for its own (possibly salvific) sake, but accepted death as the result of his life in struggle against the historical consequences of sin. The death must be seen as a consequence of his life, a life expressed in a public announcement of and active and consistent commitment to the justice which God brings, the Kingdom.75 Thus the salvific value of the death of Jesus is seen as intimately connected to the concrete character of that life, of which it was a consequence. It is this salvific life-death that needs a continuation in history 76, according to Ellacuría. The salvation that Jesus brings is trans-historical.77 But who represents this continuation? Theoretically, several possibilities are open. The crucial point is – theologically interpreted – whether God accepts it as such a continuation.78 This can only be tested against its similarity to what happened to the historical Jesus, Ellacuría believes. In the Servant, as in Jesus, the victim becomes saviour. Ellacuría finds this interpretation fundamentally confirmed and founded in the scene of the Last Judgement in Matt. 25:31-46. Therefore it is possible for faith – in spite of all the scandal it provokes – also to see the crucified people as saviours, who will eventually bring resurrection, justice, and new life, Ellacuría concludes. This is, in my judgment, a bold new step in theology. Making the explicit connection between the Suffering Servant, Jesus, and suffering and oppressed humankind of today, resulting in the attri75 Ellacuría 1989a, 329: “[…] la muerte no fue sino la culminación de su vida, el momento definitivo de su entrega total en el anuncio en la realización del reino.” 76 This question about “continuation” actualises again traditional dividing lines between Catholic and Protestant soteriology. Compare my discussions on continuity and discontinuity below. 77 Ellacuría 1989a, 318. 78 Ellacuría 1989a, 330.

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bution of a salvific role to this particular portion of humankind, is a radical thought. It is not without difficulties, though. As I have pointed out, it rests on two soteriological presuppositions in Ellacuría’s outline: first, that salvation must be realised in human history. Second, that salvation is realised through human participation. These presuppositions express some of the more controversial contentions of liberation theology. They have been criticised from different theological positions.79 But if one for the moment accepts Ellacuría’s presuppositions, there are still problems emerging from his text that must be addressed. To begin with: as I have pointed out, there was also a third soteriological axiom here, namely that salvation requires suffering the consequences of (struggle against) the power of sin. Consequently, it must be asked: Why does the suffering of the crucified people bring salvation? Ellacuría provides no exact answer to this question. The above-mentioned vagueness of his reference to the ‘expiatory’ significance of the Servant’s death points to his difficulty in coming to terms with this. There are aspects of substitution and expiation, and a clear element of sacrificial theology in the Servant Songs – especially in the Fourth Song – which become particularly problematic when transferred to the crucified people. In connection with this, it must be asked if “carrying the sins of others” really is the same as “suffering under (the consequences of ) the sins of others”? Ellacuría seems to mix these, the “carrying” and the “suffering under.” But they are not identical, nor interchangeable, in my opinion. If they were, would not that imply that the sinners somehow were released from the consequences of their sins by the simple fact that others carry (suffer) these consequences? Or to 79 Cf. the accusations of reductionism, activism and – perhaps – “dolorism”, or idealisation of poverty and suffering, which is implicit and explicit in many texts critical of liberation theology. See note 50 in the Introduction above.

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remain in the terminology of crucifixion: would it not in fact admit the view that crucifiers become liberated through the mere fact that there are crucified ones, suffering under their evil deeds? It is indeed hard to see, both from historical experience and theological reflection, that it actually works that way.80 Ellacuría is not sufficiently careful at this point. He simply states that sin and evil are overcome by suffering their consequences. Now, in response it may be argued that Ellacuría does underscore that it is not the passion-and-death in itself that saves, but a life in service of the Kingdom, even when this meets resistance to the point of persecution and death. There is an inseparable lifedeath connection at work here. But that would mean that the suffering of the people could be classified as a crucifixion only insofar as it is a result of a reproduction of Jesus’ service for the Kingdom in history. And that would in its turn make it impossible to speak of the crucified people in terms of ‘a vast portion of humankind’, or even to speak of it as a ‘people’ – if it is not taken to be God’s people in a more general, theological sense. This question of how the crucified people bring salvation, raises another objection: Do the crucified people actually accept their suffering? It is said of the Servant that it is through his acceptance of suffering that salvation is carried out. Here is another questionmark attached to Ellacuría’s historical soteriology. If the victim is (or may be) – in the end – a saviour, is he/she then in fact an “unconscious” or “anonymous saviour”?81 If it is to be understood like this, it must be admitted Ellacuría might actually look to Matt. 25 in support for such an interpretation. As we have just seen, he does refer to this text, although very briefly. 80 I shall develop this observation further in Chapters vi-viii below. 81 This could, in case, be a result of the profound influence of Karl Rahner on Ellacuría. Cf. Rahner’s famous notion of “anonymous Christians”. Compare also Chapter iv, [10], below.

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Finally, in this essay Ellacuría does not explain what the salvation that the crucified people bring actually consists in. But this is a shortcoming he is well aware of. He points therefore to the necessity of further reflection. And that is where Sobrino takes over.

[3] Jon Sobrino: The Crucified People as the Body of the Crucified Christ in History Ignacio Ellacuría’s essay gave Sobrino an incitement and opportunity to develop further his christology on this point, going now beyond the explicit positions he had inherited from Moltmann. In 1982, he published two articles in which the crucified people plays the central role.82 In these he uses different terms, such as “the crucified in history”, “the crucified people(s)”, or simply “the crucified”, which could indicate that his approach is somewhat more flexible than Ellacuría’s, making use of a wider definition than his. But it is in Jesucristo liberador that one finds Sobrino’s most detailed and developed discussion on the significance of the crucified people. He dedicates the last chapter to this theme, within the wider framework of the christological significance of the death of Jesus.83 In the introduction Sobrino notes that he sees the inclusion of this theme in his christology as a novelty: 82 Sobrino 1982a, 173-192. / Sobrino 1982b, 148-165. 83 Sobrino 1991d, 423-451. / Sobrino 1994c, 254-271.- Given Sobrino’s emphasis in beginning with reality, since this reality is “crucified”, the chapter on the crucified people might theoretically have been the first as well as the last chapter of his book. In the following chapters I will reverse Sobrino’s order by starting from the crucified people, and then proceed to the crucified Jesus and the crucified God. It is of course the circularity of understanding and interpretation which makes both ways possible.

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This chapter is usually not included in christologies. Some analyze what the cross has to say about Jesus’ Father and speak of ‘the crucified God’, but it is unusual to analyze what this same cross has to say about Jesus’ body in history.84

‘Jesus’ body in history’ is traditionally an ecclesiological theme. Sobrino wishes to approach it christologically, however, asking “whether this body is crucified, what element of this body is crucified, and if its crucifixion is the presence of the crucified Christ in history.”85 References to Ellacuría are explicit and frequent in this chap86 ter. Sobrino follows his approach closely. It starts out with a straightforward claim regarding the existence of historical crosses: “From the Third World viewpoint there is no doubt that the cross exists, not just individual crosses, but collective crosses of whole peoples.”87 Then, the concept of “crucified people” is approached through a meditation on these people’s similarity with the figure of the Suffering Servant. The crucified people resemble the Servant, in Sobrino’s view, in being familiar with illness and suffering (Is. 53,3); in having as mission to establish justice (42,4-7), in meeting violent opposition when procuring to carry out this mission; in an ugliness that causes rejection and astonishment (52,14; 53,3); in being reck84 Sobrino 1994c, 254./ Sobrino 1991d, 423. 85 Sobrino 1994c, 254 / Sobrino 1991d, 423: “[…] si ese cuerpo está crucificado, qué de ese cuerpo lo está y si la crucifixión de ese cuerpo es la presencia en la historia de Cristo crucificado.” 86 Sobrino 1991d, 423, n. 2: “En este capítulo citamos con frequencia a Ignacio Ellacuría, no sólo porque su martirio lo ha introducido para siempre en el pueblo crucificado, sino porque lo tuvo siempre radicalmente presente en todo lo que hizo y dijo, y como teólogo fue pionero, a mi entender, en teologizar a los pueblos del tercer mundo como pueblos crucificados.” 87 Sobrino 1994c, 254 / Sobrino 1991d, 423: “Desde el tercer mundo, no cabe duda de que hay cruz, no sólo cruces individuales, sino colectivas, las de pueblos enteros.”

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oned as a sinner, punished by God (53,4; 12) and despised even in death (53,7-9) through an unjust execution, and finally being buried ‘with the wicked’ in spite of their innocence. In this last part, however, Sobrino also points to some differences. Not all among the crucified people are silent on the way to their conviction (53,7); many protest loudly and even resist actively. Sobrino remembers Archbishop Romero as one example. And not all among the crucified peoples are even given any grave at all. Here it is of course the thousands and thousands of ‘disappeared’ (desaparecidos) in his own country and in Latin America in general that Sobrino particularly has in mind. Nevertheless, it is clear that they resemble the Servant, according to Sobrino: “In their poverty and death they are like the Servant and at least in this – but this least is a maximum – they are also like Jesus crucified.”88 The similarity between the Servant and the crucified people indicates that they are the body of Christ in actual history, then. Sobrino even holds that “there can be no doubt that these peoples are the ones who go on filling up in their own flesh what is lacking in Christ’s passion (Col. 1: 24).”89 Why can the crucified people be said to represent Christ? Because they resemble the Suffering Servant, who in Christian faith and tradition is held to refer to Jesus himself. But if this likeness between the reality of the crucified people and the description of the servant makes it justified to see in them the crucified body of Christ, then it is necessary to analyse further what this may be taken to mean theologically. 88 Sobrino 1994c, 258 / Sobrino 1991d, 429: “En esa realidad de despojo y muerte se asemejan al siervo, y en esa realidad al menos, pero ese menos es un máximo, se asemejan también a Jesús crucificado.” 89 This particular passage from the letter to the Colossians is also referred to by Ellacuría. It seems to play a central role, but is not given a proper exegetical analysis by either of them.

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Thus Sobrino turns from a meditation on the reality of the crucified people to a more analytical exploration of what elements of the salvific mystery this reality may contain – if the crucified people can be compared to the Servant in this aspect as well. It is particularly in this part that Sobrino goes beyond the essay of Ellacuría, taking up the task which he left, trying to define how and what kind of salvation is brought about by the crucified people. (1) How do the crucified people bring salvation? First of all, the crucified people bring salvation by being killed for establishing right and justice: The suffering Servant equals Jesus in mission and destiny. Their common mission is to establish justice (Hebr.: mishpat) among the peoples in the world, and their common destiny is to be unjustly and cruelly executed for crimes they did not commit. So also with the crucified people, according to Sobrino: “This is also true for the crucified people, although here the reason for their death is tragically extended.” 90 The crucified people participate in this mission and destiny in an analogous manner, Sobrino holds. Analogy means that the one takes part in the reality – shares the fundamental characteristics – of the other, although not necessarily in the totality of that reality. In other words this participation may be a participation in some aspects of the reality of the other (not all), at the same time as it may happen in different manners. According to this understanding the crucified people may participate in the mission and destiny of the Servant and of Jesus in different aspects and different ways.91 This point is essential in Sobrino’s thought concerning the crucified people, as will become clear. By such analogical method, he justifies the use of this theologoumenon, at the same time as the method permits a certain flexibility in the application of the terminology on historical realities. 90 Sobrino 1994c, 258/ Sobrino 1991d, 430-431.

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Sobrino distinguishes between an ‘active’ and ‘passive’ analogous participation. The crucified people consists of many persons who today actively take up the challenge and mission of establishing justice in the world, and who for that reason encounter opposition and persecution. Sobrino calls them ‘prophets of all kinds’, who die ‘formally’ (formalmente) like the Servant/Jesus. On the other hand, there is in the crucified people a majority of people who are put to death, not because of what they actively do or seek to accomplish, but simply because of what they (passively) are. These are all the 91

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On analogy, see e.g. Soskice 1985, 65: “Analogical relations all refer to the same thing, they all have the same res significata, but they refer to it in different ways.” Elizabeth Johnson’s treatment in Johnson 1992, 113-117 is noteworthy. She concludes: “The net result of these various recent studies is an understanding of analogy in the Catholic mind today that once again stresses its movement through negation towards mystery, and consequently its nonliteral although still meaningful character of its speech about God.” Nancy Bedford (Bedford 1993) is eager to point out the limits of analogy within Sobrino’s theology, see especially “Die Grenzen der Analogie zwischen dem gekreuzigten Volk und Jesus”, p.264ff. Bedford claims for instance that the analogy between Romero and Jesus – which Sobrino underlines strongly – reaches its limit in that Sobrino never says that Romero is raised from the dead like Jesus. “Doch trotz dieser Worte, und obgleich er betont, dass Romero ‘wie Jesus’ an Gott geglaubt, prophetisch gewirkt, den Armen das Evangelium verkündet und die Götzen angeklagt hat, und dass er deshalb ‘wie Jesus’ getötet wurde, behauptet Sobrino nirgendwo, dass Romero ‘wie Jesus’ auferstanden ist. Die Auferweckung Christi bleibt in Sobrinos Theologie ein einmaliges Ereignis und der Punkt, an dem alle Analogien aufhören müssen” op. cit., 269. But in fact, Sobrino does claum that the analogy between Romero and Jesus also includes resurrection. In his book on Romero, Sobrino writes explicitly: “Cómo vive hoy Mons. Romero? Vive, como Jesús, resucitado”, Sobrino 1989e, 210. The “limit of analogy” must hence be found elsewhere in Sobrino’s theology. The issue here is really the question of continuity and/ or discontinuity between Jesus and his followers – the Crucified and the crucified. See below, Chapter iv, [9], Chapter v, [7] and Chapter viii [3-4].

innocent victims of history who die defenceless in the hands of their executioners, such as women, children and elderly people living in conflict zones, or victims in massacres or in situations of famine. But how can this possibly bring about salvation? If salvation is taken to mean the establishment of justice in a complete sense (Hebr.: mishpat), then the implications seem to be that the active search for its realisation in history, which does not cease nor give up even when it encounters a resistance that entails death, is in itself salvific. This would be in accordance with Ellacuría’s point, that it is the totality of a life in service for justice, resulting in an unjustly inflicted suffering and death, which is of salvific significance. The difficulty attached to this, however, is that it does not explain the salvific effect in history of an action for justice which must be deemed a failure according to normal, historical standards. Why – or in what way – is this action salvific, if it results in death? This difficulty does not concern the actively crucified alone. It is even more difficult to see how any salvific role can be attributed to the passively crucified, those innocent victims who die defenceless without having undertaken any action for the establishment of mishpat. Accordingly, there must be something ‘more’ to it, than the mere action for establishing justice and well-being – salvation – in a Biblical sense. This ‘more’ – which is a word Sobrino often uses to describe transcendence – is related to the sin of the world. Secondly, then, the crucified people bring salvation by bearing the sin of the world, like the Servant, like Jesus.92 According to the Song, the Servant bears the sins of others and, through this, saves the sinners from their sins. This shows both what sin is, and what has to be done with it, Sobrino holds. Sin is, in Sobrino’s view, first and foremost that which causes premature death. Sin produces real victims in history.93 It was the power of sin that killed the Servant. That same power crucified 92 Sobrino 1991d, 433-434.

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Jesus, and continues to crucify people today. These victims in history are the visible expression of sin’s invisible offence against God.94 Like Ellacuría, Sobrino holds that sin must be overcome by bearing it. “(A)s to what should be done about sin, […] the answer is clear, eradicate it, but with one essential condition: by bearing it.” 95 Bearing the sins of others does not refer primarily to the guilt of sin, but to its direct negative consequences. Sobrino continues: And rather than taking on the guilt of the sin, bearing the sin of others means bearing the sin’s historical effects: being ground down, crushed, put to death.96

This, he holds, is what is meant by the fundamental confession of the New Testament, “died for our sins”. Sobrino’s interpretation here closely follows that of Ellacuría, thereby entailing the same difficulties that I have pointed out above. Sobrino claims that the crucified people in fact save/liberate their crucifiers by carrying (the real consequences of ) their sins, and thereby, we might say, carrying their sins away. They become –

93 Sobrino 1991d, 433. “En el canto se dice que el siervo carga con pecados ajenos y que con ello salva a los pecadores de su pecados. De esta forma s dice tanto lo que es pecado como lo que hay que hacer con él. Pecado es, ante todo, lo que da muerte, lo que produce víctimas tan reales y visíbles como lo es el siervo.” 94 The historical expression of this sin is above all idolatry, according to Sobrino. See below, particularly Chapter v, [1-3]. 95 Sobrino 1994c, 260. / Sobrino 1991d, 433: “Por otra parte, qué hacer con el pecado, pregunta también fundamental en el NT, queda claro, erradicarlo, pero con una condición esencial: cargándo con él.” 96 Sobrino 1994c, 260 / Sobrino 1991d, 433: “Y cargar con el pecado de otros es, antes que asumir lo que el pecado tiene de culpa, cargar con su objetivación histórica: ser triturado, machacado, dado muerte.”

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through a scandalous paradox, Sobrino admits – bearers of ‘historical soteriology’ in and through their innocent sufferings. This is a remarkable theological statement, which might allow for interpretations that would seem more cynically cruel than Christian. Such interpretations would clearly miss the point that Ellacuría and Sobrino are making. But what are they actually saying by this? And could that possibly turn out to be a justifiable Christian theological statement? As can be seen, the possible salvific role of the crucified in history depends fundamentally on what is meant by ‘salvation’. We must therefore ask what kind of salvation the crucified people bring, according to Sobrino. Again, it is worthwhile to note that Sobrino explicitly refers to historical salvation: “If we do not make salvation historical in some ways, it is pointless to repeat that the Servant and the crucified Christ bring real concrete salvation.” 97 (2) What kind of salvation is brought about by the crucified people?98 The Servant is destined to be a “light to the nations” (42,6; 49,6). Do the crucified people bring light? Sobrino thinks so. The crucified people contribute by their very existence to the unmasking of the lies about this world. In their capacity to ‘shock’, they represent an important force that resists and overcomes the conscious covering up of the real situation of this world. Such ‘cover up’ is always one of the historical consequences of sin. The crucified people offer ‘negative light’, to unmask ‘bad solutions’ to our problems, but also ‘positive light’, in that they show what utopia must be today, Sobrino believes. They offer a ‘humanising truth’.

97 Sobrino 1994c, 262. The English translation “[…] make salvation historical […]” may sound more “synergetical” than is necessarily the case. Spanish wording: “[…] sin historizarla de alguna forma […]” Sobrino 1991d, 436. 98 Cf. Sobrino 1992b, 90-95; 128-132; 152-157.

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Does that light contain a salvific value? In a certain sense, yes; to know the truth about reality, and about ourselves in that reality, is “beneficial and very necessary”, in Sobrino’s opinion.99 Any ‘light’ that helps uncover the truth is thus salvific.100 But the salvation which is brought about by the crucified people is more than the revelation of truth. It is a manifold salvation.101 It cannot be reduced to one simple characteristic, like, for instance, ‘forgiveness of sins’. The crucified people bring salvation in offering a variety of qualities, according to Sobrino: In the first place, they offer an opportunity for conversion. This is closely related to their capacity of bringing “light”, as we have seen. By unmasking the lies of this world, they present the possibility of opting for a life according to the truth. In the second place, the crucified people offer values with a “humanising potential”, according to Sobrino, values he believes are not offered elsewhere: […] (T)he poor have a humanizing potential because they offer community against individualism, service against selfishness, simplicity against opulence, creativity against an imposed copycat culture, openness to transcendence and crass pragmatism. 102

Sobrino is perfectly aware that not all the poor offer all – or any – of these values. But he holds it to be a fact that “the poor as a whole do 99 In his exposition, Sobrino distinguishes between the Servant bringing ‘light’ and ‘salvation’, but this distinction is, as far as I can see, more due to the terminological drift of the Servant Songs themselves, than to a substantial distinction in Sobrino’s outline. Cf. also Sobrino 1992b, 90-95. 100 This close connection between the epistemological – to get to know the truth about reality – and the soteriological in Sobrino’s theology is noteworthy. I shall return to this. 101 Like the salvation(s) offered by Jesus during his ministry as portrayed in the gospels, cf. Chapter iv [2], below.

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offer them and, structurally speaking, they offer them in a way not offered by other worlds.”103 In the third place, the crucified people offer hope. They offer an almost “absurd” hope in their constant struggle for survival, for change, for liberation, for a better future. Because of the fact that their struggle is almost always against all odds, their hope turns into a “hope against hope” – always endangered and under pressure. Nevertheless, it is there, Sobrino insists: “The crucified people shows that there is a hopeful current in history available to all.” In the fourth place, they offer ‘great love’. This is shown through their countless martyrs, Sobrino maintains. The fact that there are people willing to lay down their lives for the rights of others, testifies more than anything else that true love is possible in this sinful history. And this love is something that the crucified people offer to all who wish to accept, claims Sobrino. For Sobrino, ‘love’ is the only word apt to express the ultimate salvific reality. It is love that effects salvation; salvation consists in love; and love is the result of salvation.104 In the fifth place – and perhaps surprisingly – the crucified people offer forgiveness. They do not want revenge on their oppressors. They open up their homes and communities, and offer a new kind of fellowship, Sobrino claims, referring particularly to the Salvadoran experience. This welcoming openness towards anybody who approaches them to help turns out to be a de facto forgiveness, although it is often not recognised and accepted as thus.105 Again, 102 Sobrino 1994c, 263. / Sobrino 1991d, 437: “Dicho esto en lenguaje histórico, los pobres tienen un potencial humanizador porque ofrece comunidad contra el individualismo, servicialidad contra el egoísmo, sencillez contra la opulencia, creatividad contra el mimetismo cultural impuesto, apertura a la transcendencia contra el romo positivismo y craso pragmatismo.” 103 Ibid. 104 See below, Chapter vi [4].

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Sobrino is perfectly aware that this is not always the case. Nevertheless, he insists that it happens – and even that it happens “almost ex opere operato, i.e. on the basis of the structure of reality and not on the basis of pure intentionality.” 106 In the sixth place they generate solidarity.107According to Sobrino, the reality of the poor – the crucified people – is the historical origin of solidarity,108 which shows its absolute necessity and its possibility. Although the solidarity that the crucified people in fact generate may be small in quantitative terms, it is nevertheless real and new, Sobrino reiterates. And finally, Sobrino claims that the crucified people offer “a faith, a way of being church and a holiness that are more authentic, more Christian and more relevant to the present-day world, and that capture more of Jesus.”109 In this rather pretentious statement, it becomes particularly obvious that Jon Sobrino speaks out of his 105 Sobrino distinguishes between an “absolution-forgiveness” (perdón-absolución) and a “welcome-forgiveness” (perdón-acogida). Sobrino 1991d, 170ff; Sobrino 1992b, 142-143. The “welcome-forgiveness” is the prevalent kind of forgiveness offered by Jesus in his earthly ministry according to the synoptics, Sobrino holds. It is also the kind of forgiveness offered by the crucified people. Sobrino 1992b, 152-157. 106 “[…] quasi ex opere operato, es decir, en basis de la estructura de la realidad y no a la pura intencionalidad […]” Sobrino 1992b, 155. 107 Sobrino 1994c, 263-264 / Sobrino 1991d, 436ff. Cf. Sobrino 1992b, 211-248; Sobrino and Pico 1985. 108 Sobrino 1992b, 215-221. 109 Sobrino 1994c, 264. Sobrino 1991d, 439. – In this statement, in fact, one can find the whole fundament and material of Sobrino’s own theological works: his christology sets out to present the Christ in whom the crucified believe (Sobrino 1976, Sobrino 1982a, Sobrino 1991d, etc.), his ecclesiological writings examine the way of being church proposed and put into practice by the crucified (Sobrino 1986), and his pneumatological writings (especially Sobrino 1987a), develop a spirituality from the viewpoint of the crucified and their practice of liberation.

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own Latin American experience and context, where the majority of the population, and particularly the poor, still tend to regard themselves as more or less active church members. Furthermore, when all of these capacities and qualities mentioned above are taken together, one is justified to ask whether it is actually the small and persecuted Church Base Communities (Comunidades Eclesiales de Base – CEBs) in El Salvador that Sobrino concretely has in mind when he speaks of the crucified people.110 Now, taken as a whole, what kind of salvation is this? Time and again Sobrino stresses the humanising potential of these values and capacities which he calls salvific.111 It may seem that ‘salvation’ comes close to ‘humanisation’ in his approach. On the other hand, as we shall see, his concept of salvation does also have clear similarities with the traditional theological concept of ‘deification’.112 All of these wide-ranging and remarkable theological contentions regarding what kind of salvation the crucified bring, immediately evoke questions and objections. I shall address some of these below. But before doing so, I need to return to the ultimate ques-

110 There is to a certain extent an implicit ecclesiology in the theology of the crucified people. It will not be possible to discuss that in any detail within the limits of this study, however. See particularly Sobrino 1986. 111 Compare Moltmann 1974, 22. 112 Cf. the maxim “God became human, in order that humans might become God”. This approach, which also is expressed in terms like “deiformación”, “theosis” (‘becoming God’ – in the patristic period this position was represented by the Alexandrian school) and “homoiosis theoi” (‘becoming like God’, i.e., participation in that which is divine – cf. the Antiochene school) underlies much soteriological reflection of the Eastern Christian tradition. – Again, we may detect the influence of Karl Rahner’s theology on Sobrino here. Rahner sees the incarnation “[…] as the necessary and permanent beginning of the divinization of the world as a whole” Rahner 1993, 181. For a criticism of this view, see Macquarrie 1990, 304-308.

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tion regarding the crucified and salvation, which is why it is – in Sobrino’s opinion – that the crucified people bring salvation. (3) The crucified people bring salvation – like the Servant – simply because they are chosen for it by God.113 This is where Sobrino draws the limit for theological exploration into the mystery of God. Here he refrains from giving explanations. It is ‘paradox’ and ‘mystery’ and ‘God’s unfathomable plan’. But Sobrino stresses the radical character of this ‘salvation from below’: This is not just another example of […] God’s partiality toward defending the poor and the victims. Here God chooses them and makes them the principal means of salvation, just as Jesus is this in his double character of proclaimer of the Kingdom and victim on the cross.114

This also means, according to Sobrino, that possible explanations drawn from historical experience of how the poor and excluded might possibly be of salvific significance – such as, for instance, that “internalized oppression generates (or may generate) awareness and this generates organization for liberation”115, “that the oppressed are their own agents of liberation”, etc. – in the end are insufficient. That the crucified people bring salvation is a statement of ‘theologal’ faith which one cannot go beyond, Sobrino holds. Still, it leaves us with a disturbing ambiguity: if the crucified people are chosen by God to play a salvific role, does that mean that they are chosen by God to be poor? This ambiguity threatens to 113 Sobrino 1994c, 259-260. / Sobrino 1991d, 431-433. 114 Sobrino 1994c, 259. / Sobrino 1991d, 431: “Aquí no se trata ya, como en muchos lugares del AT y del NT, de afirmar la parcialidad de Dios en defensa de los pobres y las víctimas, sino de que los elige y hace de ellos instrumento principal de salvación, como lo es Jesús en su doble dimensión de anunciador del reino y de víctima en la cruz.” 115 Sobrino 1994c, 259-260. / Sobrino 1991d, 432.

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subvert the very basis and intention of Jon Sobrino’s liberation christology, which clearly is to counter fatalism and theological legitimation of poverty and repression with an interpretation of the Christian faith that promotes resistance, hope, and active struggle for change. A key question becomes, then, if Sobrino is bound to (or for some reason well advised to) accept this ambiguity.

[4] The crucified and the Crucified: Three Axes Sobrino takes Ellacuría’s train of thought further. He agrees with his colleague’s attempt to let the oppressed and suffering people of today throw light on the interpretation of the Songs of the Suffering Servant in Isaiah and of the historical life, suffering and death of Jesus of Nazareth, and vice versa, to see these actual sufferings in the light of the sufferings of Jesus and the Servant. The main contention of Sobrino’s development of this theme is that these suffering people of today, in their resembling Jesus the Servant, should be seen as an actual, i.e. historical, manifestation of the crucified body of Christ; and that anyone who looks for the manifestation of Christ in our time should look to this particular part of humanity, usually forgotten and disregarded. “They are the Suffering Servant and they are the crucified Christ today”.116 There is accordingly a clear historical continuity between the experience out of which the Songs of the Servant emerge, the history of Jesus, and the present destiny of the suffering and oppressed, Sobrino holds. This continuity points to an interrelationship between the Servant, Jesus and the suffering people of today which 116 Sobrino 1994c, 271. / Sobrino 1991d, 451: “Hoy son el siervo doliente y son el Cristo crucificado.”

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goes beyond mere resemblance. It has profound theological meaning. While the Servant is seen as a prophecy and a pre-figuration of Christ, the crucified people become the continuance of the suffering of Jesus in history. This interrelationship is of great significance since, as we have seen, being critical of traditional ontological essentialism, Sobrino stresses the constitutive character of relations. Such constitutive relatedness apparently works both ways, according to Sobrino. They are reciprocal. Therefore, he finds it legitimate to interpret the reality of “the crucified people” in line with the interpretation of the life and death of Jesus. In other words; since the death of Jesus according to Christian faith is held to be revelatory, it is legitimate to ask: what kind of revelation do the crucified people bring? Since the death of Jesus according to Christian faith is experienced as salvific, what kind of salvation do ‘the crucified people’ bring? Since the suffering Jesus calls his disciples to following him, what kind of reaction or response does the suffering of ‘the crucified people’ call for? These three questions uncover what may be seen as an underlying structure in this theological relationship. I shall call this the three axes between Jesus and ‘the crucified people’. The first axis is epistemological-hermeneutical: In order to gain knowledge about the suffering Jesus, we must know the suffering people of today, and in order to interpret the texts of his suffering adequately, it should be done from the vantage-point of these people. And vice versa: in order to gain theological knowledge and to interpret the theological meaning of the actual sufferings of the people, we must look to Jesus.117 The second axis is historical-soteriological: Christian faith attributes salvific significance to the death of Jesus. This salvation is, according to Ellacuría and Sobrino, always salvation in history. Today, the salvific effects of the death of Jesus is, in some manner

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which I shall have to examine further, transmitted – or manifested – in and through the suffering of the crucified people. The third axis might be called ethical-praxical: The suffering and death of Jesus is a consequence of a life and a praxis in devoted service to the God of the Kingdom and the Kingdom of God – and its primary addressees, the poor. During this service, Jesus invites and inaugurates a praxis of following, a following in the service of the Kingdom, a following in suffering, and in hope. The crucified people mediate this praxis today in a double sense: they participate in Jesus’ mission themselves and (hence) also in his sufferings. And in the mere fact of their situation as suffering people, they mediate a call from God to all human beings to participate in the mission to overcome all suffering – to “take the crucified down from their cross” – i.e., to act out of compassion, to establish justice and true fellowship among human beings. This is, in other words, a praxis of following. The relationship between the crucified and the Crucified is realised in and through such following; it becomes ethical-praxical. Although I find it helpful to distinguish between these three axes in order to understand Sobrino’s thinking here, it is quite clear that they are closely connected. I have already pointed to the intimate connection between the epistemological and the soteriological in Sobrino’s theology: “light” comes close to “salvation”.118 Furthermore, I underscored the presupposition common to Ellacuría and Sobrino that salvation in history is brought about by active human 117 Sobrino 1991d, 310: “Digamos también que la cruz de Jesús remite a las cruces existentes, pero que éstas, a su vez, remiten a la de Jesús, y que son, históricamente, la grán hermenútica para comprender por qué matan a Jesús, y, teológicamente, expresan en sí mismas la pregunta inacallable del misterio de por qué muere Jesús. Los pueblos crucificados en el tercer mundo son hoy el grán lugar teológico para comprender la cruz de Jesús.” 118 Cf the theology of the Gospel of John.

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participation, through a praxis of following. I shall return to these three axes in my further assessment of the meaning of ‘the crucified people’ according to Sobrino.119 On the basis of my analysis so far, it seems that Sobrino comes close to operating with a kind of communicatio idiomatum – a mutual interchange of properties – between the suffering Jesus and the suffering people, the Crucified and the crucified.120 What can be said theologically of Jesus, may also be said of the people. If this is a correct interpretation of Sobrino, it shows, again, the radical novelty and boldness of his approach. At the same time, it draws attention to some of the difficulties that such an interpretation brings. I have already indicated that some major problems arise in relation to the second axis, the historical-soteriological. These clearly appear to be problematic when seen in relation to traditional dogmatic thinking, but also, as I have pointed out, when seen in the perspective of the particular interest and motivating force behind liberation theology. The salvific significance of the Servant as well as of Christ is traditionally understood in terms of substitution, sacrifice, reconciliation and atonement. How do these theological concepts – if they are to be maintained at all – apply to the crucified people? What furthermore could be at stake here is the understanding of the uniqueness of Jesus Christ, and the salvific significance of his death once and for all. This concerns in other words the fundamental theme of continuity vs. discontinuity in Christian theology – between God and humanity, between Jesus and his sisters and brothers, between creation and salvation, etc. These opposites will 119 See Chapter viii [4] below. 120 This rather unusual usage of the term communicatio idiomatum may be helpful to bring out some of the issues at stake in Sobrino’s approach. See Bedford 1993, 291.

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be in tension in any given christology, since they stem from the central point – and mystery – of Christian faith in Jesus: that he is both true God and true human being.121 Nonetheless, the particular character of this tension is by no means insignificant. Furthermore, Sobrino’s position may be accused of trying to give a religious ‘explanation’ of the ‘meaning’ of the suffering of others. Such explanation runs the risk of coming close to justification or legitimation, which in its turn, may lead to passivity and resignation on behalf of those suffering. This is exactly what liberation theology claims to be opposing. If the theology of the crucified people is not to be in direct contradiction with the main drift of liberation theology, and hence in self-contradiction, Sobrino needs to explain how victims of today may be accorded a salvific role without thereby being de facto functionalised, instrumentalised or objectified in a pejorative sense, and without making God in the end responsible for their suffering. The emphasis on the historical-soteriological significance of the crucified people is, in other words, a crucial point. Interestingly, this is also a point on which Ellacuría and Sobrino are more explicit than other liberation theologians. Gustavo Gutiérrez, for instance, refers to Ellacuría-Sobrino when applying their term ‘crucified people’ in his book on Job.122 However, Gutiérrez himself never addresses the issue of a possible salvific meaning of the suffering of the innocent. He prefers to speak of the “pedagogical value of suffering”.123 Of course, the very heart of Gutiérrez’ theology is the 121 Cf. the Confession of Chalkedon 451, which states that Jesus Christ is a divine person in whom are perfectly conjoined, without either mixture or separation, a complete divine nature and a complete human nature. See e.g. Macquarrie 1990, 24 and 147-174. 122 Gutiérrez 1987, xvi, n.16. “The resemblance of the crucified Jesus and the Amerindian servant reminds us that the poor of Latin America (and elsewhere in the world) is ‘a crucified people’.” 123 Gutiérrez 1987, 46.

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particular relationship of God and the poor. God’s predilection for and presence among the poor would in many aspects parallel the emphasis of Ellacuría and Sobrino. Nevertheless, there might be some important nuances here, which Gutiérrez attempts to safeguard by not speaking directly of such a salvific or soteriological value.124 It is important to recall here that Sobrino sees an analogy between the crucified people and Jesus, which is not the same as identity. The crucified people participate in some (partial) aspects – and in different manners – in the reality of the crucified Christ. But in what aspects, and in which manners? This is what I shall have to examine further. When setting out to do so, it becomes clear that our movement from historical reality to theological concept in this chapter has left us with another question of great significance: what is – in fact – the status of a theological concept? How can reality be ‘elevated to’ theological concept? And what kind of concept is ‘the crucified people’? It builds on analogy, obviously. It is also a typology: as the suffering servant, so Jesus. As Jesus, so the crucified people. Is it not also a metaphor? I shall later suggest that – in addition to what is already mentioned – it is most fruitfully to be regarded a symbol. In that case, what status do metaphors and symbols have in theological discourse? We are thus brought to the larger issue of the status and character of religious language. It is an issue to which Sobrino pays little attention. Nevertheless it seems to me to be fundamental for an adequate understanding of his thinking. In my view, if we are to speak positively of God’s identification with victims, even of the soteriological implications of this identification, through a term like ‘the crucified people’, we need a deepened understanding of the

124 A personal interview with Gutiérrez at Boston College, July 12 1995, strengthened this assumption. See the discussion in Chapter vii [5] below.

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metaphorical and symbolic character of theological – as indeed, all – language. All of these difficulties must be dealt with in order to make a fair evaluation of the viability of seeing the interrelationship between the crucified and the Crucified as an expression of the theological significance of contemporary suffering.

[5] A Contrasting View: E. Jüngel In order to spell out more clearly some of the controversial aspects of Sobrino’s description of the relationship between the suffering Jesus and suffering people as a theologically significant, analogical relationship based on a profound historical continuity, it may prove helpful to listen to a dissenting voice. One of the leading German theologians of our time, Eberhard Jüngel, addresses in his article “The Sacrifice of Jesus as Sacrament and Example”125 the question of a contemporary understanding of the salvific significance of Jesus’ death. He notes a surprising “recent return to sacrifice terminology”126, which however, with its moral or ethical orientation is of little help for understanding the early Christian interpretation of the death of Jesus as sacrificial. The ancient cultic idea of sacrifice, which Jüngel considers central in order to understand the death of Jesus, has lost its persuasive power. It has gradually been replaced by an ethical and hence metaphorical use of the concept.

125 In Jüngel 1995, 163-190. German original: Jüngel 1982, reprinted in Jüngel 1990. 126 Jüngel 1995, 163.

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Paradoxically, this shift from a cultic to an ethical use of ‘sacrifice’ is due to the central event of Christian faith itself – the death of Jesus. “In earliest Christianity the crucifixion of Jesus Christ was understood and proclaimed not only as a sacrificial death, but rather as the one sacrifice which has been offered and carried out once for all (compare Heb 10.12 with 10.10).”127 After the perfect sacrifice of Jesus Christ, no other sacrifices will ever be necessary or valid, according to this interpretation. Therefore the concept itself gradually takes on new meaning. It now “becomes a metaphor”, according to Jüngel.128 This ethical, metaphorical use of the concept of sacrifice is in itself not necessarily harmful, in Jüngel’s opinion, not even theologically.129 But it is certainly damaging if and when it becomes the one and only meaning of the concept, so that when applied to the death of Jesus, this is seen merely in its character of exemplum, and not in its more fundamental character of sacramentum. This is the crucial issue. Jüngel finds it “decisive for the self-understanding of Christian theology, whether the story of Jesus Christ is conceived only ethically, as an example of right human behaviour, only as exemplum, or beyond and behind that, as a history which effectively changes the being of humanity, as sacrament.”130 Jüngel traces this distinction exemplum – sacramentum back to Augustine, and deems it central to the understanding of Luther’s christology and soteriology. Luther – according to Jüngel – even holds as false teaching an “exclusively ethical exemplum christology” which is oriented to the following of Jesus, because it thus bypasses the true significance of Jesus Christ. This true significance is grasped only when the death of Jesus is seen as an unmerited gift 127 128 129 130

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Op. cit., 166. Op. cit., 181. Op. cit., 168. Op. cit., 169.

which effectively changes all humanity, because it changes humanity’s relationship to God. By making substitutionary atonement for the sins of all people by his death, Jesus restores the God-world relationship, and thus the “lost wholeness for undivided being,” or in biblical terms, shalom.131 This was only possible because, as Christian faith confesses, “the man Jesus is the Son of God, therefore all of humanity is integrated into his human existence.”132 Now, having received with thankfulness and joy the gift of Jesus’ death as a sacrament, then it may – and should – also be seen as an example, Jüngel continues.133 The Protestant emphasis here is obvious: first we are justified by grace alone, then we are called to serve our neighbour in the likeness of Jesus. A legitimate following of Christ can and should take place, a following that sometimes also takes the character of suffering. This may be described metaphorically as a sacrifice – which also the NT does. However one should “exercise singular linguistic restraint in using this category in this context in particular”, Jüngel warns.134 And he continues: In no way can it refer to a soteriologically relevant sacrifice, or to a prolongation of the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Christianity must narrate or proclaim the death of its Lord, his passion story, not its own passion story. A soteriologically freighted ethica crucis [ethics of the cross] would be the worst form of theologiae gloriae [theology of glory].135

By this, Jüngel has driven his point home: sacrifice when applied to Jesus’ death should primarily be seen as sacramental, being a unique and effective atonement once and for all, and only secondarily as an 131 132 133 134 135

Op. cit., 178. Op. cit., 179. Op. cit., 181. Op. cit., 187. Op. cit., 188. Cf. Moltmann 1974, 55: “The cross of Christ cannot be reduced to an example for the cross of those who follow him.”

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example which we are called to follow. But when applied to human action, it should be taken in its metaphorical meaning, as following the ethical example of Jesus, without any traces whatsoever of sacramental, soteriological meaning: It is important to be reminded, especially with regard to the suffering of Christians, that post Christum mortum, the terminology of sacrifice has only metaphorical significance. Human activity and human suffering have no sacramental function whatsoever.136

This position seems to be in contradiction with Sobrino’s in several aspects.137 Jüngel would probably deem Sobrino’s christology in this respect an “exclusively ethical exemplum christology.”138 And as we have just seen, Jüngel would shun all talk of a salvific meaning or effect in the suffering of people today. One main difference between the two, is that while Sobrino underscores and develops the continuity between Jesus and human history, the fundamental assertion of Jüngel’s article is the absolute discontinuity: Jesus is unique, his death is once and for all. Following Jüngel, Nancy Bedford concludes her study on this aspect of Sobrino’s christology by stating: Even if striking similarities may be discovered between the fate of Christ and that of the crucified people, a kind of communicatio idiomatum between Jesus Christ as the Servant of God and the crucified people as the historical continuation of the Servant of God, in the sense that the fate of the people would have an expiatory effect like that of Christ, is thus neither biblically based nor appropriate in terms of systematic theology.139

136 Jüngel 1995, 188. 137 See Sobrino 1976, xvii. 138 L. Laberge is of a different opinion: “Sobrino veuille privilégiér le caractère plus qu’exemplaire de Jesús de Nazaret pour nos vies.” Laberge 1988, 269.

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The question is, however, whether it would be fair to interpret Sobrino as stating that the salvific significance of the crucified people lies in “an expiatory effect like that of Christ”? One might also ask whether the alternatives exemplum and sacramentum are as distinguishable, exclusive and absolute as they may seem in Jüngel’s approach. Furthermore, one wonders how it is possible for a concept (“sacrifice”) to ‘become’ metaphorical – and only so – after a particular historical event? In any case, the critical objections to a chistology like Sobrino’s that seem to follow from a reading of Jüngel’s article makes it necessary to undertake a further inquiry into Sobrino’s interpretation of the salvific meaning of Jesus’ life and death.

[6] Conclusions In this chapter we have seen how Ellacuría and Sobrino, on the basis of a pastoral intuition of Archbishop Oscar Romero, have developed theologically the idea of the crucified people. This concept arises out of combining the concrete reality of suffering and oppression in the world of the poor – for them in concreto, El Salvador – and the testimonies to the suffering Servant in Isaiah, and the suffering Jesus in the New Testament. It is thus an application of what we have found to be a fundamental feature of the theological 139 Original German wording: “Auch wenn frappierende Ähnlichkeiten zwischen dem Geschick Christi und des gekreuzigten Volkes zu entdecken sind, ist also eine Art communicatio idiomatum zwischen Jesus Christus als Gottesknecht und dem gekreuzigten Volk als historischer Fortsetzung des Gottesknechtes, wonach das Schicksal des Volkes eine sühnende Wirkung im Sinne Christi hätte, weder biblisch noch systematisch angemessen.” Bedford 1993, 290-291.

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method of Ellacuría and Sobrino, which is a dual movement between historical reality and theological concept. Reality (the people) is interpreted theologically (crucified) and theological concepts (crucifixion, salvation) are historised (suffering, liberation). In the historical soteriology that thus emerges, ‘the crucified people’ plays a major role. Following then ‘the crucified people’ from ‘reality’ to ‘theological concept’, we found that Ellacuría puts “the crucified people” on the systematic-theological agenda through his suggestive and innovative essay written in 1979; that he does so within the framework of what he calls “historical soteriology”, which relies on two basic presuppositions: a) that salvation always is historical and b) that humanity actively participates in the realisation of salvation in history; that he maintains that the death of Jesus should be primarily interpreted historically, in order to thereby see its salvific significance; that he suggests that the salvific significance of the death of Jesus, which is prefigured in the Songs of the Suffering servant, is at present being realised through the suffering of the poor and oppressed, whom he calls the crucified people. God has made these people a “principle of salvation for the whole world”140, Ellacuría maintains. This can be seen when one puts oneself in the place of these people today and there reads and interprets the testimonies to the Servant and of Jesus. Evaluating this approach critically, I noted that Ellacuría’s thinking causes difficulties exactly in its most bold and novel statement: the salvific character and mission of the crucified people. The question of how their sufferings are a principle of salvation is not precisely or sufficiently treated, particularly in view of traditionally central soteriological concepts such as expiation, substitution and sacrifice. This rather detailed analysis of Ellacuría was necessary in order to understand Sobrino’s thinking in these matters, since Sobrino 140 Ellacuría 1989a, 319.

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builds on Ellacuría to such a large extent. We saw that Sobrino further develops the theological reflection on the crucified people by seeing it as Jesus’ (crucified) body in history; that he sees the relationship between the crucified people and the crucified Christ as an analogical relationship, i.e. the people participate in the reality of Jesus not totally, but in certain aspects and in certain ways, that he furthermore attempts a description of how the crucified people bring salvation (“by being killed for establishing right and justice” and “by bearing the sin of the world”), and what kind of salvation they bring (“light”, “humanising values”, “hope”, “great love”, “forgiveness”, “solidarity” and “faith”), while the question of why it is so, rests with “God’s unfathomable plan”. Moving to a preliminary critical evaluation, I noted that the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified in Sobrino’s framework may be described as having three axes: (i) an epistemological-hermeneutical axis, (ii) an historical-soteriological axis, and (iii) an ethical-praxical axis; that this relationship is constitutive and reciprocal, i.e. that both the identity of the crucified people and the identity of the crucified Jesus are defined through this relation with the other; and that Sobrino thereby seems to suggest a kind of communicatio idiomatum between Jesus and the suffering people of today. Holding this to be a questionable suggestion, especially with regard to the second axis (the historical-soteriological), I brought in a dissenting voice, that of Eberhard Jüngel, in order to shed light on some of the issues at stake. Jüngel distinguishes between an ‘exemplary’ and a ‘sacramental’ understanding of the death of Jesus, holding the latter to be an absolute and irreplaceable foundation and presupposition for the former, so that Jesus’ death must be primarily understood as an effective atoning sacrifice for all, which means that after the sacrament of Jesus’ sacrifice there is no need for further sacrifices, so that “sacrifice” from then on acquires a merely

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metaphorical meaning. Thus any “prolongation of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ”, in a sacramental, salvific meaning, is excluded, according to Jüngel. As this position, with its strong emphasis on discontinuity where Sobrino finds continuity, throws critical light on the statements of Ellacuría and Sobrino, it helps sharpen our questions in order to bring out the meaning and implications of the term ‘the crucified people’ as an expression of the theological significance of contemporary suffering. Furthermore, in following ‘the crucified people’ from historical reality to theological concept, we have also detected a need for a more thorough examination of the role and status of (religious/theological) language. How can reality be elevated to theological concept? Behind this question lies, as we shall see, the burning issues of reality, reference and rhetoric. Who then, are the crucified people? In Ellacuría we found a relatively precise definition, underscoring that it is a collective entity whose suffering is a result of historical (i.e. socio-political) causes. Sobrino gives a somewhat wider definition, yet one which at the same time allows more nuances, by suggesting a distinction between an active meaning and a passive meaning. On the one hand, the crucified people consists of many persons who actively take up the challenge and mission of establishing justice in the world, and who for that reason encounter opposition and persecution. On the other hand, there is in the crucified people a majority of human beings who are put to death, not because of what they actively do or seek to accomplish, but simply because of what they (passively) are. These are all the innocent victims of history,141 according to Sobrino.

141 I shall later propose that Sobrino’s theology may be seen as a kind of victimology. See Chapter v [2], below.

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Attributing to these people a primary role in the history of salvation and in the Christian theological endeavour is the main contention of Sobrino. Can his approach be said to be acceptable, or even fruitful, – and if so, on what terms? While appreciating the originality and relevance of the suggestion, I have raised some doubts. To see whether these are justified, I shall now turn to a more profound analysis of the other pole of the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified: the Crucified Liberator. Following Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s advice, however, our interpretation needs to be rooted in history.

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iii. Countering a Crucifying Christology The Return to the Historical Jesus as a Way of Liberating Latin American Images of Christ

Tal parece que los españoles trajeron a Cristo a América para crucificar al indio.1

Defining suffering people as ‘crucified’ within the context of Christian theology implies establishing a relationship between them and the crucified Jesus of Nazareth. This is what Jon Sobrino does. For this reason he finds it justified to give this theme a thorough treatment within the framework of his christology. The crucified people is for him the (crucified) body of Christ present in the world today. From this follows that whatever theological status may be given to the crucified people, it must be derived from an interpretation of Jesus. In order to know who the crucified in history are, one needs to provide an answer to the foundational christologial question, which according to the gospels was posed by Jesus himself: “Who do you say I am?” (Mark 8:29, par.) Answering this question from a Latin American point of view implies having to deal with the history of christology on that continent.2 It is certainly a dark history, in many aspects. The tight interconnection of christology and conquest has been more than a chronological coincidence. From Cortés to Pinochet, christological 1 2

Words by Abad y Queipo, Bishop of Michoacán, quoted from Bricker 1989, 7. Since systematic christologies in the strict and modern meaning are a recent phenomenon in Latin America, I shall in this chapter use “christology” in a wide meaning – involving the explicit and implicit convictions and beliefs regarding the person and role of Jesus Christ, among Latin American elites as well as in the population in general.

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conceptions and elements have been used to legitimate oppression and injustice to such an extent, that one might – from the standpoint of liberation theology, that is – be tempted to speak of a “crucified” or even a “crucifying” christology. Hoping to provide a better understanding of this characteristic of Sobrino’s interpretation of Jesus Christ, I shall in this chapter first briefly sketch this specific Latin American background. As a remedy against oppressive manipulation of christology, Sobrino recommends taking “the historical Jesus” as a starting point. Since this is a basic, albeit controversial and somewhat unclear tenet in Sobrino’s writings, I shall have to consider this point of departure – which I shall call “the Latin American historical Jesus” – with some care. In so doing, I shall also give a hearing to some of those who have raised critical voices against Sobrino’s position.

[1] A Problematic Heritage: ‘Christologies of Conquest’ Christology came to Latin America3 with the conquista. Christopher Columbus had come to see himself as “Christ-bearer” (the etymological significance of his first name). He was convinced that 3

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What to call the region is a matter of contemporary debate. One proposal is Abya-Yala, a CUNA term (Panama) that describes the totality and integrity of the eco-geography which after the conquest and invasion beginning in 1492 is known as Latin America and the Caribbean. Abya-yala means “Mature land.” In a consultation on “Theological Education in Contexts of Survival” held in Managua July 14-18 1991, the seminaries represented there agreed to recover this term as part of their own identity and heritage, to designate Latin America and the Caribbean in the future. The term is not in common use, however. Cf. Community of Latin American Ecumenical Theological 1991, 1, note 1.

“his name symbolised a mission of ‘carrying’ Christ to the New World in fulfilment of the Old Testament prophecies.”4 The Christ that he carried with him was, in many ways, a Spanish Messiah. The end of the fifteenth century was an epoch of nationalistic triumphalism in Spain. Having conquered the Muslims and expelled them from the Spanish peninsula in 1492, the Spaniards would now bring this spirit of religious warfare to the so-called New World. Furthermore, the Spanish domination of the New World takes place at the beginning of the schism of Western Christianity. Its character is accordingly “profoundly marked by a Hispanic Catholic Christianity furiously antagonistic to ‘infidels,’ ‘apostates,’ and ‘heretics’ and restrictive in regard to alternative possibilities for interpreting the religious experience.”5 Colonisation and evangelisation became, for all practical purposes, two sides of the same coin. It should be seen as no coincidence that the infamous conqueror 4

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Trinidad 1984, 56. – The evangelistic motivation behind the Spanish venture to the West, a motivation which Columbus personally shared, can be seen from this excerpt from his journal from 1492. The words are directed to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella: “Your Highnesses, as good Christian and Catholic princes, devout and propagators of the Christian faith, as well as enemies of the sect of Mahomet and of all idolatries and heresies, conceived the plan of sending me, Christopher Columbus, to this country of the Indies, there to see the princes, the peoples, the territory, their disposition and all things else, and the way in which one might proceed to convert these regions to our holy faith.” Cited from McKennie Goodpasture 1989, 7. At the beginning of his second journey, Columbus received the following instruction from King Fernando and Queen Isabel (‘los reyes católicos’): “Por ende, sus altezas, deseando que nuestra santa fe católica sea aumentada ey acrescentada, mandan y encargan a dicho almirante […] {i.e. Columbus, my comment, SJS} que por todas las vías y maneras que pudiere, procure e trabaje atraer a los moradores de dichas islas e tierra firme a que se conviertan a nuestra santa fe católica.” Cited Rivera Pagán 1992a, 73. English translation: Rivera Pagán 1992b. Rivera Pagán 1992b, 50.

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Hernán Cortés had a cross in his banner accompanied by the following Latin inscription: “Amici, sequamur crucem; si nos fidem habuerimus, in hoc signo vincemus.” 6 The Spanish image of Christ that Columbus and his companions brought with them was complex and ambiguous. According to an analysis made by Saúl Trinidad, at least five main traits may distinguished.7 Firstly, there was the suffering and conquered Christ, the Christ of the via crucis, the dead Jesus in the tomb. Correspondingly, there was a heavy emphasis on the child Jesus in his mother’s lap. Both these images of Jesus underscore his weakness. He was the humiliated and defeated victim and the helpless and harmless child. The image of the helpless child in Mary’s lap would also allow the Spanish conquerors to regard themselves as the true guardians of the child Jesus, who was in need of their ‘protection’. Then there was also the Christ of the mysteries, particularly present in the Eucharist. The holy communion was regarded almost as a “magic recipe prescribed by the church for eternal life, in order to live forever.”8 This was, of course, seen as an excellent nourishment for conquerors and warriors (although they normally received the Sacrament only once a year). A fourth feature in this Spanish image of Christ was the Risen One as the Almighty Heavenly Monarch. The risen Jesus was thus made the guarantor of the power of the Spaniards. They were confident that their project of colonisation was legitimate since the Pope Alexander VI in a papal bull of 1493 had given the Spanish both the 6 7

8

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“Friends, let us follow the cross, and if we have faith, in this sign we shall win the victory.” Cited from Rivera Pagán 1992b, 48. Following Saúl Trinidad, op. cit. The original Spanish version of this article, “Cristología – Conquista – Colonización”, appeared first in Cristianismo y Sociedad 43-44/13 (August 1975): 12-25, and is also published in the collection Equipo 1984, 204-220. Trinidad 1984, 52.

permission and responsibility to spread the Gospel in the newly “discovered” areas,9 and the Pope – as was still undisputed – had his power from the Risen Christ. The hierarchical “line of command” was, then, from the victorious Risen Christ to the Holy See, from the Holy See to the Spanish king, and from him to the conquerors and – later – encomenderos.10 Finally, there was another, divergent image of Jesus, gradually being set up in opposition to these power-legitimating images. That was the pacific Christ, preached by people like Antonio Montesinos and Bartolomé de las Casas.11 It is well worth noting that Las Casas’ prophetic voice had one of its roots in a diverging christology. In the profound intuition, expressed in the words (frequently quoted by Sobrino12) about leaving behind Jesus in the Indies “being whipped and afflicted, and buffeted and crucified, not once but thousands of times, as often as the Spaniards assault and destroy those people”13, one can even find an incipient “theology of the crucified people”.

9

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11 12 13

The Pope comissioned the crown to “bring to the worship of our Redeemer and the profession of the Catholic faith their residents and inhabitants, […]”. McKennie Goodpasture 1989, 5. The encomienda system was designed to force the Indian population to work for the Spaniards, who were in great need of labour force in the mines and on the plantations. It was based on an instruction issued by Queen Isabella on December 20, 1503, according to which she commands the Governor of Hispaniola to “[…] compel and force the said Indians to associate with the Christians of the island and to work on their buildings, and to gather and mine the gold and other metals, and to till the fields and produce food for the Christian inhabitants and dwellers of the said island […]”. McKennie Goodpasture 1989, 7-8. Cf., e.g. Gutiérrez 1992 (English translation: Gutiérrez 1993b); Hanke 1949; Mires 1989. Sobrino 1991d, 31; Sobrino 1992b, 90, et passim. See above, Chapter ii [1].

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What happened when this christology ‘from above’ – in a sociological, not theological sense14 – was received by and gradually integrated into the culture ‘below’, the culture of the conquered and oppressed indigenous people? Still following Trinidad’s analysis, we can detect at least three coinciding and complementary christologies, all with a common ideological effect. The first one is a christology of resignation. In this, the powerless and defeated Jesus corresponds to the powerless and defeated people. The main expressions of this christology, which is still prominent in Latin American piety, are church paintings and statues of a sad and weak Jesus on his way to Golgotha, and – above all – the popular Holy Week processions. In Latin America, Sobrino notes, the most holy religious celebration is Sacred Triduum, the most holy day is Good Friday, and the most holy moment on Good Friday is the moment of Jesus’ burial.15 Trinidad is not alone then, in asking what these Holy Week rites mean today: “Are they symbols of the liberation of Latin America, or are they continuing to play the role of baptizing and confirming the establishment?”16 This ambiguity inherent in a christology which underscores the interconnection between the suffering of Jesus and the suffering of 14 In other words, I use “above and “below” here in another sense than the common one in christological debate. See e.g. Pannenberg 1968, 33-35. 15 “Hasta el día de hoy, el Cristo de las mayorías pobres de América Latina es el Cristo sufriente, de modo que la semana santa es el momento religioso más importante del año; de ella, el viernes santo, y de éste, el santo entierro.” Sobrino 1991d, 32. 16 Trinidad 1984. 59. Trinidad continues: “What, then, has been the function of christology in Latin America? The first thing that stands out is its role in baptizing, sacralizing, the conquista and the resulting oppression, as well as making a virtue out of suffering. Suffering was supposed to lead to glory and express communion with the crucified Christ […] Even the beatitudes were pressed into service: ‘Blessed are the poor […] those who weep […] those who suffer.’

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the people is of great importance to this present study. One must critically ask: might a theology of the crucified people – perhaps contrary to the expressed intentions of its advocates – in the end play the role of a christology of resignation? I have already raised this concern in the previous chapter. The risk needs to be considered seriously. Secondly, a christology of domination emerges as the other side of the coin with the powerful heavenly Christ corresponding to the powerful earthly elites, in society and in the Church. It seems that the Amerindians’ traditional perception of great confrontations as struggles among the gods, helped underpin such a christology from the very beginning. Christ, the God of the conquerors, had won the battle. The indigenous peoples had to accept their defeat as the defeat of their gods, and accept the rule of the intruders and their Lord. “Hence it is evident why the powerful, the mighty, take such an interest in ‘evangelisation’ and in the propagation of these ‘rare glorious Christs,’ these paternal Christs,” Trinidad writes. “They are symbols of power and domination.”17 Once again, there is a noteworthy ambiguity at work here. As I shall demonstrate, the perspective of the struggle of the gods is perhaps the ultimate structuring principle of Sobrino’s christology.18 Here we are reminded that this vision was at work on both sides of the conquest, among the indigenous peoples as well as among the Spanish conquerors.19 And in both cases its principal function was clearly in favour of the victors, preparing and theologically endorsing their victory. The ‘idolatry’ of the natives justified the Spaniards’ violent conquest in the conquerors’ own opinion.

17 Trinidad 1984, 60. 18 See Chapter v. 19 Rivera Pagán 1992b, 154-168.

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The confrontation between the Europeans and the natives of the Americas was perceived by the Europeans as a divine, transcendental, and cosmic battle in which the victor was God and the loser, Satan. “No matter how hard the devil tried, Jesus Christ vanquished him from the Kingdom that he had here.”20

Again, Bartolomé de Las Casas was the exception. He prophetically denounced the Spaniards as the real worshippers of idols, adoring gold and riches as the true god, to whom they sacrifice the blood of the Amerindians.21 Las Casas also exposed and condemned the way in which this idolatry of mammon was hidden behind rhetorical allegiance to the crucified Christ.22 Thus we see how the reference to a battle of gods can be used equally to justify and denounce the use of oppressive power. In addition, we recognise in the passage just cited that other principal traits of a contemporary christology of liberation, such as Jesus as Messiah and as the mediator of the Kingdom, were also fundamental in this colonial christology of domination. One important observation may be drawn from this, namely that the material content of a given christology alone seems to be unable to safeguard it against manipulation. It is therefore all the more necessary to take into account its actual social and even political function, as we shall see. Thirdly, one can observe a christology of marginalisation growing from this process of colonisation-evangelisation. In Latin American 20 Rivera Pagán 1992b, 162. The citation is from Gerónimo de Mendieta’s Historia eclesiástica indiana from 1596 (third facsimile, ed. Editorial Porrúa, México 1980: 18: 224) 21 “The issue is acutely posited by Las Casas in the rhetorical question, Who is the true god of the conquerors: God or gold? The conquistadors, Las Casas asserts, make war against the Indians and enslave them ‘to reach the goal that is their god: gold’ […]; to take out of their blood the riches they take as their god” […] To this god-gold, he continues, ‘they sacrificed the Indians, killing them in the mines’ […]” Rivera Pagán 1992b, 259. 22 Ibid. Cf. Gutiérrez 1989, and Gutiérrez 1992.

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piety, even today, there is a tendency to draw attention away from Jesus, in favour of the Saints, and – above all – in favour of Virgin Mary. In a way, Jesus is marginalised. This corresponds with “the great mass of marginalized adults and children, the great mass of those who are not taken into account,” Trinidad points out.23 But then, the child Jesus is ‘adopted’, is taken care of, by the wealthy and powerful, as an act of benevolence. Trinidad is here referring to an overwhelmingly paternalistic form of charity which is undertaken in the name of the child Jesus all over Latin America, especially at Christmas time. A chosen few among the marginalised thus receive some help, but remain marginalised. And Jesus is again made the guarantor of the status quo; the benevolence of the wealthy is supposed to bring secure spiritual blessings for themselves – and thereby also theological legitimation of their status and role in society. Although the descriptions presented by Trinidad are dense, rather polemical descriptions which would need some further elaboration from a strictly historical point of view,24 I think his main assertion of an inherited ‘christology of oppression’25 being effective all over the continent for centuries, is basically valid. One could ask, however, whether there was not also a subversive and provocative ‘underside’ when oppressed indigenous and later also poor, mestizo people adopted the image of the suffering Jesus. It is in my opinion reasonable also to suppose that they did to some extent recognise a potential for resistance and survival in the fact that the portrait of the Risen Christ in the Gospels underscores that he is none other than the suffering and humiliated Jesus.26 This ‘other story’ of chris23 Trinidad 1984, 60. 24 Trinidad’s strong wording in the introduction, for instance, where he speaks of a Spanish “redemptive masochism”, makes one suspect that the so-called leyenda negra has left too notable a mark on his historical version. 25 Trinidad 1984, 60.

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tology and conquista is less visible and less developed. It has come to the fore in glimpses, as in the prophetic testimonies of Las Casas and the Peruvian chronicler Guamán Poma de Ayala. But it might have been expressed primarily at the level of popular irony.27 It is against the backdrop of these ambiguous christologies, captive and dependent, but with a liberating current underneath, that the quest for a new Latin American christology emerges. It is a search for ‘liberating christology’ in a double sense. Jon Sobrino is among the first to contribute to such a liberation christology.28 26 This is a main point in Sobrino’s treatment of the resurrection, see Postscript, below. Hugo Assmann deems the separation of cross and resurrection fatal: “The dolorous Christs of Latin America, whose central image is ever the cross, are Christs of impotence – an impotence interiorized by the oppressed. Defeat, sacrifice, pain, cross. Impotence, powerlessness is accepted ‘undigested,’ recognised in advance and submitted to. Defeat is not perceived as a temporary reversal to be overcome in struggle. It appears an inevitable necessity, as a condition for the privilege of living. […] On the other hand, the rare glorious Christs of Latin America – seated on thrones and wearing royal crowns like kings of Spain – are not other Christs, they are the same Christs, the same sorrowful Christs, their necessary counterparts. They are their other face – the one the dominator sees. Thus there is no way to separate cross and resurrection without falling among Christs that alienate, Christs that estrange. Christs of established power (who have no need to struggle, because they already dominate), and Christs of established impotence (who are too dominated to be able to struggle) are the two faces of oppressor christologies.” Assmann 1984; 135-136. 27 See the suggestive and original article by Pedro Negre Rigol: Negre Rigol 1984. 28 Besides Sobrino, the main proponents of a Latin American liberation christology have been Leonardo Boff, (see his groundbreaking Boff 1972, and the collection Boff 1981a) and Juan Luis Segundo, who wrote extensively on these matters; from Segundo 1984-1989 to Segundo 1991a. See also Bonino 1984 and Equipo 1984. For an overview, discussions and appraisals, see e.g., Lois 1991; Bussmann 1980; Batstone 1991; Waltermire 1994; Macquarrie 1990, 316-320.

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Because of this particular history and actual situation, in which there is a “sabotage of christology in the name of christology” in Hugo Assmann’s words,29 the new Latin American christology insists that it is not sufficient merely to repeat and explain the dogmas of Christ for the believers of today. It is first of all necessary to employ a hermeneutics of suspicion in order to expose how the prevailing christologies function in society. Against oppressive christologies, one must formulate a christology which critically asks about the continuing presence and liberating activity of Jesus Christ in the reality of today. This is what Hugo Assmann has labelled “the actuation of the power of Christ in history.”30 The main challenge, according to Assmann, is “[…] to determine, even though not in exclusive terms, just where this power of Christ is acting in conflictive human history.”31 The direct answer to this question is the distinctive mark of Latin American liberation christology: the power of Christ in history is present in the praxis of the poor.32 Christ is on the side of the oppressed, against the oppressors. Christ is therefore to be confessed as “Jesus Christ Liberator”, as the programmatic title of the first christology to emerge from Latin America, that of Leonardo Boff, clearly proclaims.33

29 30 31 32

Assmann 1984, 125. Ibid. Assmann 1984, 132. Recently, in a self-critical article on the “crisis of liberation theology”, Assmann comments on what he now deems an over-estimation of the “power of the poor” during the early phase of this theological current: “[…] não há dúvida de que se cometeram ingenuidades a respeito do suposto surgimento de uma ‘igreja dos pobres’ ou quanto à ‘irrupcão dos pobres na igreja’ (e seu ‘potencial evangelizador’). […] A Teologia da Libertacão equivocou-se ao pensar que a opcão pelos pobres fosse a única saída para a Igreja e a Sociedade.” Assmann 1994b, 7. 33 Boff 1972.

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Sobrino explicitly locates his own christological efforts in this framework. He looks to Guamán Poma and Las Casas for its roots.34 Sobrino believes that in the preference shown by the poor and oppressed in Latin America for the image of the suffering Jesus, there is a recognition which, paradoxically, has given them strength to endure: “In this suffering Christ they recognised themselves, and from him they learned patience and resignation to enable them to survive with a minimum of meaning on the cross that was laid on them.”35 Like Trinidad and Assmann, Sobrino points to the need to tear down oppressive images of Christ, and replace them with liberating ones. Among the christological distortions that he wishes to overcome with his own christology, he mentions three in particular.36 First, there is the frequent tendency, as Sobrino sees it, of presenting Christ as a ‘sublime abstraction’. The abstract Christ comes through in conceptions of Christ as Love and in conceptions of Christ as Power. The former has been used to neutralise the partiality Jesus himself displayed in favour of the oppressed, whereas the latter has “justified the sacralization of power in the political and economical realms,” Sobrino claims. Second, there is the affirmation that Christ is the ‘embodiment of universal reconciliation’. This statement, which Sobrino deems “true in itself, but […] not given its dialectical thrust,” is often used 34 “Así, Guamán Poma decía: ‘ha de saberse claramente con la fe que donde está el pobre está el mismo Jesucristo’, y Bartolomé de Las Casas: ‘yo dejo en las Indias a Jesucristo, nuestro Dios, azotándolo y afligiéndolo y abofete´ndolo y crucificándolo, no una sino millares de veces, cuanto es de parte de los españoles que asuelan y destruyen aquellas gentes’.” Sobrino 1991d, 31. 35 “En ese Cristo sufriente se reconocieron y de él aprendieron paciencia y resignación para poder sobrevivir con un mínimo de sentido en la cruz que les fue impuesta.” Sobrino 1991d, 32. 36 Sobrino 1978a, xvi-xix / Sobrino 1976, xii-xiii, cf. Sobrino 1991d, 36-42.

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to harmonise historical conflicts and immunise against Jesus’ prophetic denunciations and curses. The traditional kind of soteriology works in this direction, too, Sobrino believes, in making ‘sin’ a universal, almost a-historical concept, from which Jesus by his death has saved all people, once and for all. Third, Sobrino sees a danger in the tendency to absolutise Christ, as if he were “the ultimate or the divine pure and simple”, not seeing him in his essential relationality with the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom. This last point concerns a core tenet in Sobrino’s christology which I will deal with in more detail in Chapter iv, namely that Jesus is the revelation not of God in directo, but of the Son, i.e. the way to God in history.37 Like Boff, then, Sobrino sets out to explore the image of Jesus as Liberator. This image of the liberator Christ is “new and unexpected”38, he claims. It is something that has emerged in the last decades’ praxis(/es) for liberation in Latin America.39 The suffering Christ has now become a symbol for protest and liberation for the many poor and afflicted throughout the region. Sobrino holds this new image to be a ‘sign of the times’. In it, he sees a “historical coincidence of identity and relevance”, since it is the image of Christ which is most relevant to the majority of the Latin American population living in poverty, and at the same time the image which renders the historical figure of Jesus in the most faithful manner. In short, the Latin American population is longing for a liberator, and Jesus of Nazareth is a liberator, a Messiah, Sobrino believes. The image of ‘Christ the liberator’ restores the essence of the title ‘Messiah,’ which though maintained down the centuries, has by now lost any sense of historical or popular messianism.40 Thus, the title 37 Sobrino 1978a, 105. I shall return to this in Chapter iv [8-10]. 38 Sobrino 1991d, 33. 39 Cf. the shift from “development” to “liberation”, described in Chapter i[2]d), above.

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‘Christ the liberator’ picks up a story that was more or less broken off after the first generations of Christians.41 Inspired by this image of a Liberator-Messiah, Sobrino sets out to show its validity. 42

[2] Remedy: The Latin-American Historical Jesus As Point of Departure How is one to resist the ideologised versions of Christ, the manifold and widespread christologies of domination so useful for the protectors of the status quo in Latin America? Basically, by siding with the poor, and returning to the historical Jesus as starting point and criterion for christological reflection, Sobrino responds. (1) The issue of where to begin is no small issue in theological work. It may bring a significant influence to bear on the results. Therefore, Sobrino gives it due consideration.43 In his elaboration of methodological starting points for gaining knowledge about Jesus Christ we see again a circular structure in Sobrino’s methodology. It is a circle between God’s revelation in the present and in the past. 40 Cf. Sobrino 1993h: “Con el ‘liberador’ se recoge hoy lo central del sentido mas originario del mesías: en la historia aparecerá alguien que traerá salvación a los pobres y oprimidos, aparecerá un rey justo que liberará de esclavitudes a las mayorías populares.” 41 Sobrino 1994c, 276, n. 12. / Sobrino 1991d, 36, n. 12. “Con la imagen del ‘Cristo liberador’ se recobra lo fundamental del título ‘mesías’ mantenido ciertamente a lo largo de la historia, pero privado ya de cualquier contenido histórico-popular. Con el Cristo liberador se retoma una historia que quedó interrumpida prácticamente con las primeras generaciones de cristianos.” 42 Cf. Sobrino 1982a, 91: “Ciertamente Cristo es el liberador para la cristología; pero la tarea de ésta consiste más en mostrarle cómo liberador.” 43 Sobrino 1976, 1-30; 265-270; Sobrino 1991d, 17-114.

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Liberation theology […] insists on the actual presence of God and believes that the reality and word of God that are represented in the revelation, are better rediscovered and safeguarded (when read) from the actual signs of the times.44

The actual sign of the times from which Sobrino starts his christology is the new image of Christ as liberator having emerged among poor and oppressed Christians struggling for liberation in Latin America. This image is informed from, and should be tested against, the historical Jesus, Sobrino believes. The historical Jesus is what he calls his “methodological point of departure.” One could say, then, that Sobrino sets out from the “Latin American historical Jesus.” Before explaining what this apparently contradictory expression might mean, I must once more45 add a note on the significance of the resurrection in Sobrino’s christological enterprise. Why does Sobrino not begin with the resurrection of Christ?46 After all, this may be said to be the starting point of the New Testament. Admitting that all christology and Christian faith actually emerge after and as a result of the resurrection of Christ, Sobrino nevertheless deems the resurrection inadequate as starting point, because, in order to interpret the resurrection correctly, we must know who it was that was raised from the dead, why he was raised, and how we gain access to the risen One.47 Therefore, it is better to begin with the historical Jesus of Nazareth, Sobrino contends. This should not be understood as preferring “jesuology” to “christology”, however. As should have become clear, the perspective of the resurrection is present already from the beginning in 44 Sobrino 1989d, 253-254: “La teología de la liberación […] insiste en la actual presencia de Dios y cree que desde los actuales signos de los tiempos mejor se redescubre y salvaguarda la realidad y la palabra de Dios plasmadas en la revelación.” 45 See Introduction above, and Postscript below. 46 Cf. e.g., Pannenberg 1968, 53ff.

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Sobrino’s christology as a basic presupposition. The present faith in Christ in the poor communities of Latin America is faith in the living Christ, active in and through history precisely because he was raised from the dead. But having this overall perspective, it is still more fruitful to take the historical Jesus as a methodological point of departure, Sobrino argues. Because in that way, the manipulation of the risen Christ in all kinds of oppressive ‘conquest christologies’ may more easily be unmasked and dismantled. Sobrino argues that our best remedy in order to free christology from its possible perversions is a return to the historical Jesus. The strength of this argument is disputable, however. Is it possible to know anything about the ‘historical’ Jesus? Is it fruitful to separate the Jesus of history from the Christ of faith? And is not even the historical Jesus just as ambiguous, just as open to diverse and opposite interpretations as the dogma of a Risen Christ? Hugo Assmann points out that “there is something too ingenuous in the intention of those who think they can fill in the Latin American christological lacuna with a powerful ‘biblical portrait of Christ’ […]”48 A simple recourse to a ‘better’ exegesis will not lead to an objective purification of christological doctrine. – Is it not so 47 “La resurrección de Cristo fue necesaria para que surgiese la fe en Cristo, y es por ello la condición de posibilidad de toda cristología. Pero no es un punto de partida útil, pues hasta que no se esclarece quién ha sido resucitado (Jesús de Nazaret), por qué ha sido resucitado (para que se manifieste la justicia de Dios contra un mundo de injusticia), cómo se accede al resucitado (en el seguimiento de Jesús en último término), la resurrección no conduce necesariamente al verdadero Cristo.” Sobrino 1991d, 85 / Sobrino 1994c, 44. See also Sobrino 1983a, 480-484. Earlier in his career, however, Sobrino seems to have been of a different opinion: “Pero tanto histórica como sistemáticamente el punto de partida de la cristología es la resurrección de Cristo, que es por definición un acontecimiento del pasado que apunta al futuro.” Sobrino 1974, 181. 48 Assmann 1984, 126.

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also with the ‘historical Jesus’? Will a recourse to ‘better’ history solve the problem? We shall have to consider this starting point in Sobrino more carefully. (2) The expression a Latin American historical Jesus, certainly seems a contradiction. The historical Jesus was, of course, not a Latin American campesino. Nevertheless I regard this paradoxical expression as helpful in order to bring out what Sobrino has in mind when he speaks of the historical Jesus. For him, “historical” is not primarily the history of “wie es eigentlich gewesen” (Leopold von Ranke49) in Galilee. It is rather this history as seen from and continued in the ‘today’ of Latin America. History is that which links the oppressed communities of El Salvador to Jesus of Nazareth. A Latin American quest for the historical Jesus is therefore conscious of both poles in this historical connection. However, the historical Jesus is given priority over the contemporary images of Christ, in Sobrino’s approach. The main criterion for discerning correctly the ‘signs of the times’, in this case the image of Jesus as liberator, is the historical Jesus. His life and service, his historical praxis, is the norma normans for the content of any christology – as well as for a liberating praxis – today.50 This makes Jesus at the same time object of theological epistemology and norm for the epistemological method, i.e. for how knowledge about him is to be gained. Once again, there seems to be an inescapable circularity in Sobrino’s framework, a circularity which leads to a certain vagueness. 49 Leopold von Ranke: Gesammelte Werke 33/34, VII. 50 Cf. Sobrino 1982a, 23: “Cristo va siendo presentado no sólo como quien mueve a la liberación, sino como norma de la práctica liberadora y prototipo del hombre nuevo que se pretende con la liberación. Jesús aparece como la norma normans, y no la norma normata de la liberación.” Likewise Sobrino 1991d, 100-101 and Sobrino 1983b, 939.

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What does Jon Sobrino actually mean by the term “the historical Jesus”? It has become common terminology within New Testament studies to speak of three quests of the historical Jesus, referring to Albert Schweitzer’s (1875-1965) influential study The Quest of the Historical Jesus from 1906. The first quest actually started long before Schweitzer though, with Hermann Samuel Reimarus (1694-1768), whose writings were posthumously published by Gottfried Ephraim Lessing in 1774. The presupposition of this original quest was that there was a radical abyss between the historical figure of Jesus, and the way the Christian church interpreted and presented him. This criticism paved the way for the liberal “life of Jesus” – movement, which highlighted the religious personality of the historical Jesus in a manner that made him look suspiciously like an ideal figure by the progressive standards of the nineteenth century. It was this development that Schweitzer – together with Johannes Weiss (1863-1914), William Wrede (1859-1096) and Martin Kähler (1835-1912), although on different grounds – firmly rejected. Schweitzer set out to find the historical Jesus, but encountered a complete stranger, belonging to a totally apocalyptic world view which seemed to Schweitzer to have no contact with that of modern human beings of the twentieth century. The quest had failed, in other words. This failure made Rudolf Bultmann take the position that the historicity of Jesus was of close to no importance to christology; the only necessary affirmation was that Jesus had lived. Questioning whether this really is all there is to say, one of Bultmann’s students Ernst Käsemann, and the Norwegian scholar Nils Alstrup Dahl (independently of each other, around 1953) re-open the issue, thus initiating a “new” or “second” quest. In the foreground of this quest was the aspiration to explore the continuity between the preaching of Jesus and the preaching about Jesus. The new quest built on the presupposition that it was possible to gain

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some historically affirmed knowledge about Jesus of Nazareth, although its primary concern was theological. Central scholars related to this movement were, among others, Günther Bornkamm, Joachim Jeremias and Edward Schillebeeckx. Finally, in the course of the last fifteen years there has been what Marcus J. Borg calls a renaissance of the academic discipline of Jesus scholarship, especially in North America. Building on new archaeological findings and recent developments in the use of anthropological (and other interdisciplinary) methods in New Testament studies, the leading proponents of the third quest (Marcus Borg, E.P. Sanders, Richard Horsley, Burton Mack, John Dominic Crossan, John P. Meier and many others) have presented a whole series of Jesus-portraits that have evoked wide public interest, far beyond the confines of Biblical scholarship. Particularly controversial have been the procedures and findings of the “Jesus Seminar”, a colloquium of North American New Testament scholars. Whereas the “second” quest emphasised the uniqueness of Jesus in almost every sense, the third quest tends to see him much more in continuity with his contemporaries.51 Does Sobrino belong to the first, second or third “quest” – or none of these? In the opening pages of his first book on christology, we find this definition: Let me say right here that my starting point is the historical Jesus. It is the person, teaching, attitudes, and deeds of Jesus of Nazareth insofar as they are accessible, in a more or less general way, to historical and exegetical investigation.52

This programmatic statement does not mean that Sobrino is unaware of the profound difficulties revealed in the various “quests” for 51 See i.a., McGrath 1994, 316-327; Dahl 1991; Borg 1994b; Borg 1994a; Meier 1991; Crossan 1991; etc. 52 Sobrino 1978a, 3. Sobrino 1976, 2-3.

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the historical Jesus within New Testament studies since H. S. Reimarus.53 The historical Jesus who comes to the fore in Latin American Christology – not only in that of Sobrino54 – is not the same as the European, liberal Jesus. “The historical Jesus” implies here the whole history of Jesus, his “development and destiny,” which ends in crucifixion and is culminated and confirmed in the faith in his resurrection.55 It is not a term used in opposition to the Christ of faith; its intention is not liberation from dogma.56 Sobrino clearly does not belong to the first quest, in other words. On the contrary, ‘the historical Jesus’ is used in his approach to give the correct direction to the understanding of the christological dogma.57 The historical Jesus is both the ‘way’ to the Christ of faith, and its ‘safeguard.’58 ‘The historical Jesus’ becomes then, for Sobrino, a criterion to discern and correctly interpret on the one hand the historical situation and praxis, ‘the signs of the times’, and on the other hand the fides qua, the actual explication and application of the christological dogma. A historical praxis without the historical Jesus as norm is in danger of becoming reductionist. A Christian transcendental faith without the historical Jesus as norm, is in danger of becoming alienating and ideologised. In ‘the historical Jesus’ the two come together, are corrected and complemented, Sobrino is convinced.

53 Sobrino is, of course, “fully aware of the exegetical difficulties involved in trying to go back to that Jesus […]” Sobrino 1978a, xxii/ Sobrino 1976, xvi. See also Sobrino 1976, 209/ Sobrino 1978a, 273. 54 Hilgert 1989. 55 Sobrino 1976, 270. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 96: “Por el ‘Jesús histórico’ entendemos la vida de Jesús de Nazaret, sus palabras y hechos, su actividad y su praxis, sus actitudes y su espíritu, su destino de cruz (y de resurrección).” 56 Sobrino 1982a, 80. 57 Sobrino 1982a, 71ff. 58 Sobrino 1991d, 74-79.

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But is it possible to know anything about the ‘historical’ Jesus, when it is generally accepted that the gospels do not provide us with the biography of Jesus, but with testimonies to belief in him? Sobrino thinks so, to a certain extent, and he suggests three main criteria for determining this, following E. Schillebeeckx: “(1) the appearance of one and the same theme on various levels of tradition; (2) what is specific to and distinctive of a theme by contrast with and even in opposition to theologies and practices that came after Jesus; and (3) the consistency of Jesus’ death with what is narrated of his life”.59 Sobrino shares with both the second and the third quest this relative optimism with regard to the possibility of knowing something important about the historical Jesus – in spite of the failure of the first quest. However, the criteria he uses are clearly derived from the second quest.60 But again, historical knowledge per se is not, for him, the main purpose in emphasising the historical Jesus as the methodological point of departure: It is necessary to determine theoretically what is meant by historical when we speak of the historical Jesus. By ‘historical’ here is not meant directly and primarily the factual, that which is geographically and temporally datable with exactitude, or that which has been called ipsissisima verba or facta Jesu. It is 59 Sobrino 1982b, 74. / Sobrino 1982a, 89: “1) la aparición de un mismo tema en varios estratos de la tradición, 2) lo específico y distintivo de un tema a diferencia y aun oposición a teologías y prácticas posteriores a Jesús 3) la congruencia que su propia muerte otorga a lo que se narra de su vida.” 60 Sobrino is obviously dependent on leading German exegetes of this period, such as J. Jeremias and E. Käsemann, especially in his first books on christology In his later writings, some Spanish and Latin American exegetes come more to the fore. Yet, one still misses in Sobrino’s writings an even more explicit reception and creative systematic development of the movement of popular re-reading of the Bible that has grown in strength across the continent even as liberation theology entered its present crisis. See i.a. Mesters 1989 and Vaage 1997.

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presupposed that some of this is possible, and when accepted by historical criticism, it is certainly welcome. By historical is meant here formally the praxis of Jesus as the place where the maximum metaphysical density of his person is expressed. This praxis is every activity, in words and deeds, with which he transforms the surrounding reality in the direction of the Kingdom of God and through which his own person is gradually formed and expressed. But moreover, it [i.e. Jesus’ praxis, my comment, SJS] has unleashed a history which has come to us in order to be continued. Thus, the actual praxis is a demand made by Jesus, but also the hermeneutical location for the comprehension of Jesus.61

In this lengthy quotation we can trace the influence of the ‘Zubirian-Ellacurían’ concepts of history and praxis on Sobrino’s thinking.62 For Sobrino, the most historical element about Jesus is his praxis,63 and “the spirit with which he realized this.”64 Accordingly, he holds that all knowledge about Jesus should be structured from this. Furthermore, for Sobrino the stories about Jesus in the New Testament are not primarily doctrine, but stories about a prac61 My translation. Sobrino 1983a, 483-4: “Hay que determinar teóricamente lo que se entiende por histórica al hablar del Jesús histórico. Por ‘histórico’ no se entiende aquí en directo y primariamente lo fáctico, aquello que es geográfica o temporalmente datable con exactitud o lo que se ha dado en llamar ipsissisima verba o facta Jesu. Se presupone que algo de esto es posíble y en cuanto lo acepte la crítica histórica, bienvenido. Por histórico se entiende aquí formalmente la práctica de Jesús como aquel lugar de mayor densidad metafísica de su persona. Esa práctica es toda actividad, en hechos y palabras, por la que transforma la realidad circundante en la dirección del reino de Dios y a través de la cual se va haciendo y expresando su propia persona. Pero además ha desencadenado una historia que ha llegado hasta nosotros para ser continuada. Con ello la práctica actual es una exigencia de Jesús, pero es también el lugar hermenéutico de comprensión de Jesús.” Cf. Sobrino 1982a, 89; Sobrino 1976, 210. 62 Cf. Chapter i [2] e) above. For example, Sobrino cites with approval Ellacuría’s statement: “(T)he historical life of Jesus is the fullest revelation of the Christian God”, Ellacuría 1976, 27. 63 Sobrino 1982a, 81, cf. Sobrino 1991d, 96-100.

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tice – stories that have been collected and edited in order that this practice may be followed.65 “Historical is […] that which unleashes history.”66 One main difference in emphasis here from the protagonists of the second quest might perhaps be formulated thus: while the principal point in the second quest was the fundamental continuity between the preaching of Jesus and the preaching about him, Sobrino stresses the continuity between the praxis of Jesus and the praxis of his followers today.67 For Sobrino, historicity is the past as continued in the present, heading for the future: “Jesus’ past can be recovered in the present only if it pushes us toward the future.”68 What about the “third quest”? Is Sobrino’s historical Jesus compatible with the main insights of these recent developments within New Testament scholarship? First of all, Sobrino does not demonstrate familiarity with this contemporary current. He does not explicitely refer to any of its main proponents (Crossan, Meier, Borg, et al.).69 Besides this, it should be noted that Sobrino’s point of departure and main interest in the historical Jesus is different 64 This latter, is an addition which Sobrino calls “una relativa novedad que ha sido exigida por la experiencia latinoamericana”. Relating “practice” and “spirit” in this manner reduces the danger of falling into pure activism, on the on hand, and pure spiritualism, on the other, Sobrino believes. Sobrino 1991d, 98-99 65 Sobrino 1982a, 82. 66 Sobrino 1991d, 97.: “Histórico es […] lo que desencadena historia.” This definition is borrowed from Moltmann, see his Moltmann 1967. 67 This does not imply that the second quest was not preoccupied with praxis. Nonetheless, at least it seems that the issue of praxis takes a more central position and has other characteristics in Sobrino. 68 Sobrino 1978a, xxiii. / Sobrino 1976, xvi: “Dicho de otra forma, el pasado de Jesús sólo se recobra en el presente si impulsa hacia un futuro.” 69 See i.e. Borg 1994b; Meier 1991; Crossan 1994; and Theology Today Vol. 52, no 1, April 1994 (the whole issue is dedicated to the “third quest” for the historical Jesus).

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from the one prevalent in the third quest. Sobrino’s approach is admittedly historical-theological. It is impossible to historicise Jesus without at the same time theologising him, he acknowledges. But the opposite is also true: It is impossible to theologise him without historising him. This is what the gospels – in the mere fact of their having been written – show, in Sobrino’s opinion.70 When it comes to the main findings of the third quest (to the degree that it is at all possible to speak of any consensus among its proponents) the picture is manifold. In the third quest there is a pointedly strong emphasis on the continuity of Jesus with his contemporary time, its religion, culture, society, whereas the second quest, relying heavily upon the criterion of dissimilarity, stressed Jesus’ uniqueness and his discontinuity with the past as well as with the present and future. Sobrino, it seems to me, does both. His historical-theological reading of Jesus portrays a man in profound continuity and solidarity with his people and “the best in its traditions”71, at the same time as his words and actions bring him into conflict with its religious and political authorities, a conflict with deadly consequences. This conflict points to the uniqueness of Jesus – his faith, mission and consciousness – in Sobrino’s rendering. All in all, although not explicitly in rapport with the third quest, Sobrino’s core tenets on the ‘historical Jesus’ do not seem incompatible with fundamental traits of this current. I shall give 70 Sobrino 1991d, 117: “De los evangelios, la cristología aprende, pues, dos lecciones importantes. La primera es que no se puede teologizar la figura de Jesús sin historizarla, narrando su vida y su destino. Sin ello, la fe no tiene historia. La segunda es que no se puede historizar a Jesús sin teologizarlo como buena noticia, y así, en referencia esencial a las comunidades. Sin ello, la historia no tiene fe.” 71 Sobrino 1976, 32: “A Jesús hay que comprenderle en primer lugar como un reformador religioso que predicaba las mejores tradiciones de Israel.” Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 135ff; and Sobrino 1993h.

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some examples of this. Sobrino is more explicitly dependent on the second quest, though. Yet, the approach of Sobrino is better characterised as a proper ‘Latin American quest’, in which the following of the praxis of Jesus today is the distinctive characteristic.72

[3] Critical Assessment: How Historical Is ‘Jesus Liberator’? The return to the historical Jesus is fundamental to Sobrino’s christology, as it is to the other recent christological sketches from Latin America. It has been criticised and discussed: Is it really the “historical” Jesus that is meant here – or should it rather be labelled the “synoptic”, or “earthly” Jesus?73 Does not Sobrino, in fact, confuse history and theology? Is he not projecting the ideal of a Latin American liberator back into history? Let us hear some of the critics. (1) In his critical book on liberation theology, Napoleon Chow74 dedicates the main part of his section on Christology to the work of Sobrino, “[…] the most outstanding exponent of christology among the liberation theologians”.75 Chow faults Sobrino for failing to comply with generally accepted academic standards: 72 Jacques Depuis has succinctly described what distinguishes the Latin American quest from the European: “Por el contrario, la vuelta al Jesús histórico de la ‘Cristología de la liberación’ está marcada por una intuición y significado muy diferente. No se intenta recuperar críticamente los datos históricos para dotar a la fe cristológica de un fundamento histórico válido. Se dirige, más bien, a redescubrir en la praxis del Jesús histórico el principio hermenéutico de la praxis liberadora de la Iglesia cristiana. La praxis de Jesús tiene un valor paradigmático especialmente para el obrar cristiano. Tiene su aplicación especial en un contexto en que grandes masas populares están sometidas a una pobreza deshumanizadora.” Depuis 1994, 47-48.

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The christological program that Sobrino proposes selects those aspects of Jesus’ life that will help in formulating a strategy for liberation. These aspects include the resurrection and the Kingdom of God, the socio-political activity of Jesus and the obligation of the Christian to follow his example. This is a paradigm which is more directed at a ‘struggle for the truth’ than at an academic ‘search for the truth’.76

Chow portrays the christology of Sobrino almost as a ‘baptised’ revolutionary polemic or ideology, and he even introduces a direct comparison with the Communist Manifesto. “And, if liberation theology needs the figure of a revolutionary Christ in order to attract revolutionary disciples, it is obvious that Sobrino has done a good

73 Cf. the discussion in Bedford 1993, 134-138; with reference to, i. a., Ogden 1978; and Segovia 1980, as well as Bussmann 1980,.9f, 56f and 158. Nancy Bedford holds that Sobrino lacks clear methodological criteria for how to recover the historical Jesus. What he is really concerned with, in her opinion, is the synoptic image of Jesus, rather than the later, dogmatic portrait of Jesus. Bedford supports her argument with a reference to Myre 1980, 109f: “La christologie de l’auteur est donc moins fondée sur le Jésus de l’histoire, comme il le prétend, que sur la christologie des évangiles synoptiques.” – Why does Sobrino insist on the designation “historical”, according to Bedford? “Der tiefere Grund ist wohl, dass ohne dieses Wort ein Aspekt vielleicht verlorenginge, auf den er um jeden Preis aufmerksam machen will, nämlich, dass Jesus Christus ‘historisch’ ist, weil er während seines irdischen Lebens Geschichte ‘entfesselt’ hat (desencadenó) und sie kraft seines Geistes immer noch ‘entfesselt’.” Op. cit […], 138 74 Chow 1992. 75 “[…] el expositor más destacado de la cristología entre los teólogos de la Liberación.” Chow 1992, 57-79; 60. 76 El programa cristológico que propone Sobrino, escoge aquellos aspectos de la vida de Jesús que ayudarán a diseñar una estrategia de liberación, y ellos incluyen la Resurrección y el Reino de Dios, la actividad sociopolítica de Jesús y la obligación del cristiano de seguir su ejemplo. Ese es un paradigma creado más para “luchar por la verdad” que para una “búsqueda de la verdad” académica.” Op. cit., 65

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job.”77 The whole book is clearly written within this anti-Marxist framework. Besides this exaggerated ideological critique, Chow’s major criticism regards Sobrino’s emphasis on an “historical approach” as “tendentious” and filled with “omissions.”78 Chow particularly mentions the case of the Pharisees. While Sobrino accepts the version of Jesus’ death which blames the Pharisees, Chow holds that “Jesus and the Pharisees were not adversaries.”79 Furthermore, Chow maintains that Sobrino does not distinguish adequately between a historical and a theological approach when he intends to substitute the classical christologies’ ontological approach to Jesus’ divinity with a relational. For Sobrino, Jesus’ divinity is expressed in his historical relations with his Father and with the Kingdom of God. This may be possible, according to Chow, but cannot be presented as the results of a historical investigation. Sobrino wishes to live in an ideal world. He affirms that he searches for the historical Christ at the same time as he puts forward declarations of faith, which, precisely because of the intrinsic character of faith, it is impossible to criticize from any historical point of view.80

Historical investigation and affirmations of faith should not be mixed, Chow holds. “If one intends to reach conclusions that are 77 “Y, si la teología de la liberación necesita la figura de un Cristo revolucionario para fines de lograr discípulos revolucionarios, es evidente que Sobrino ha hecho un buen trabajo.” Op. cit.,70 78 “Aunque Sobrino pretende adoptar una aproximación histórica para moldear su cristología, su tratamiento de la historia a veces es tendenciosa, e incurre en omisiones cruciales y acepta y enfatiza datos e interpretaciones que están abiertamente destinados a perfilar al Cristo de la teología de la liberación.” Ibid. 79 Chow supports this claim with references to J.T.Pawlikowski, R.Radford Ruether and E.P. Sanders, cf. n.81-82.

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clearly predetermined by one’s faith, one does not write good history, nor good theology.” 81 Sobrino’s ‘historical Jesus’ is thus predetermined by his faith, or rather, by his socio-political programme – the liberation of the poor in Latin America, according to Chow. Wanting to demonstrate what he holds to be a more correct historical interpretation of Jesus, Chow moves on to a rendering of the main tenets of E.P. Sanders’ Jesus and Judaism from 1985. It should be noted that, even though his book is from 1992, Chow bases his harsh criticism solely on Cristología desde América Latina. After all, Sobrino’s approach to this issue is further developed in Jesús en América Latina and Jesucristo liberador, as a consequence of the questions and criticisms he had received. But moreover, Chow oversimplifies the distinctions between faith and science, and between ‘theological’ and ‘historical’. His position with regard to historical science draws close to a positivistic historicism. Chow does not discuss Sobrino’s explicit statements on the interrelationship between these aspects, nor does he himself discuss the meaning of ‘historical’. Finally, the stark ideological (anti-Marxist) framework of Chow’s analysis makes him unable to meet his own standards of ‘neutrality’: his discourse seems to be at least as much ‘struggle’ (on a rhetorical level, that is) as an ‘academic search’ for truth. Although Chow’s critique for these reasons is generally inadequate, I do think that there is a core in it that should be taken seri80 My translation. “Sobrino quiere tener el mejor de los mundos, afirma que busca el Cristo histórico al mismo tiempo que plantea declaraciones de fe que, precisamente debido a su carácter intrínsico, son inatacables desde cualquiér perspectiva histórica.” Op. cit., 71. 81 My translation. “Si intenta llegar a conclusiones que están claramente predeterminadas por su fe, no escribe buena historia ni buena teología.” Op. cit., 72.

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ously: Chow has spotted indications of an unclarity or even an inconsistency in Sobrino’s argument regarding the relationship between history and theology. I shall pursue this further below. (2) Arthur McGovern cites a “rather scathing critique” made by the well-known New Testament scholar John P. Meier in June 1988, of Sobrino’s (and J.L.Segundo’s) use of the historical Jesus.82 Sobrino, says Meier, cites very few important exegetes at any length, and he has no extended, critical discussion of the meaning of the historical Jesus nor of criteria dealing with this topic. Meier asserts that the historical Jesus means that which the methods of historical criticism enable us to retrieve about Jesus of Nazareth. These historical reconstructions cannot be identified, however, with the ‘real’ Jesus. Sobrino glosses over this and sometimes equates the historical Jesus with the humanity of Jesus and other times with Jesus’ earthly career.83

Meier too faults Sobrino for his “oversimplified” view of Judaism in Jesus’ time. The Pharisees had probably little to do with Jesus’ death, according to recent exegetical studies, he maintains. McGovern then answers this critique on Sobrino’s behalf. He admits that Meier may be correct in judging that Sobrino’s scholarship falls short of the standards set by Schillebeeckx and others when it comes to biblical interpretation. However, Sobrino is a hermeneutical theologian who is “trying to draw attention to dimensions of Jesus neglected in traditional theologies […]”84 Moreover, Meier assumes his own definition of ‘the historical Jesus’ as definitive, which is not exactly a fruitful basis for discussion, in McGoverns view.85

82 83 84 85

McGovern 1989, 80-82. Op. cit: 80. McGovern 1989, 81. Ibid.

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When it comes to the issue of the Pharisees, however, McGovern agrees with Meier: […] Meier’s point about oversimplifying the role of the Pharisees in Jesus’ death appear quite valid in the light of recent scholarship. But even on this point, the particular work he cites (Sanders: Jesus and Judaism) was published after Sobrino and Segundo had completed their works.86

(3) This issue of Sobrino’s (mis-)interpretation of Judaism in Jesus’ day comes most critically through in an article by Clark M. Williamson.87 Williamson launches harsh attacks against Sobrino’s Christology at the Crossroads, concluding that […] Sobrino’s whole project of a Christology for liberation theology is jeopardized critically by his way of approaching the historical Jesus. A liberation theology that cuts itself off from the liberating event of the Bible, the Exodus of a people from oppression, from real slavery to real freedom, is self-defeating.88

This remark, claiming that Sobrino’s christology “cuts itself off ” from the exodus-event, shows how exaggerated and strained Williamson’s criticism is. It is totally incomprehensible how Williamson can read Sobrino’s texts without recognising the profound and decisive traces of the liberating motive of the Exodus in them.89 Nevertheless, the gravity of the issues at stake in Williamson’s main critique regarding Sobrino’s treatment of the Jewishness of Jesus is such that it merits attention. Williamson intends to show no less than how Sobrino’s christology is basically anti-Jewish. This is partly due to Sobrino’s dependence on German exegesis, particularly Jeremias, he assumes. But 86 87 88 89

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Ibid. Williamson 1983. Op. cit., 153. Sobrino 1976, 31ff; Sobrino 1991d, 127ff.

the critique goes even further, alleging i.a. that Sobrino consciously leaves out the Lord’s prayer in his treatment of the prayer of Jesus, because “[…] it doesn’t fit Sobrino’s anti-Jewish model.”90 AntiJewishness has been a fundamental structure in Christian theology all the way at least since Tertullian, in Williamson’s view. In main themes of his christology, such as God, Jesus, law, church, Jewish exegesis, prayer, late Judaism, legalistic piety, the Pharisees, and – not least – Jewish responsibility for the death of Jesus, Williamson finds Sobrino guilty of accepting and applying uncritically this antiJewish schema. In the same manner, Williamson faults Sobrino for failing to see that Judaism “was and is a behavioural system, having no creed. It was and is orthopraxy – the very thing Jesus is said to have demanded.” 91 His most fundamental criticism with regard to Sobrino’s ‘historical Jesus’ is that it is […] historically uncritical or uncritically historical, simply taking a parable as an actual instance of a generalized attitude or simply taking a parable as an event or, in any case, taking the parable out of context of its situation in the Redaktionsgeschichte of the gospels. The latter comment, however, is applicable to Sobrino’s entire approach to the historical Jesus and is a basic structural flaw, methodologically, in everything he says about Jesus.92

How should one assess these critics? One main observation is that, Williamson, like some of the other critics, fails to recognise the distinctiveness of the Latin American quest, whose main intention is not to ‘secure’ the christological interpretation against criticisms of modern (secular) historical science. As I have shown, ‘historical’ 90 Op. cit.,152. Sobrino, of course, has no reason to “leave out” the Lord’s prayer; see Sobrino 1991d, 253, et passim. 91 Op. cit., 150 92 Op. cit., 151.

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takes on a particular meaning in Sobrino’s use. Accordingly, his use of ‘historical’ in ‘the historical Jesus’ should be understood in line with the practical-hermeneutical understanding of history which Sobrino (like Ellacuría) promotes elsewhere.93 Nonetheless, these critics do point to a weakness in Sobrino’s methodology. Even though he insists on the significance of the hermeneutical standpoint (praxis in the world of the poor) for the interpretation of the historical Jesus, he does admit the need for criteria in order to identify the historical Jesus. But the relationship between the criteria and the hermeneutical standpoint remains unclear in his outline. Are the criteria applicable only from the particular hermeneutical standpoint? The difficulty here is particularly obvious, since Sobrino calls the historical Jesus norma normans. Once again, the circularity is confusing. Furthermore, it is difficult to see how Sobrino himself applies these criteria, or rather, he does not seem to apply them too rigorously. I shall try to throw light on this problem as I proceed, and subsequently propose how it may be overcome.94 Other critical objections to Sobrino’s interpretation regard his lack of sensitivity to some main issues raised by the third quest. Sobrino’s dependency on Jeremias and Käsemann makes him vulnerable to this critique, particularly on the issue of the Pharisees and Judaism at the time of Jesus. Sobrino needs to pay more attention to this matter. Although he has in fact modified his position in his later writings, an even more refined vision of Jesus’ contemporary Judaism may bring more influence to bear on his interpretation of Jesus’ death. But this is of course not to say, as Williamson does, that Sobrino’s christology is anti-Jewish, and even consciously so. Such a statement is in my opinion much out of place.

93 See Chapters I [2] e) and II [2-3], above. 94 See Chapters IV, V and VI below.

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Is “the historical Jesus” as point of departure a misleading concept in Sobrino’s christology, then? At the very least, it is ambiguous. Sobrino’s use of the concept is different from the way it is customarily understood in European and North American Biblical scholarship related to the three quests. But what could be a suitable alternative? Bedford proposes that Sobrino actually refers to the synoptic Jesus.95 This is not accurate in my opinion, for at least two reasons. First, “the synoptic Jesus” is too text-oriented to cover adequately Sobrino’s concept, which deals with Jesus’ practice and the remembrance of the practice in actu. Secondly, it fails to take into account Sobrino’s frequent references to the christology of the Letter to the Hebrews. What about “the earthly Jesus”? Would that be better? No, because the opposition “earthly – heavenly” would also be misleading. Sobrino, following Gutiérrez and Ellacuría, strives to overcome the theological thinking on two ‘levels’, whether ‘heaven’ and ‘earth’ or ‘secular history’ and ‘history of salvation’. There is only one history according to liberation theology. The “pre-paschal Jesus” could be another alternative. Although better than those just mentioned, its weakness is that it would somehow conceal the fact that “the Latin American historical Jesus” includes even the Easter experience.96 95 Bedford 1993, 137: “Es wäre zweifelsohne eindeutiger, wenn er etwa von dem ‘synoptischen’ Jesus anstatt von dem ‘historischen’ Jesus sprechen würde.” 96 Ramón Hilgert 1989, 164-178; 164: “Fiel a su pregunta cristológica específica, {la cristología de la liberación} busca comprender – para vivir mejor – el misterio de la resurrección a partir del Jesús histórico: es decir, la fe vivida frente a los desafíos a que se siente lanzada en su seguimiento a Jesús, en medio de las vicisitudes de la actual concretez histórica; qué significa creer en la resurrección de Jesús que fue eliminado por los poderes del mundo, en nuestro mundo donde a tantos es negado el derecho de vivir dignamente, aunque para eso se tenga que asesinar a los que luchan por la vida?”

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What then? My suggestion is that Sobrino should move from “the historical Jesus” to “the (hi)story of Jesus.” Let us recall the principal reasoning of the Latin American quest: In order to get know Jesus, it is necessary to begin with the historical Jesus. In order to know the historical Jesus it is necessary to begin with his praxis and the spirit with which he realised this praxis. In order to know this praxis, it is necessary to continue, carry on with it (proseguirlo)97 in present times. Latin American Christology understands by the historical Jesus the totality of the history of Jesus, and the purpose of beginning with the historical Jesus is so that his history be continued today.98

But how can you engage in a praxis of following if you cannot know beforehand at least something of what this praxis consists in? The point is that you cannot, without having heard the story of Jesus. What Sobrino wants to give priority to is not the historical Jesus, the factual, real Jesus in directo99 but the direction, impetus, main tendencies in what is told and remembered about him, about his real life – especially his practice and relationships. This story, or narration, of Jesus’ life is what links the historical Jesus and his followers of our day. And this is the link that Sobrino more than anything is concerned to secure. For this, he needs the story of Jesus as correction – as guiding principle, as criterion. In fact Sobrino does use

97 Sobrino uses “pro-seguir” (“continue”, “carry on”) to underscore that the following (“seguimiento”) of Jesus is not a mere imitation of him, but a continuation of his practice. Thus mediations are absolutely necessary. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 100. 98 “La cristología latinoamericana entiende por Jesús histórico la totalidad de la historia de Jesús, y la finalidad de comenzar con el Jesús histórico es la de que se prosiga su historia en la actualidad.” Sobrino 1982a, 81. 99 Cf. “[…] lo ‘histórico-factual’ de Jesús.” Sobrino 1991d, 113.

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the term the “history of Jesus” as synonym to “the historical Jesus.”100 I hold Sobrino’s christology to be above all a narrative christology – a narrative and practical christology. It is more narrative than he admits,101 perhaps because he fears that the term “narrative” may hold connotations in a merely literary and even fictional direction, so that the historical reality as such loses importance and falls out of sight. Though such connotations may be present, a narrative christology need not be so conceived. “Narration” is in fact an adequate category in order to interconnect remembrance, reality, history and human action. Later, I shall show how Paul Ricoeur’s contributions are particularly enlightening in this aspect. Another leading contemporary philosopher, Alasdair MacIntyre, says that we live out of narratives “and because we understand our own lives in terms of the narratives we live out […] the form of a narrative is appropriate for understanding the action of others.”102 And Johann Baptist Metz was among the first to call for a narrative theology – a narrative and practical theology – precisely out of concern for the victims of human history. He began to speak of “the dangerous memory of Jesus,” a phrase that has had many positive repercussions in recent theology.103 Sobrino’s christology clearly demonstrates, in my opinion, that there are several advantages to stressing the historicity of Jesus’ own life. As we shall see, this makes it possible to combine different and diverging testimonies to his life. It also makes it possible to be open

100 Sobrino 1991d, 96.“[…] dicho sistemáticamente: la historia de Jesús.” Sobrino 1994c, 50. He does also speak of the historical “dimension” of Jesus. 101 Although the narrative perspective is gradually becoming more explicit in Sobrino’s texts, see e.g. Sobrino 1991b, 583. Sobrino 1995b,124. 102 See his influential MacIntyre 1985. 103 Metz 1980.

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to the supposition that Jesus, like any other human being, in fact passed through important changes during his life. The telling of a (hi-)story is almost always done with a particular objective: one wants to convince someone, to make something happen. Every story-telling is rhetoric.104 What critics like Chow fail to recognise, is that this applies equally to all academic work. Even the scientific historian tells his story with a purpose – open or concealed. This purpose, or the wider intentional project within which the telling of the story occurs, may be called a governing “master-narrative”.105

104 In the classical sense “rhetoric” is the art and/or technique of persuasive discourse. It is, says Paul Ricoeur, “without doubt as old as philosophy; it is said that Empedocles ‘invented’ it.” But it was Aristotle who first conceptualised the field of rhetoric, and the question that set his project in motion was: “what does it mean to persuade?” Ricoeur 1978, 9-12. The centrality of rhetoric in theology is underlined in Jones 1995, where the following definition is found: “Rhetoric in theology functions as the dangerous science of the possible, for the sake of the inexpressible, in the hands of the hopeful” (p. 109). See also: Tracy 1987, particularly 47-65; and Booth 1991. 105 When I speak of “master-narrative” (which might also have been called “meta-narrative”) I am not thereby defending what post-modernists criticise as the (authoritarian) meta-narratives of modernity; rather, I wish to point out that every interpretation of history takes on a narrative structure, and that the particular interpretation of a historical event is dependent on this narrative structure and the greater narrative framework into which it is imbedded, without thereby implying that the issue of the relationship between the narrative and historical reality is beyond reach or irrelevant. Along these lines then, I would recommend a search for an understanding of the “historical” which on the one hand takes into account the conditioned and engaged position of any interpreter of history, without on the other hand necessarily giving way to complete historical relativism and subjectivism. See, e.g. White 1973, Appleby, Hunt, and Jacob 1994; cf. Moxnes 1995. I shall deal with this in greater detail in Chapter v below, where the work of Paul Ricoeur in this field will play an important role.

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Sobrino’s christology clearly has such a guiding, governing master-narrative; namely the “liberation of the poor”.106 Jesus is Liberator, and Sobrino’s portrait of the historical Jesus is intended to support this image of Jesus as liberator. Only by placing his interpretation within the confines of this master-narrative can Sobrino actually achieve his goal in returning to the historical Jesus, namely to hinder manipulative, oppressive images of Christ. Any attempt at verifying the historicity of Sobrino’s interpretation (or any other interpretation that claims to build on history), must include an evaluation of the adequacy of this wider pattern and purpose, what I choose to call its master-narrative. The validity of this master-narrative must be checked against both identity (i.e. against what we may, however fragmentarily, know about Jesus) and relevance (i.e. against the contemporary situation and needs of the communities). Only by taking this wider context of our historical quest into account, may the return to “the history of Jesus” function as a remedy against oppressive “christologies”. In this sense, Assmann’s observation applies here too: neither a “more biblical” nor a “more historical” christology can by itself safeguard christology against “sabotage”.

[4] Conclusions In order to be better able to appreciate the characteristics of Sobrino’s theological reflection, we have in this chapter recalled the history of christology in Abya-Yala, or Latin America as it came to be called. The disastrous interconnection of evangelisation and vio106 This master-narrative concurs with what I shall propose to term “the victimological orientation” of Sobrino’s christology. See below, Chapter v [2].

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lent conquest was legitimated by and resulted in profoundly distorted images of Christ – implicit and explicit “christologies” – on that continent for centuries. It is against this backdrop of oppressive christologies that the contemporary christology of liberation – of which Sobrino is among the leading protagonists – develops. This christology aims to be critical and liberating, by overcoming the old, alienating interpretations of Christ, and replacing these with an interpretation which corresponds to the poor population’s aspiration towards liberation and justice. Believing that such an image actually is a truthful rendering of the historical figure of Jesus of Nazareth, Sobrino recommends a return to the historical Jesus as the methodological starting point for a liberating christology. This “return to the historical Jesus” has evoked criticisms and questions, however. Comparing Sobrino’s approach with the socalled “three quests” for the historical Jesus, I concluded that although he is more directly influenced by the “second quest”, the bulk of Sobrino’s tenets does not seem to be seriously questioned by the third quest. However, Sobrino belongs more properly to a specifically Latin-American quest. Evaluating the “historicity” of the “Latin American historical Jesus”, I am led to the following conclusions: 1) The conscious interconnection of both “historical” poles – the present and the past, Jesus and his followers, the Crucified and the crucified – in the search for the historical Jesus is a trait which makes the Latin American quest in which Sobrino clearly shares, compare favourably with the three “quests.” 2) Nonetheless, Sobrino is not consistent enough in making explicit this aspect when he applies the term the historical Jesus. In this, the critics cited above have in fact laid bare a weakness in Sobrino’s work. At times, as I shall show, he seems to use “historical” as an argument for the “objectivity” of his portrait of Jesus. It should be noted, however, that this is a point with which Sobrino

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deals in a more refined manner in his later writings than in his earlier. But the main difficulty which Sobrino still needs to clarify is what it actually means to use the historical Jesus as “norm”. 3) Sobrino cannot do anything more than draw a portrait of Jesus. The validity of Sobrino’s portrait of the historical Jesus cannot be evaluated without taking into account the master-narrative encompassing it, which is that of the liberation of the poor. The validity of this master-narrative must be checked against both identity (against what we may, however fragmentarily, know about Jesus) and relevance (against the contemporary situation and needs of the communities). 4) The narrative and rhetorical character of Sobrino’s christology should be stronger underlined, and further developed. I shall return to these points for further treatment below. But now I am ready to leave the methodological considerations and proceed to an analysis of the content of Sobrino’s “historical-theological reading of Jesus of Nazareth.”107 In the previous chapter, I concluded that in order to interpret the theological significance of the crucified people, it is necessary to interpret the story of Jesus, especially his suffering and death. The potential salvific meaning of the existence of a crucified people would have to reflect the salvific meaning of Jesus’ death on the cross. A central feature in Sobrino’s interpretation of Jesus’ death is to see it as the historical consequence of his life. I shall now examine those incidents and permanent traits in Jesus’ life which Sobrino finds leading to his death on the cross.

107 This is the English subtitle of Jesucristo liberador.

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iv. The Crucified Liberator (1) Interpreting Jesus’ Life as Salvific

[…] se puede hacer cristología también a partir de narraciones historico-teológicas […]1

In the following three chapters I shall examine Sobrino’s interpretation of Jesus’ life and death. On the basis of his historical soteriology on the one hand (which requires salvation to be realised within the one and only history) and the concrete situation of suffering and oppression in Latin America on the other (which makes the soteriological interest take shape as a longing for a Liberator of the poor), the question arises whether it can be assured that Jesus, being immersed in this history, can be rightfully seen as such a liberator. And if so, it will be crucial to find out in what way Jesus is liberator. Hence, I begin with investigating in what sense Jesus’ life is salvific, according to Jon Sobrino.

[1] From Jesus’ Death to His Life It is widely recognised that when it comes to historical attestation, the most assured fact about Jesus of Nazareth is his death. “Jesus’ death by execution under Pontius Pilate is as sure as anything historical can ever be.”2 Sobrino is accordingly on safe ground when he adopts as one of the criteria for deciding the historicity of the Jesustraditions “the consistency of Jesus’ death with what is narrated of 1

Sobrino 1991b, 583.

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his life”.3 This criteria is not original; it was suggested by New Testament scholar Nils Alstrup Dahl already in 1953, at the beginning of the “second quest”.4 But Sobrino gives a particularly Latin American reason for highlighting this criterion. It acquires “special evidence in the concrete situation of Latin America.” There the deaths of hundreds and thousands of persons is analogous to Jesus’ death, and the causes of their death are historically similar to the causes of Jesus’ death. That Jesus must have lived and acted in the way he is reported to have lived and acted is not only plausible, it goes without saying.5

We see here once again the crucial significance to Sobrino of the theological location. Although “goes without saying” is a rhetorical exaggeration, Sobrino’s point here is that there is an affinity between what is narrated of Jesus out of the early Christian experience and the present experience of the poor Christian communities in Latin America.6 He calls it an “isomorfismo estructural de situaciones entre el tiempo de Jesus y el nuestro”, citing Leonardo Boff. That 2

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Crossan 1995, 5. Crossan cites two well-known non-Christian sources to the death of Jesus: Flavius Josephus: Jewish Antiquities, 18-63 and Cornelius Tacitus: Annals, 15-44. Sobrino 1982b, 74. / Sobrino 1982a, 89: “1) la aparición de un mismo tema en varios estratos de la tradición, 2) lo específico y distintivo de un tema a diferencia y aun oposición a teologías y prácticas posteriores a Jesús 3) la congruencia que su propia muerte otorga a lo que se narra de su vida.” “One point in the life of Jesus is unconditionally established: his death. A historically tenable description of the life of Jesus would be possible only in the form of a description of his death, its historical presuppositions, and the events preceding and following it.” Dahl 1991, 98. Sobrino 1982b, 74. / Sobrino 1982a, 90: “Hay centenares y miles de personas cuya muerte es análoga a la de Jesús, y las causas de cuyas muertes som históricamente semejantes a las de Jesús. Que Jesús haya tenido que vivir y actuar así, si su muerte es históricamente como la describen los evangelios, es algo no solo verosímil sino que se impone por sí mismo.” Sobrino 1991d, 99.

this affinity gives an hermeneutical advantage, is a fundamental premise in Sobrino’s whole theological production. He writes from Latin America, although not exclusively to / for Latin Americans. This particular “Latin American reason” is also a reminder of how the fundamental thrust of Sobrino’s christology, its primary interest and intention (“the liberation of the poor”), directs and shapes it all the way through. As I have just pointed out, the primary opción por los pobres indicates the “master-narrative” according to which Sobrino interprets the (hi-)story of Jesus.7 In investigating if and how Jesus brings salvation in history, i.e., if and how Jesus can be rightly called Liberator, Sobrino may well start with Jesus’ death on the cross. But given the historical presupposition that his death was not just an absurd coincidence,8 but had something to do with the way he lived his life; and the theological presupposition that the salvific aspect of Jesus is not just related to his death but also to the totality of his history as life-death (and resurrection), examining his death in isolation will not suffice.9 What are the basic features of a human life? Sobrino holds that they are relations and praxis.10 In his option for the constitutive character of relations as a way of overcoming a more static, ontological essentialism, Sobrino is well in tune with a major trend within science in general, and theology in particular. In her book Models of God, Sallie McFague notes that “relationships and relativity, as well as process and openness, characterise reality as it is understood at present in all branches of science.”11 Because it is recognised that 7 8

Cf. e.g. Sobrino 1991d, 127, n.15. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 334: “La muerte de Jesús no fue un error. Fue consecuencia de su vida, y ésta, a su vez, consecuencia de su concreta encarnación, en un antirreino que da muerte, para defender a sus víctimas.” 9 Sobrino 1976, 137. 10 Cf. i.a., Sobrino 1976, xvi. 11 McFague 1987, 10.

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“individuals and entities always exist within structures of relationship; process, change, transformation, and openness replace stasis, changelessness, and completeness as basic descriptive concepts.” Accordingly, preference is given to an organic model: “the qualities of life – openness, relationship, interdependence, change, novelty and even mystery – become the basic ones for interpreting all reality.”12 All of these “qualities of life” mentioned by McFague play a significant role in Sobrino’s reading of the life of Jesus. But he gives a particular and major importance to Jesus’ relationships to the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom, whom Jesus calls abba, (intimate) Father. In both, Sobrino is confident that he is on secure historical ground13, at the same time as he deems these relations to be the most significant for spelling out adequately the theological meaning of the life-and-death of Jesus. Accordingly, Sobrino structures his rendering of the life of Jesus around these two relations.14 Because he deems the former relation (Jesus-Kingdom) “external” and the latter (Jesus-Father) “internal”, he suggests that an examination should begin with the former. 15 As we already know, these are not the only important relationships of Jesus, according to Sobrino. The relationships between Jesus and his followers, Jesus and the poor and outcasts, the popular masses, etc. – that is, from our perspective, the relation between the Crucified and the crucified – play a fundamental role in his christology. But it is necessary to see the importance of these other relationships as a consequence of Jesus’ constitutive relations to the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom, and not vice versa. In other words, the importance of the relationship between the 12 13 14 15

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Ibid. Sobrino 1982a, 89. Compare Moltmann 1974, 127. Cf. Sobrino 1991b, 578ff.

Crucified and the crucified gains strength from Jesus the Crucified’s particular – and unique – relations to the “Kingdom” and to the “Father”. First, then, I shall consider these relations, before proceeding to a study of Jesus’ relationship with his followers. But first, one more word on praxis. Sobrino claims that the “maximum metaphysical density” of a person is expressed in his or her praxis.16 Behind this somewhat awkward expression with its Zubirian-Ellacurían fingerprints, lies an anthropology/ontology which is ultimately rooted in the Old Testament conception of God. Just as God in the Old Testament is never presented as a God quoad se, but always in relations as a God-of-a-people:17 thus, God “is” insofar as God “acts”, or “reigns”.18 According to this conception, then, a human person expresses her or his own being through action. This is why Sobrino gives priority to Jesus’ praxis in giving answers to the christological question about who he is.19 Sobrino makes it clear even from the very beginning of Cristología desde América latina that he intends to give “preference to the praxis of Jesus over his own teaching and over the teaching that the New Testament theologians elaborated concerning his praxis.”20 This is at the same time a way of safeguarding the historicity of the interpretation of Jesus, Sobrino believes, holding that 16 17 18 19

Sobrino 1983a, 483f. Compare González 1993a, 156-157. Sobrino 1991d, 124. Sobrino 1978a, 357. Although this is an adequate approach in my view, it is at the same time appropriate to point out that a person’s inner being and identity is never totally expressed and determined in this person’s acts. The distinction between a human person’s identity before God (coram Deo) and his or her achievements or actions is a crucial and valid point in traditional Protestant anthropology (see, for instance, Martin Luther’s De homine from 1536), which I think it is important to maintain particularly in a theology with a victimological orientation. See thesis 9.1 in Chapter viii [4] below. 20 Sobrino 1978a, xxii. / Sobrino 1976, xvi.

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[…] (t)he most historical element in the historical Jesus is his practice, that is, his activity brought to bear upon the reality around him in order to transform it in a determinate, selected direction, the direction of the Kingdom of God.21

In Jesucristo liberador Sobrino develops this tenet further, by adding that the most historical element is “the practice of Jesus, and the spirit with which he realised it.”22 By “spirit” Sobrino here seems to refer to the human attitude or disposition which generates and accompanies the practice.23 He exemplifies this by saying that the practice of Jesus is realised in a spirit of “honesty about reality, partiality in favour of the small and insignificant, a fundamental attitude of mercy, faithfulness towards the mystery of God […]”24 By 21 Sobrino 1982b, 66. / Sobrino 1982a, 81: “Lo más histórico del Jesús histórico es su práctica, su actividad para operar activamente sobre su realidad circundante y transformarla en una dirección determinada y buscada, en la dirección del reino de Dios.” 22 My trans. and italics. SJS. Sobrino 1991d, 98: “Decíamos que lo más histórico de Jesús es su práctica, y hemos añadido el espíritu con qué la llevo a cabo y del cual la imbuyó: honradez con la realidad, parcialidad hacia lo pequeño, misericordia fundante, fidelidad al misterio de Dios […]” I have maintained the more literal translation “spirit with which” instead of the more common (and correct) English “spirit in which”, in order to draw attention to the originality (following Ellacuría, see above) in Sobrino’s use of this notion. 23 Cf. Sobrino 1987a. The translations of this title into English (Spirituality of Liberation) and German (Geist, der befreit, Lateinamerikanische Spiritualität {Freiburg i Br., 1989}) lay bare the ambiguity of Sobrino’s application of the word S/spirit. Again, the theology of Rahner seems to be an important influence. Commenting on Rahner’s book Geist in Welt or Spirit in the World from 1957, Macquarrie writes: “Here the traditional word ‘spirit’ is applied to the human being, and it is the analysis of spirit that serves as the clue to understanding what it is to be human, including the mysterious but undeniable sense of the infinite that belongs to the essence of humanity.” Macquarrie 1990, 395.

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combining practice and spirit, Sobrino intends to avoid both pure activism and pure spiritualism. It is in this sense, it is worth noticing, that Sobrino wishes to propose a spiritual theology.25 The salvific meaning of Jesus’ life-death can, accordingly, be better explored through a study of the relations he finds himself in, and the actions that he undertakes. That there is an intimate connection between them, should also be noted: the importance Jesus himself gives to the relations, is expressed through his praxis. I now turn to Sobrino’s reading of these fundamental traits of the life of Jesus.

[2] First Relation: Jesus and the Kingdom of God What is the central concern of Jesus? What is the ultimate goal and motivation for his life and activity? At the centre of his message as this is expressed through words and deeds is not himself as Messiah or Son of God. Neither is it God quoad se.26 The ultimate to Jesus is the Kingdom of God which is approaching.27 This is the primary content of his preaching and practice, and that which ultimately determines his life, service and destiny.28 It is expressed clearly and programmatically in Mark 1,15: “‘The time has come; the Kingdom of God is upon you; repent and believe in the Gospel.’” 24 My translation, SJS. Sobrino 1991d, 98: “[…] honradez con la realidad, parcialidad hacia lo pequeño, misericordia fundante, fidelidad al misterio de Dios […]”. 25 See Sobrino 1991d, 28: “La cristología necesita y debe desencadenar la fuerza de la inteligencia, pero también otras fuerzas del ser humano. Su quehacer deberá ser incluso doctrinal, pero su esencia más honda está en ser algo ‘espiritual’.” 26 Sobrino 1982a, 97-101.

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Jesus’ life is thus de-centered; he lives and understands himself from and for something distinct from himself.29 This fact underscores his humanity, his creatureliness (creaturidad), Sobrino believes. That which appears to be the ultimate, the most central reality to Jesus, then, is correspondingly the core of the Christian gospel. This means that the other features, themes and nuances of the Christian message should be structured around and interpreted in the light of this core. The Kingdom of God is the most adequate structuring principle of a Christian theology, Sobrino holds. Since this is the option of Latin American liberation theology in general (thus showing its originality), Sobrino proposes that it may be characterised as a “theology of the Kingdom of God.”30 If it is true that all renewal of theology comes through a reflection on its fundamen27 Sobrino 1991d, 121-232; Sobrino 1982a, 97-108 Is the Greek basileia best translated as “kingdom” or “reign”? Sobrino prefers to speak of “reino de Dios”, which would correspond to the English “kingdom”, since “reign” would be “reinado” in Spanish. Those who translate Sobrino’s texts into English, differ at this point. I shall predominantly use “Kingdom” of God, although it will become quite clear that Sobrino’s interpretation is not limited to an “area” in which God reigns, but rather describes the act and reality of God reigning in history. 28 Sobrino 1991b, 576: “En los sinópticos es central – histórica y sistemáticamente – la relación de Jesús con el reino de Dios, que definimos aquí formalmente como la última voluntad de Dios para este mundo. Ese reino y su cercanía es presentado por Jesús como lo realmente último; es lo que configura su persona en la exterioridad de su misión (hacer historia) y en la interioridad de su subjetividad (su propia historicidad), y es también lo que desencadena su destino histórico de cruz. […] En otras palabras, para conocer lo específicamente cristiano del reino de Dios hay que volver a Jesús; pero también, a la inversa, para conocer a Jesús hay que volver al reino de Dios.” 29 Sobrino 1991d, 121. 30 See Sobrino 1991a especially pp. 473f.

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tal kernel and basic thrust, then the renewal presented by liberation theology is related to the importance it gives to the Kingdom. Ellacuría held that the Kingdom of God is ‘the main object of theology’, and ‘that which all authentic followers of Jesus should strive to realize.’31 Sobrino argues that the Kingdom should be taken as structuring principle because it corresponds to the requirements of both identity and of relevance: identity, since it is the central content of the gospel, and relevance, since it is what the Latin American people – and particularly the poor – need, long and strive for.32 According to Sobrino, it is certain that the “Kingdom of God” was central to the historical Jesus. Applying the three criteria mentioned earlier33, he finds that the notion of the Kingdom (1) appears in all levels of the synoptic tradition; (2) reappears in the gospels even though it is not central to other New Testament writings and (3) is congruent with Jesus’ historical destiny.34 There seems to be no major opposition to such a stance within New Testament scholarship of today.35 We may then accept the historical basis, but what does it mean? Jesus, though he makes the Kingdom the centre of his activity, never explains directly what this Kingdom is. He only proclaims that it has come near. Sobrino therefore suggests three complementary methods in order to find out what Jesus understood by this term.

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Ellacuría 1987a. Compare Moltmann 1974, 7-31. Sobrino 1982b, 74. Sobrino 1991d, 113-114: “Por ejemplificarlo en el análisis del “reino de Dios”, es criterio de historicidad (a) que aparece en todos los estratos de las tradiciones sinópticas, (b) que reaparece en los evangelios aun cuando no aparezca centralmente en los otros escritos neotestementarios y (c) la congruencia al destino histórica de Jesús.” 35 According to Stephen J. Patterson, basileia is “[…] a concept most scholars still agree in placing at the center of Jesus’ preaching.” Patterson 1995, 43.

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First, he mentions the common historico-critical exegeses of the notion, its origins and development in the biblical texts. This is what he calls the vía nocional. The second method is more original, and follows Sobrino’s predilection for relations as a constitutive ontological category. It is what he calls vía del destinatorio, the way of the addressee. This method consists in investigating primarily to whom Jesus seems to direct the message of the Kingdom. – To whom does this message actually appear as good news? The presupposition is that it is possible to deduce from a knowledge of these addressees something of importance about the content and characteristics of the Kingdom itself. The third method is called the vía de la práctica de Jesús: What can be known of the Kingdom from an analysis of Jesus’ activities related to its nearness? Sobrino takes over this method from Schillebeeckx, who says of the specific content of the Kingdom that “[…] it stems from the whole of Jesus’ activity”.36 Applying these methods then, and subsequently interpreting Jesus’ relationship to the Kingdom of God from the standpoint of the crucified reality in Latin America, Sobrino arrives at the following conclusions about the Kingdom: (1) In the Old Testament, the concept of the Kingdom – or rather – reign of God (Hebr.: malkuta Jahweh, Gr.: basileia tou theou) has an utopian character. It refers to a situation in which God shall reign, transforming the socio-historical situation of crisis into a situation of justice and well-being for all God’s people (Psalm 96,13f ).37 Israel expects this intervention from God to take place in history, that it will signify the transformation of the whole society, and that it will emerge as a new and good reality – good news – against the background of a situation of suffering and defeat. It therefore generates 36 Sobrino 1994c, 70 / Sobrino 1991d, 126. 37 Sobrino 1991d, 128.

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and nurtures an active, popular and historical hope among them. The failures and national catastrophes that Israel experiences never manage to extinguish this hope. They do, however, lead to a process of apocalyptisation and eschatologisation – and ultimately – universalisation of the concept. This new reality, which comes to being through God’s transforming intervention (reign), is characterised by the reinstatement of the rights of the poor and destitute. Accordingly, the reign of God is not understood as merely an internal change in the hearts of human persons, but as a restructuring of the visible and concrete relations between human beings – which implies an authentic liberation of human being on all levels.38 Proclaiming the Kingdom is consequently nothing new or original to Jesus. He picks it up from the reservoir of his peoples’ traditions, and then onesidedly concentrates upon this theme. The particularity of his employment of the theme is above all his assertion that this longed-for reign now has come near. It should no longer only be an object of hope, but of certainty (Mark 9:1; Matt 9:37 par., John 4:35, etc). It has come near not as God’s judgement, but as grace. The Kingdom is pure gift and should be received with gratitude and joy. Therefore, the message of the Kingdom is ‘euangelion’, gospel, good news (Mark 8:35; 10:29; Matt 4:23; Acts 15:7). It must be proclaimed with joy, just as it creates joy.39 However, if the Kingdom is God’s pure grace and merciful initiative, this does not mean that it stands in absolute contradiction to human activity. All people are exhorted to correspond in a particular manner to the message of the Kingdom, just as Jesus himself acts and lives in correspondence to the Kingdom which has drawn near. This correspondence can be summarised as conversion and a new life. 38 Sobrino 1976, 33-34. 39 Sobrino 1993d, cf. Stålsett 1996a.

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(2) The message of the Kingdom has some particular addressees: the poor. The Kingdom of God is for the poor (Luke 4:18; 6:20; 7:22; Matt 11:5). But who are the poor?40 As we saw earlier, Sobrino finds two dimensions of “poverty”, two types of “poor” appearing in the gospels:41 the “economically poor” and the “sociologically poor”. The “economically poor” are people who suffer some sort of basic need, while the “sociologically poor” are those who are “despised by society”, the ones held to be sinners, the publicans, the prostitutes, the meek, the lowly, etc. “The poor are, to repeat, those for whom life is a heavy burden on the basic level of survival and living with a minimum of dignity.”42 Furthermore, Sobrino underscores the collective (the poor as a people)43 and dialectical (the poor as empobrecidos – impoverished – in opposition to and oppressed by “the rich”) aspects of the poor, as they appear in the gospels. Jesus shows an obvious partiality t owards these poor, and grants them the Kingdom. The Kingdom is only for the poor, Sobrino contains, once again giving exegetical support to his argument with a reference to Jeremias.44 The Kingdom is essentially partisan, and this partisanship is scandalous and – accordingly – difficult to accept. It is true that the Kingdom, as an eschatological reality, is universal, but this universality is reached only through its scandalous partiality with the poor. 40 In Chapter i I presented Sobrino’s understanding and definition of “the poor”. In this, he is exegetically dependent on Jeremias and Soares-Prabhu, and systematically on Gutiérrez and Ellacuría. 41 Sobrino 1991d, 143-148. Cf. i. a.: Sobrino 1982b, 105 and 164-166. 42 Sobrino 1994c, 84. / Sobrino 1991d, 151: “Hemos dicho que pobres son aquellos para quienes la vida es una pesada carga en sus niveles primarios de sobrevivir y de vivir con un mínimo de dignidad.”. 43 Cf. the crucified people, below, Chapter viii [2]. 44 Cf. Jeremias 1987, 116: “[…] the reign of God belongs to the poor alone […] the first beatitude means that salvation is destined only for beggars and sinners.”

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(3) This partiality of the Kingdom is clearly expressed also in Jesus’ actions. These actions indirectly reveal the content of the Kingdom: the miracles of Jesus are liberating signs of the nearness of the Kingdom, and “plural salvations”45 of the poor. His casting out of devils shows the victory of the Kingdom over against the anti-Kingdom46, God’s victory over against evil. Jesus’ “welcoming of sinners” (acogida) is liberation from self-deceit, fear and shame, as well as restitution of social dignity. Jesus’ parables are polemical and challenging stories about the Kingdom, that above all are defending the scandalous fact of its partiality towards the poor. What then about the non-poor? Is it possible for them to enter in the Kingdom? Yes, but their entrance goes by way of the poor. Through analogy, it is possible to participate in various manners in the reality of the poor. Sobrino develops this analogy in accordance with Ellacuría’s treatment of the theme, which I presented in Chapter i. But the analogatum princeps is the materially poor. The Kingdom is for the poor because they are materially poor; the Kingdom is for the non-poor to the extent that they lower themselves to the poor, defend them and allow themselves to be imbued with the spirit of the poor.47

Given that the Kingdom is for the poor, and the greatest threat to the poor is premature death, the Kingdom is a “Kingdom of basic life.” Poverty means being close to death. The basic distinction between poor and non-poor relates to the grantedness of life: “Those who can take life and survival for granted, and those who 45 Sobrino 1991d, 160-161. / Sobrino 1994c, 89-90. 46 See below, Chapter v. 47 Sobrino 1994c, 128. / Sobrino 1991d, 221-222: “Para los pobres es el reino, porque son materialmente pobres, y el reino es para los no-pobres, en la medida en que se abajan a los pobres, los defienden y se dejan imbuir del espíritu de los pobres.”

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cannot take precisely this for granted”.48 Borrowing Gutiérrez’ expression, Sobrino says that the poor are “those who die before their time”.49 This makes Sobrino relate the Kingdom to Jesus’ defence of basic life (Mark 2:23-28 par; 7:10; 10:19 par; Matt 5:21-28; 15, 4; Luke 10:30), and to the centrality Jesus gives to the primary symbol of life, which is food and bread (Mark 2:15-17; 6:30-44 par; 7:2-5; 8:1-10; Matt 15:2; 15:32-39; 25:35, 40; Luke 11:3). The Kingdom as eschatological fulfilment reaches beyond this minimum of basic life, but this minimum is for the poor who are the primary addressees of the Kingdom, a “maximum”, and thus already a salvific reality. “We no doubt need to speak of the eschatological fulfilment, but without forgetting the protology of creation; we need to speak of life in its fulness, but not forgetting life in its bare essentials.”50 The Kingdom of God is thus seen as the utopia of life for the poor. The fact that basic life is considered to be “utopian” points to the reality of sin in history. Sobrino lays great stress on the Kingdom as a reality which is actively opposed by the forces of the antiKingdom. “The coming of the Kingdom stands in combative relation (relación duélica) to the anti-Kingdom.”51 Announcing the good news of the victory of the Kingdom of life over against the forces of the anti-Kingdom of death must accordingly be expressed in and through a committed praxis, a continuous attempt to make these “good news” become “good realities” in history. This is what Jesus does and this is what he calls his followers to do. In this sense, the poor are not only addressees of the Kingdom, but simultaneously its main protagonists, constructores del Reino. 48 Sobrino 1994c, 85. / Sobrino 1991d, 153. 49 Sobrino 1994c, 84. / Sobrino 1991d, 151. 50 Sobrino 1994c, 86. / Sobrino 1991d, 154: “Habrá que hablar, sin duda, de la escatología plenificante, pero sin olvidar la protología de la creación, habrá que hablar de la vida en plenitud, pero sin olvidar la vida mínima.” 51 Sobrino 1994c, 126. / Sobrino 1991d, 218.

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(4) This stress upon the Kingdom as a Kingdom of basic life allows its concrete materiality to come into focus. The coming of the Kingdom will take shape in history as the granting of life to the poor. It has to do with the living conditions of those marginalised economically and socially in society. But will an improvement of their living conditions be all that the Kingdom promises? No, Sobrino admits that such an interpretation would put limits to God’s transcendent reality, and thus reduce not only the mystery of God, but the mystery of life in itself. There is something “more” to it. Bearing in mind Sobrino’s fundamental option for what he (with Ellacuría) calls historical transcendence, we arrive at Sobrino’s conclusive definition of the systematic concept of the Kingdom of God: “The Kingdom of God is the just life of the poor, always open to a ‘more’.”52 That the Kingdom is “life of the poor” is as we have seen understood as life as a basic, material reality. That it is the “just” life points to the fact that the poor are denied this life, which is their right, by the forces of the anti-Kingdom. Waiting and working for the coming of the Kingdom means struggling for justice in history. The historical transcendence is expressed in the addition “always open to a ‘more’.” Sobrino explains: “‘Life’ is a reality that is by its very nature always open to a ‘more’; it is something dynamic that points to a development of itself to fulfil itself on various levels, with new possibilities and new demands.”53 Illustrating this point, Sobrino presents the “phenomenology of bread”, in which he tries to show how “bread is always more than bread”: It has a praxic dimension (how to obtain bread), an ethical dimension (how to share it), a community dimension (the bread as shared) and a primary celebratory dimension (eating together at table). It also has a social and political dimension (the question of bread for others, for 52 Sobrino 1994c, 131ff / Sobrino 1991d, 226ff. 53 Sobrino 1994c, 132. / Sobrino 1991d, 227.

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communities, for a whole people) and thus relates to the need for liberation, and the questions of political strategies and ideologies, and pastoral strategies and ecclesiologies, etc. Furthermore, the reality of bread evokes the need for spirit: […] mercy to stir our hearts at the sight of those without bread, courage to struggle for bread, fortitude to stand firm in the face of conflicts and persecutions, truth to analyse the reasons why there is no bread and find ways of overcoming these.54

This, in turn, points to the sacramental dimension of bread, which […] moves us to thank God who made it or it can make us ask why God allows there not to be bread and it not to be shared. It can make us ask if there is something more than bread, if there is a bread of the word, necessary and good news, even when there is no material bread, if it is true that at the end of history there will be bread for all and whether it is worth working for it in history, even though at times darkness seems to cover everything, whether the hope that there will be bread is wiser than resignation to the lack of it […]55

54 Sobrino 1994c, 132. / Sobrino 1991d, 228: “[…] misericordia para que se remuevan las entrañas ante los sin-pan, valentía para luchar por él, fortaleza para mantenerse en los conflictos y persecuciones, verdad para analizar las causas de que no haya pan y para analizar los mejores caminos para superarlas.” 55 Sobrino 1994c, 132. / Sobrino 1991d, 228-229: “La buena noticia del pan mueve a agradecer al Dios que lo ha hecho o puede llevar a la pregunta por qué permite que no haya pan y que no sea compartido. Mueve a seguir al Jesús que multiplicó panes para saciar el hambre o puede llevar a la pregunta de por qué la historia da muerte a hombres como él. Puede llevar a la pregunta de si hay algo más que pan, si hay un pan de la palabra, necesario y buena noticia, incluso cuando no hay pan material, si es verdad que al final de la historia habrá pan para todos y si merece la pena trabajar por ello, aunque muchas veces la oscuridad lo permee todo, si la esperanza de que haya pan es más sabia que la resignación […]”

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By this fine example, Sobrino aims to show how “life” always develops into a “more”, and this, in his view, demonstrates how transcendence begins with and develops from within history. This means that Sobrino also reframes the issue of the Kingdom’s status as present or future reality, the “already but not-yet”.56 In and through the proclamation and activity of Jesus – and, subsequently, of his followers – the Kingdom has already come. It has appeared in signs; although these are concrete salvific events, they do not equal the totality of the reality of the Kingdom. As total reality, the Kingdom is still not yet present, it is eschatological. In this sense, the “eschatological reservation” is valid. This concept, der eschatologische Vorbehalt, originally coined by E. Käsemann, has played a central part in the debate regarding European political theology. Sobrino agrees that the concept does have its rationale, although not as a total levelling of all historical reality in comparison with the utopia of the Kingdom, but as a criterion which makes it possible to judge to what extent the Kingdom may be said to be historically present at a given moment. The historical reality is not just “not the Kingdom”, but it is “certainly not the Kingdom”, and thereby the critical and utopian character of the Kingdom comes to the fore, without it losing its historical relevance.57 A different way of expressing this, is to say that the Kingdom has come on the level of its definite Mediator (Jesus), but not on the level of mediation: the Kingdom as a total reality. What kind of salvation is brought about by the coming of the Kingdom, then? Sobrino’s answer to this question is of particular importance to this study:

56 Sobrino 1991d, 191ff. 57 I have developed this further in the article Stålsett 1994d. This approach was then harshly criticised by Peter Widmann, see Widmann 1994. My response to that criticism is found in Stålsett 1994b.

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The salvation brought by the Kingdom – though this is not all the Kingdom brings – will, then be being saved in history from the evils of history. What the benefits of the Kingdom might be is determined above all by the actual situation of oppressed human beings and not by an a priori decision about what salvation might mean. ‘Salvation is always salvation of someone, and in that someone, from something.’ The salvation brought by the Kingdom comes, therefore, in history. So with Jesus, the content of salvation was dictated by the reality of his listeners, and his actions (miracles, casting out of devils, welcoming sinners) were beneficial because they brought good where there had been specific ills.58

This understanding of salvation(s) as beneficial actions and or events is central to Sobrino’s soteriology. This is therefore a crucial point in interpreting what he sees as the salvific aspect of the crucified people(s).59 Summing it all up, we find that the particularity of Sobrino’s interpretation of the Kingdom of God lies in his emphasis on its conflictual, evangelical, partisan, historical and popular traits. The Kingdom is a conflictual reality, since its coming is victory over against the forces of the anti-Kingdom. Therefore, the proclamation of its coming is particularly “good news” to the victims living in a 58 Sobrino 1994c, 125-126./ Sobrino 1991d, 218: “La salvación que trae el reino, aunque no se agote en ello, será, entonces, salvación histórica de los males históricos. En qué consistan los bienes del reino viene determinado, ante todo, por la situación concreta de los seres humanos oprimidos y no por una decisión a priori de lo que sea la salvación. ‘La salvación es siempre salvación ‘de’ alguien, y en ese alguien, ‘de’ algo.’ La salvación que trae el reino es, por lo tanto, histórica. Como en Jesús, el contenido de la salvación viene dictado por la realidad de sus oyentes, y su práctica (los milagros, la expulsión de los demonios, la acogida a los pecadores) es benéfica porque trae bienes ante esos males concretos.” 59 If we connect this observation to the difficulties encountered in Chapter ii, we may pose the following critical question: Is it a “beneficial action” to bear (the consequences of ) the sins of others?

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situation of suffering and despair because of these evil forces of sin and oppression. The Kingdom of God is theirs, it belongs to the poor. These are the evangelical and partisan dimensions of the Kingdom. The Kingdom is a historical reality, which, although it cannot ever be fully realised in history, seeks some realisation in history through historical mediations.60 Finally, emphazising the poor as addressees and agents of the Kingdom, not as individuals but as a collective, Sobrino holds the Kingdom of God to be “esentially ‘popular’ in character, both in the qualitative sense (the people as the poor majorities) and the quantitative (the majorities being the poor).”61 The Kingdom of God belongs to a people, a people of the poor, of victims – a crucified people.

[3] Who is Jesus? The Mediator of the Kingdom If the Kingdom is so conceived, what does that make of Jesus? As we have shown, Sobrino sees the Kingdom of God as Jesus’ ultimate concern, and should therefore also be the ultimate, structuring principle in Christian theology, and in christology in particular. The Kingdom of God is not God, but the mediation of the reality of God in history, it is “the ultimate will of God for this world”.62 As the final mediation, the Kingdom has not yet arrived, but only appeared in signs. But its ultimate mediator has come, once and for all. This mediator is Jesus, Sobrino holds. In this sense we can and must say, according to faith, that the definitive, ultimate and eschatological mediator of the Kingdom of God has already 60 Sobrino 1994c, 129. / Sobrino 1991d, 223-224. 61 Sobrino 1994c, 130. / Sobrino 1991d, 224-226. 62 Sobrino 1991b, 576. The English translation here follows Sobrino 1993i, 441.

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appeared: Jesus. We need not wait for another – even though before and after Jesus other mediators exist, related to him and authorized by him – which is no more than repeating, in Kingdom terminology, the basic christological confession: Christ is the mediator.63

Jesus, as mediator of the Kingdom, is both its proclaimer and initiator. The relationship between Jesus and the Kingdom – the mediator and the mediation – is “essential and constitutive”, Sobrino says, once again showing his predilection for relationality as fundamental category in theology. Given the main characteristics of the Kingdom as portrayed by Sobrino, then, we get a clearer picture of who this Jesus is. First, as mediator of the Kingdom Jesus stands in a particular relation to a particular people. Since the Kingdom of God is “popular”, i.e. belonging to a people, Jesus is profoundly related to the same people, the same collectivity of excluded and downtrodden human beings. Jesus appears as a popular leader in the same tradition as Moses, Joshua, etc. In this sense, he appears as and is conceived to be an anointed, a messiah. At the same time, his role vis-àvis the people when seen from the standpoint of his suffering and crucifixion, is similar to that of the Suffering Servant. His messianism is not as expected; he becomes a crucified Messiah.64 Jesus’ relationship with the multitude, with his own people, and with his flock of followers are given due consideration in Sobrino. Particular weight is given to Jesus’ misereor super turbas, his compassion with the multitudes (Mark 8:2; 6:34).65 And the issue of the people’s role 63 Sobrino 1994c, 108. Note particularly the important insertion “[…] before and after Jesus other mediators exist, related to him and authorized by him […]”, to which I shall return below. 64 Cf. Dahl 1974. 65 Cf. Sobrino 1992b, 34: “El misereor super turbas no es sólo una actitud ‘regional’ de Jesús, sino lo que configura su vida y su misión y le acarrea su destino. Y es también lo que configura su visión de Dios y del ser humano.”

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in the historical trial of Jesus is given a careful treatment and a novel interpretation.66 Second, Jesus as mediator of the Kingdom brings salvation in history. Through his life – leading to death on the cross – Jesus initiates and proclaims the coming of the Kingdom of God. Since the Kingdom seeks historical realisation, the activity of Jesus is interpreted as an adequate way of corresponding to the nearness of the Kingdom of God in history. Whether his activity is realised because the Kingdom has come near, or in order to make the Kingdom come, is not absolutely clear according to Sobrino. This tension – a tension between the Kingdom of God as God’s pure gift and grace, on the one hand, and as a human mission, on the other – is not resolved in the biblical witness, he holds. Accordingly, the tension should be preserved in contemporary theological reflection and practice. Third, when Jesus is seen as the mediator of the Kingdom it becomes clear that he does not present himself in directo as a neutral, universal reconciler. The Kingdom of God is partial. It belongs (only) to the poor. Accordingly, Jesus takes sides. He shows himself in solidarity with these socially and economically marginalised people, defends their right to basic life and life in abundance. His activity confirms this: He prophetically denounces the oppressive forces, he defends in words and deeds the scandalous fact that the Kingdom of God is God’s gracious gift to the poor of this world, and – not least – he makes present through his miracles, his welcoming of sinners and his fellowship with the outcasts, the manifold blessings or salvations of the Kingdom. Fourth, since the coming of the Kingdom is ‘euangelion’, good news, the reality of the mediator’s having appeared in human history is good news, too. Jesus himself is good news to the poor. On 66 Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 316: “El pueblo, las mayorías a las que se dirigía Jesús, no aparece entre los responsables de la persecución.”

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this issue, Sobrino has made some original contributions, focusing on the question of how, in general, a human person can be good news, and, in particular, in what sense Jesus is Gospel.67 The “evangelical” character of Sobrino’s christology thus comes clearly through.68 And it relates to the interpretation of the Kingdom of God as the core of the gospel. And, finally, Jesus appears as a “man in conflict” (C. Bravo69), because of the committed and dialectical partisan character of the Kingdom.70 The Kingdom of God as mediation is opposed by another mediation, the anti-Kingdom. The mediator of the Kingdom (Jesus) struggles against the mediators of the anti-Kingdom (the devils, Satan, principalities and powers). That the coming of the Kingdom of God is seen as a victory over against these oppressive anti-Kingdom-forces, points to its liberating character. The Kingdom of God means the liberation of the poor and the oppressed in history, according to Sobrino. Accordingly, Jesus the mediator of the Kingdom is seen as liberator: Jesucristo liberador.

67 See particularly Sobrino 1990b and Sobrino 1993e. 68 Sobrino 1991d, 274 “Según esto, la cristología podrá y tendrá que asentar la verdad de Jesucristo, pero tendrá que expresar su ser buena noticia. Y ella misma, como cristología, podrá y tendrá que estar transida del talante evangélico de buena noticia y resumar gozo. De otra forma, no correspondería al mediador.” Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 114-117. 69 Bravo 1986. 70 Sobrino 1991d, 311: “Jesús fue esencialmente ‘hombre en conflicto’, y por ello fue perseguido.”

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[4] Second Relation: Jesus and the God of the Kingdom The obvious fact that Jesus was a profoundly religious human being, has received renewed attention and interest in recent biblical and theological scholarship.71 Jon Sobrino also makes this aspect a cornerstone in his historical-theological reading of Jesus of Nazareth. According to all the testimonies that we have about him, there can be no doubt that Jesus understood himself as a person before God. But in what God does Jesus trust? And how does his relationship with God affect his life and destiny? As I have already noted, Sobrino sets out to understand who Jesus is – historically and theologically – through an analysis of the relations in which Jesus finds himself embedded. These relations are, according to Sobrino, constitutive of the identity of Jesus. Having considered the principal “external” relationship of Jesus according to Sobrino, namely his relationship to the Kingdom of God, we shall now turn to the “internal” relationship: his relationship with God. This is a subject even more difficult than the former, Sobrino admits, because it seeks to a certain extent to penetrate Jesus’ own personality, his consciousness and existential self-understanding. Nevertheless, he deems it both possible and necessary to recover some main traits of this constitutive relationship between Jesus and God. In Cristología desde América Latina Sobrino dealt with this relationship primarily from the perspective of “the faith of Jesus”. In Jesucristo liberador, he changes the structuring perspective to “Jesus and God-Father”, without leaving the controversial theme of Jesus’ faith. The complementary juxtaposition of “Kingdom” and God as “abba” is thus more clearly spelt out.72

71 See, e.g., Vermès 1993.

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Who, then, is God to Jesus? One can approach the question of Jesus’ vision of God from several paths. Firstly, one may undertake an analysis of the notions and traditions about God that Jesus employs. In doing so, Sobrino points out the diversity of traditions on “the content of the reality of God”73 that one may find in Jesus’ expressions and attitudes.74 There is clearly the prophetic tradition: God is seen as the defender and protector of the poor, the weak and excluded. God opposes oppressors and evildoers, and requires conversion and justice both individually and collectively. There is also the apocalyptic tradition, according to which God is seen as the God who will come in power as absolute King and Judge at the very end of history – a coming that will transform all reality. There is the wisdom tradition, which underscores the dimension of God’s providence and continued works in creation. According to this tradition, Sobrino notes, God acts with the same goodness to all creatures, good or bad, believers or non-believers. It thus diverges from the eschatological visions of God as Judge. And, finally, Sobrino finds in Jesus, especially at the end of his life, what he calls existential traditions concerning God. These are the dark and ambivalent visions of God “present in all theodicies”75, in which the silence of God is the most prominent trait. This is the tradition of God in Job, Lamentations and Ecclesiastes, which Sobrino finds to be “different from and even contrary to the God of the Kingdom.”76 In all of these traditions present in the testimonies to Jesus’ relationship to God, Sobrino finds that the formality of the reality of 72 By doing so, Sobrino seems to have taken due notice of an early constructive criticism of his Cristología desde América latina made by José Ignacio González Faus. See González Faus 1978, 34. 73 Sobrino 1994c, 136. / Sobrino 1991d, 234. 74 Sobrino 1994c, 136-138. / Sobrino 1991d, 234-239. 75 Sobrino 1994c, 137. / Sobrino 1991d, 236. 76 Sobrino 1994c, 137. See particularly the issue of the silence of God and the derelictio Jesu, Chapter vii [4] below.

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God is transcendence. But this transcendence is brought out in different ways, according to the different traditions, for instance, as creator, as absolute sovereignty, incomprehensibility, and so on. The novelty and particular character of Jesus’ interpretation of this transcendence is, however, that he sees it “essentially as grace.” God’s transcendence, his infinite distance, ultimacy and otherness, has come radically close in an “unexpected and unmerited” way, without thereby ceasing to be transcendence. The very notion of what God’s transcendence is, is thus transformed. So is the understanding of transcendent power, which from now on not only will be a power from above – a power to judge the unjust – as Sobrino sees it, but furthermore a power from below – a power to raise up both victims and victors, and restore justice.77 This analysis of the traditions of the content and formality of the reality of God present in the testimonies of Jesus, may then be further scrutinised and complemented by a closer examination of the prayers and words of Jesus. Since he was a pious Jew, it is obvious that Jesus was a praying man, Sobrino notes. But more than this, the gospels portray him as someone who seeks fulfilment and guidance through prayer in all important moments of his life. According to Luke (3:21), his public life begins with a prayer; in all of the gospels it ends with a prayer. Accordingly, Sobrino accords great significance to the prayers of Jesus.78 Through them, he sees a possibility of grasping something of the interiority of Jesus’ own person. Jesus’ prayer is not ingenuous, nor mere routine. On the contrary, he shows himself critical of the possible misuse of prayer, in 77 Compare my discussions in Chapters VI and VII below. 78 In addition to the detailed treatment in Sobrino 1976, 109-134; and Sobrino 1991d, 239-243, Sobrino has written a book solely dedicated to the theme: Sobrino 1981a. See also his numerous writings on spirituality and Christian life: Sobrino 1978b; Sobrino 1983c; Sobrino 1984a; Sobrino 1987a; Sobrino 1988a; Sobrino 1988b; Sobrino 1991c; Sobrino 1992e; etc.

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several forms. He condemns clearly what Sobrino labels “mechanical” prayers (Matt 6:7f ), “hypocritical” prayers (Matt 6:5f ), “cynical” prayers (Luke 18:11), “alienating” ( Matt 7:21) and “oppressive” prayers (Mark 12:38,40). All these passages show Jesus – or, more accurately, the first communities reflecting on prayer on the basis of their memories of Jesus – as conscious of the numberless ways in which prayer can be spoiled: spiritual narcissism, vanity and hypocrisy, verbosity, alienating and oppressive manipulation […]79

This quotation is noteworthy, not only for what it tells us about Jesus’ prayers, but also because of the important insertion regarding method. Here, Sobrino corrects himself (“more accurately”) in a way that makes us confirm that in his view, the “historical Jesus” should more accurately be defined as “the history of Jesus as remembered (and followed) by the communities.” – But what does Sobrino’s analysis of Jesus’ prayer tell him of Jesus’ relationship with God? Sobrino chooses two prayers of Jesus according to the gospels as paradigmatic to the Jesus-God relationship. First, there is the prayer in Matt 11:25 (Luke 10;21): “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.” This prayer, which Sobrino holds to be “historically situated, though we cannot be sure of the actual words or when Jesus said them,”80 is a prayer of joy and thankfulness for God’s benevolence, which is shown through 79 Sobrino 1994c, 140. / Sobrino 1991d, 240-241: “Todas estas citas muestran cómo Jesús, o, más exactamente, las primeras comunidades que reflexionaban sobre la oración, en base a los recuerdos de Jesús, son conscientes de las innumerables formas de viciar la oración: narcicismo espiritual, vanidad e hipocresía, palabrería, instrumentalización alienante y opresora, etc.” 80 Sobrino 1994c, 140, cf. Sobrino 1981a, 28-30.

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God’s unexpected and gracious partiality on behalf of “infants” – that which is small and insignificant according to human standards. Jesus rejoices and praises God because of God’s goodness and love, which in a sinful history comes to expression through a predilection for the “little ones” – the downtrodden and excluded. God is for Jesus, thus, “[…] that which produces joy because it is good, someone in whom one can truly trust and whom one can call ‘Father’.”81 The second prayer is the one in Gethsemane: “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet not what I want, but what you want’” (Mark 14:35-36; Matt 26, 39; Luke 22:4142.). Sobrino also finds a historical certain nucleus to this prayer, given the christological scandal it implies. Here, we see an almost contrary side of Jesus’ vision of God. God is remote, distant, incomprehensible, silent in the face of suffering. Yet, Jesus remains faithful to this God: “[…] not what I want.” In this way he surrenders himself to God; “Jesus lets God be God.”82 These two prayers, taken together, express the dialectic totality of the Jesus-God relationship, Sobrino believes. On the one hand God is for Jesus the benevolent Father in whom he trusts unconditionally and rejoices. On the other hand, God is a Father who is God, still unfathomable mystery, to whom Jesus totally surrenders even when he experiences total darkness. I shall now consider these two fundamental aspects of Jesus’ faith, according to Sobrino, in greater detail.

81 Sobrino 1994c, 141. / Sobrino 1991d 242: “Y a la inversa, de ese gozo se puede colegir lo que Dios es para Jesús, aquello que produce gozo porque es bueno, alguien en quien se puede verdaderamente confiar y llamar ‘Padre’.” 82 Sobrino 1994c, 141. / Sobrino 1991d, 243: “Dios permanece como el misterio insondable para Jesús y Jesús lo deja ser Dios.”

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[5] Jesus’ Faith: A God who is Father and a Father who is God (1) To Jesus, God is (Aram.:) abba, a benevolent, good Father, with whom Jesus enjoys an intimate relationship, a relationship into which he invites all fellow human beings. This understanding of Jesus’ vision of and relationship with God is a fundamental tenet in the christology of Sobrino. Jesus becomes the one he is – historically and theologically – through his life vis-à-vis the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom – who is abba, the benevolent, intimate Father. In a similar manner, all persons, as followers of Jesus, are called to become who they are in the image of God, through seeing themselves in the light of the same two relations. Since his christology intends to be historically founded, it is an important point to Sobrino that abba as a key term to Jesus’ Godrelationship is as historically assured as the sayings of the Kingdom. “[…] Jesus used the Palestinian Aramaic term Abba, the historicity of which is not open to doubt.”83 But while there seems to be no doubt whatsoever in contemporary New Testament scholarhip with regard to the historicity of the centrality of the (Gr.:) basileia tou theou to Jesus, this is not – in spite of Sobrino’s confident assurance – the case with abba. By choosing this term as a key to Jesus’ God-relationship, Sobrino once again shows his exegetical dependence on J. Jeremias. 83

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Sobrino 1994c, 146. / Sobrino 1991d, 251: “[…] Jesús usa el término arameo palestinense abba, de cuya historicidad no se puede dudar.” Cf., Sobrino 1994c, 67: “In the Gospels this something central in Jesus’ life is expressed by two terms: ‘Kingdom of God’ and ‘Father’. Of both, the first thing to say is that they are authentic word of Jesus.” Sobrino 1991d, 121: “En los evangelios eso que es central en la vida de Jesús aparece expresado con dos términos: ‘reino de Dios’ y ‘Padre’. De ambas cosas hay que decir, en primer lugar, que son palabras auténticas de Jesús.”

It was Jeremias who first focused on this word, and “built it into a cornerstone in his theological position”84, as it is in Sobrino’s. Abba is a form of the Aramaic word for “father”. In the New Testament it is found in Gal 4:6, Rom 8:15 and Mark 14:36 alongside the Greek ho pater as an address to God.85 According to Jeremias, this way of addressing God had a very familiar and intimate tone. He saw it as an absolute novelty and something unique to Jesus, and argued that it could not be found elsewhere in contemporary Judaism.86 It reflected, according to Jeremias, the address of a child to its father. Applying such an intimate address to God, was something unheard of and even shocking to Jesus’ contemporaries.87 To them, it would most probably sound disrespectful of God’s majesty. Trusting in the criterion on dissimilarity (widely accepted as adequate during the “second quest”) Jeremias concluded that the term originated with Jesus, and furthermore (now depending on linguistic analyses) that it was used by Jesus every time he addressed God as Father.88 This theological point rapidly won a widespread hearing, also beyond the confines of theological scholarship. The idea of the particular intimacy of children’s address made it a short step to translate abba with “daddy”, although Jeremias was hesitant to make that step explicitly himself.89 84 Barr 1988, 28. – The argument is fundamental in Jeremias’ writings. See references in Barr’s article, and Jeremias 1987, 36-37. 85 Cf. Ashton 1992. 86 Jeremias 1987, 66: “All this confronts us with a fact of fundamental importance. We do not have a single example of God being addressed as ‘Abba in Judaism, but Jesus always addressed God in this way in his prayers.” 87 Op. cit., 67: “‘abba was a children’s word, used in everyday talk, an expression of courtesy. It would have been disrespectful, indeed unthinkable, to the sensibilities of Jesus’ contemporaries to address God with this familiar word.” 88 Ibid: “Jesus dared to use ‘Abba as a form of address to God. This ‘Abba is the ipsissima vox Jesu.”

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Sobrino relies totally on Jeremias’ interpretation of abba: “The Jews did not use it,”90 since it was “the term used by children to address their father” and therefore implied “great familiarity and trust.”91 It was absolutely unique to Jesus. From this “historically assured” nucleus, then, Sobrino goes on to a more comprehensive interpretation of Jesus’ relationship with God. Now, as already indicated, the certainty of Jeremias’ interpretation of ‘abba’ on which Sobrino relies, is today contested both with regards to its meaning and to its historicity. Leading scholars as Geza Vermès92 and James Barr93 are among those who have raised serious doubts and criticisms regarding Jeremias’ position. In a careful analysis of the semantic and linguistic arguments used by Jeremias, Barr argues that (a) abba was not a childish expression comparable to ‘daddy’, but was used by children and adults alike. It was however, more familiar than “formal and ceremonious”, and can according to Barr be defined as “a solemn, responsible, adult address to a Father.”94 (b) It is impossible to prove that all the cases in which Jesus addresses God as Father derive from an original abba. (c) Abba might have been Hebrew as well as Aramaic, but in either case, it is noteworthy that the expression does not specify whose father, as e.g. “my father”, but rather should be rendered, as

89 Note however, the translation in Jeremias 1987, 65-66. According to Barr, Jeremias even came to see such an interpretation as a “piece of inadmissible naïvity”, but without taking the logical consequences of this statement in his own theological reasoning; Barr 1988, 34. 90 Sobrino 1994c, 146. 91 Ibid. 92 Cf. Vermès 1983, 41 f. 93 Barr 1988. 94 Barr 1988, 46. – The three words for “father” in Norwegian perhaps provide a parallell to the distinction Barr makes: ‘abba is neither “pappa” nor “Fader”, but “far”.

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the Greek translations do, as determinative (“the father”) and/or vocative (“Father!”). Barr’s final conclusion is the most significant one for our discussion (d): Although the use of ‘abba in address to God may have been first originated by Jesus, it remains difficult to prove how constant and pervasive this element was in the expression of himself; and it is therefore difficult to prove that it is a quite central keystone in our understanding of him.95

What consequences could be drawn from this with regards to Sobrino? Does one of his two pillars rely on shaky foundations? If Barr is right – and his arguments are convincing96 – then Sobrino should be criticised for making too much out of the use and significance of abba to the Jesus-God relationship, especially in claiming its authentic historicity. His reliance on Jeremias may misdirect his christological project at this point. As William C. Placher warns: “The debate about ’Abba’ demonstrates the dangers of putting too much theological weight on particular historical claims about details of Jesus’ life and ministry.”97 On the other hand, Barr’s arguments do not lead to a necessary denial of the historicity of the term, nor do they necessarily repudiate the wider theological argumentation in Jeremias (and Sobrino). As Barr himself underscores: These conclusions in themselves do not appear to upset Jeremias’ wider argumentation. It may be fully probable that Jesus’ addressing of God as ‘father’ is connected with his requirement that his followers should be ‘like

95 Ibid. 96 After all, the word appears only three times in the New Testament, and the one occurrence in the Gospels refers to a prayer of Jesus to which there reportedly were no human witnesses. 97 Placher 1994, 59.

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children’, even if this is not related to the specific term ‘abba in the way that has been suggested. It may also be quite true that the use of ‘abba was original with Jesus and historically genuine […]98

What Barr intends, is to question the assurance about the degree to which this can be proved. The principal theological point for Sobrino is that Jesus’ fundamental experience with God was that God is good; someone in whom he can trust and rest. For Jesus, God is good, and it is good for him and all human beings that God is such. In this sense, God is “a Father”; the confidence and love that should exist between God and human beings is similar to the closest relationships among human beings: family-relationships. Jesus responds to the reality of God with trust, confidence and joy. He dares to approach God in absolute intimacy. This theological interpretation cannot be secured or proved by “historically assured facts.” In fact, to the degree that it would depend on the historicity of Jesus’ use of abba, it would seem doubtful. But the lack of certain historical evidence regarding this term does not falsify this interpretation either, for at least two reasons. First, because there is a much broader attestation in the New Testament that Jesus does address God as Father (Gr.: ho pater), in fact on twenty-six occasions, as Sobrino himself points out.99 The content of the theological interpretation does not necessarily depend on the aramaic abba. But the point that Sobrino is making, when he argues that: “[…] the relative ambiguity of the term ‘father’ is clarified by noting that Jesus used the Palestinian Aramaic term Abba ”100, seems to be vulnerable, at least on the background of this recent scholarly development. 98 Op. cit., 39. 99 With the exception of Mark 15:34 par. Sobrino 1994c, 146. 100 Ibid.

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Second; in any historical description of Jesus, there is always a theological interpretation at work as well. There is no such thing as a “naked” historical fact. The significance or meaning of a historical “fact” depends on the perspective from which its interpreter approaches it. 101 When this is taken into account, however, then a theological interpretation can – and should – argue for its plausibility by referring to historical indications or traces. Although Sobrino at several places shows explicit awareness of this, his legitimation of theological interpretations with recourse to “history” and “historical” is, as I have pointed out in Chapter iii, confusing. His reliance on the historicity of the abba is an example of this. Having taken this into consideration, however, I conclude that although it seems well advised not to depend on Jeremias’ abbainterpretation as much as Sobrino does, the main contention that one important aspect of Jesus’ relationship to God was that it was characterised by trust and confidence in a God who is a good Father, still seems tenable. (2) The God-Father of Jesus does not only appear as a God who is near and approachable, whom Jesus recognises and to whom he may respond in joyful trust. In the image of God that appears in and through the life of Jesus there is not just affinity, but also absolute alterity; complete otherness.102 God remains mystery to Jesus. God is a Father who is God. It is in this perspective that Sobrino proposes to see Jesus’ ignorance, temptations, errors and lack of knowledge about the time of the coming of the Kingdom. These features have at times appeared 101 Cf. my earlier claim that it is rather a historical reconstruction of Jesus based on some particular, contemporary interests (exposed in the “master-narrative”) that Sobrino proposes, than more strictly “the historical Jesus as norm”, Chapter iii [4], above. 102 Compare Chapter vii [5], below.

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too shocking to Christian piety and therefore been toned down. But they are clearly described in the New Testament. And exactly because of the difficulties they might cause for the post-Easter confession of Jesus as God, it is probable that they have a historical grounding. Sobrino suggests that they be seen as showing how Jesus in his own life “travels” vis-á-vis a God whom he does not manipulate or control. “[…] Jesus respects the transcendence of God absolutely […]”103 His openness and total trust-availability towards this God is at the same time united with a respect for the distance between himself and the ultimate mystery of God. Jesus lets God be God. This shows the “creatureliness” of Jesus, Sobrino believes. But even more so, his not knowing the day of the coming of the Kingdom – which, Sobrino notes, is not a peripheral theological point, but a very central one – becomes a “noetic precondition for unconditional openness to God.”104 The complete trust in and surrender to the God who remains mystery, would not have been possible if Jesus did not share also this fundamental human trait: uncertainty and vulnerability in facing the future and the ultimacy of reality. The image of God emerging in and through the life of Jesus is then dialectical. While it is true that Jesus can rest in God, God is also a God who does not let him rest, in Sobrino’s elegant wording.105 (3) How do these different and even contrary traditions and visions of God come together in (the testimonies about) Jesus? How is the

103 Sobrino 1994c, 154, Sobrino 1991d, 264. 104 Ibid. “Lo positivo para este apartado es que el no-saber del día de la venida del reino es el presupuesto noético de la apertura incondicional a Dios.” 105 “En ese Padre descansa Jesús, pero a su vez, el Padre no lo deja descansar.” Sobrino 1991d, 271.

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discontinuity between them bridged – if at all? Responding to this, Sobrino makes two important points. The first is that Jesus’ relationship with God is expressed not only through ideas, words or particular moments of prayer. Jesus’ understanding of God can be grasped only through an interpretation of the totality of Jesus’ life: his ideas, words, priorities and actions. This is because, for Jesus, God is not only someone of whom he speaks or to whom he prays; to Jesus, God is the reality to whom he devotes his whole life. In the words of Gustavo Gutiérrez, “Jesús practica a Dios” – “Jesus puts God into practice.”106 And only in this totality of Jesus’ life is it possible to hold together the diversities and even divergences in the images of God. This leads to the second point, which to Sobrino is crucial, namely the historicity of Jesus’ understanding of God. By this he denotes the progressive development of Jesus, his growth – in this particular case, the internal development in his understanding and attitudes with regard to God. The vision of God that Jesus has in the first part of his ministry is not the same as in the last part of his ministry, Sobrino believes. Something seems to have changed. There has even been crisis and conversion in Jesus’ relationship to God. The contention that Jesus has undergone a conversion, may seem quite provocative. But Sobrino emphasises that to use this term of Jesus does not necessarily refer to a change from an evil or sinful attitude to a good and just one; it rather describes the fact of a significant change of place and perspective, going from one view of God to another, according to God’s own self-disclosure. It means “seeking God where God wants to be found.” This change of place and perspective is present in the Gospel renderings of Jesus’ life, and finds a particular expression in the so-called “Galilean crisis”. 106 Sobrino 1994c, 136. / Sobrino 1991d, 235.

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Basically, Sobrino divides the history of Jesus, or of his public ministry, into two parts. The fundamental turning point is that crucial happening in Galilee, when Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah, but immediately afterwards is abruptly rejected by Jesus. The fact that all the evangelists report this event (Mark 8:27ff; Matt 16:13ff, Luke 9:18ff and John 6:66ff ) points to its theological centrality. Until this point, Jesus has announced the imminent coming of the Kingdom, a coming in grace which evokes joy, forgiveness and celebration particularly among the poor. But after this episode in Galilee, the tone and framework of Jesus’ mission suddenly changes. He starts to predict his suffering and death. Geographically, the change can be seen in his turning towards Jerusalem. Now his faith and mission lead him into suffering and darkness; he faces incomprehensible resistance to the coming of the Kingdom, and finally experiences the mysterious and painful absence of the God of the Kingdom.107 Jesus has undergone a change in his conception of God, and simultaneously a change in his conception of himself and his mission, and of the “how” and “when” of the coming of the Kingdom, Sobrino postulates. In this, Jesus shows himself to be truly human, allowing God to be God. Again we have reached an important, more specific determination of Sobrino’s use of the term “historical Jesus”. It does not simply, perhaps not even primarily, mean that Jesus belongs to history, but rather that Jesus has a history. We want to see Jesus in the historical process of change and development. […] What we want to recover is the totality of the historical Jesus. That is not simply the sum total of his historical actions and attitudes but the latter

107 Sobrino 1976, 276 . – To the question of whether God is absent or not, see below, Chapter vii [4].

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organized in his life story. Thus the ‘historical Jesus’ is nothing else but ‘the history of Jesus’.”108

For this theological interpretation on the basis of a reconstructed chronology of Jesus’ life and ministry, in which “the Galilean crisis” is given a primary importance, Sobrino has received sharp criticism. David Batstone admits that Sobrino’s approach “unquestionably contributes to a historical method of interpretation”.109 However, Batstone argues that this approach also leads Sobrino into “some of the same traps sprung by earlier quests for the life of Jesus.” This happens when Sobrino is reconstructing the chronology of Jesus’ history where he is “not justified,” according to Batstone, for the same reasons that liberal European scholars were wrong in their (first) reconstructions of the life of Jesus. William Wrede’s demonstration that the gospels had been arranged theologically and not chronologically, is still a “fatal blow” – this time to (Ellacuría’s and) Sobrino’s description of Jesus’ history, Batstone forcefully claims. Sobrino has obviously considered this and similar criticisms between Cristología desde América latina and Jesucristo liberador. He is more cautious in the latter book. The historicity of the Galilean crisis is contested among New Testament scholars, he admits.110 Nevertheless, Sobrino chooses to stand by his reconstruction of this history of/in Jesus and the theological interpretation he attaches to this. It is understandable why he does so, because this fundamental 108 Sobrino 1978a, 84-85. / Sobrino 1976, 63: “El problema […] consiste […] en ver a Jesús en su proceso histórico de desarollo y cambio. […] Lo que hay que recobrar es la totalidad del Jesús histórico, que no es la suma de sus acciones y actitudes históricas, sino esas acciones y actitudes en cuanto aparecen organizadas en su historia. El ‘Jesús histórico’ entonces no es otra cosa que ‘la historia de Jesús.” 109 Batstone 1991, 55-56. 110 Sobrino 1991d, 259: “La historicidad de esta crisis es hoy discutida o, al menos, matizada.”

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perspective of growth or development and dynamism together with the relational approach is absolutely fundamental to his whole christology. But it does once again draw attention to his peculiar use of the category “historical”. (4) The history of Jesus is of great theological significance according to Sobrino. This can be seen very clearly in the central place that he gives to the terms “filiation”, filiación, and “following”, to which I shall return. The history of Jesus is for Sobrino, first and foremost, “Jesus’ walking with God” in history. In a fundamental way, then, it is the history of Jesus’ faith. By giving the theme of Jesus’ faith a central place, Sobrino enters into a controversial field. He is aware of the strong tradition stemming from Thomas Aquinas, according to which Jesus could not have had faith, because being divine, he had “full vision of God in his essence.” Sobrino, however, refers to the recent recovery of this theme within both Catholic and Protestant christologies, while at the same time stating that these christologies still “ignore the history of his faith”.111 Sobrino sees Jesus’ faith expressed in the totality of his life, words and deeds in relationship to the two constituent limit-realities that he is facing; the Kingdom of God and the God-Father of the Kingdom.”Absolute trust and complete openness to God, taken as a whole, can be understood as what the scriptures mean by faith.”112 It is a faith in process of development, which experiences change, resistance and darkness. Through this dynamic historical development, then, Jesus’ faith is shaped by history in the same time as it shapes history. It endures even in the darkness of conflict 111 Sobrino 1978a, 86. / Sobrino 1976, 65. 112 Sobrino 1994c, 154. / Sobrino 1991d, 265. “La absoluta confianza y la radical disponibilidad con respecto a Dios, si se las toma unificadamente, pueden ser tomadas como lo equivalente a lo que la Escritura llama fe.”

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and suffering, and thus becomes a a victorious and liberating faith, Sobrino holds.113 The focus on Jesus’ faith became soon a much discussed and criticised aspect of Sobrino’s christology – even in sympathetic theological circles in Latin America. 114 The issue is debated on exegetical as well as systematic grounds. As I have already mentioned, the current research on the historical Jesus accentuates the religious faith and practice of Jesus, and sees him much more in religious continuity with his contemporaries than was common some decades ago. At the same time, the exegetical and biblical interpretation of NT references to Jesus’ faith – especially the ambiguous genitive (Gr.:) pistis Iesou Xristou – continues to be a crux interpretum, about which no clear agreement exists.115 In the field of systematics, there is also disagreement on the significance of this issue. In Latin America, however, there have been several approaches along Sobrino’s lines of thought, making the faith of Jesus a basic theological point.116 To Sobrino, the question of Jesus’ faith is nothing less than a test of whether one actually is prepared to accept Jesus’ true humanity or not: it would be paradoxical for theology to state that faith was not essential in defining what is authentically human.117

113 Sobrino 1978a, 87 / Sobrino 1976, 65. 114 This can be seen from José Ignacio Gonzalez Faus’ comments in a seminar in Mexico on Cristología desde América Latina, published in Christus. Gonzalez Faus basically defends Sobrino’s approach, and sees in the negative reception of this theme in Sobrino a particular scepticism towards the liberation approach in general, rather than to the theological issue of Jesus’ faith in itself. González Faus 1978, 30-38. 115 See for instance Dodd 1995. 116 Cf. e.g. Tamez 1991, 126-136, n. 72; and González F. 1993. 117 Sobrino 1991d, 266. Cf., e.g., Tracy’s critical note in Tracy 1991, 295; and also n.8, 243.

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[6] Who is Jesus? ‘Son of God’ When analysing Jesus’ relationship with God, Sobrino thus highlights particularly the New Testament description of this relationship as comparable to a parent-child relationship. Faced with the mystery of God that to Jesus appears as the profoundly good (lo sumamente bueno), Jesus relates to this mystery in the manner of a “son” approaching a “father”: with joy, love, faith, trust – although at the same time also with respect, readiness, disponibilidad, willingness to obey. In the same way as Sobrino has presented Jesus’ mission as a “making history according to the will of God” by responding to the approaching Kingdom of God – which makes Jesus a “mediator”, “messiah”, “liberator” – he also presents Jesus’ personality and personal development as a “making himself a human being in the presence of a God-Father.”118 In these descriptions we see clearly the dynamic and transformative emphases in Sobrino’s interpretation. There is development, transformation, and active “history-making” related to Jesus, at both the exterior and interior levels. This development is seen not as a harmonious gradual development, but as something which is struggled through in the presence of opposition, incomprehensibility and suffering. At this point one can find reflections in the christology of Sobrino of the very point of departure of Latin American liberation theology, namely the transition from a mainly “development”-related approach to “liberation.”119 I shall soon return to Sobrino’s treatment of the cause and content of this opposition, the struggle between the God of life and the 118 “Hemos presentado la misión de Jesús, como un hacer historia según Dios, y la propia historicidad personal de Jesús, como un hacerse él mismo un ser humano en presencia de Dios-Padre.” Sobrino 1991d, 271. 119 See above, Chapter i [2] d).

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idols of death. It is worth noting here, though, that this transformation or liberating process in Sobrino consists in both “divinisation” and “humanisation”. Jesus becomes “son of God” through the relationship with the God Father. This is a process of “filiation”, according to Sobrino, which is theologically ultimately confirmed by God in the act of the resurrection. At the same time, this walking towards God which makes Jesus “son of God”, and thereby participating in the very reality of God (divinisation), is equally a process through which Jesus becomes a human being (“hacerse él mismo un ser humano […] ”).120 It is a process of authentic humanisation. This critical point in Sobrino’s christology is somewhat diffuse. I shall therefore give it a more detailed treatment below. 121 At this stage, it may suffice to suggest the following interpretation of this relationship in Sobrino: being a true human being means living before the true God in faith and trust, “letting God be God.” At the same time the true God as attested by the Bible is a God who precisely being divine “lets human being be human being.” Divinity and humanity thus enters into a mutually constitutive relationship. Such a conclusion does not come from an abstract analysis of the concepts “divinity” and “humanity”, but from a concrete re-reading of that human life in which – according to the Christian faith – true humanity and true divinity coincide: the life of Jesus of Nazareth. As we shall see, this simultaneous movement in the supposedly opposite directions of humanity and divinity closely relates to the concept of “salvation” in Sobrino as well.122

120 Sobrino 1991d, 271. 121 See my discussion below, Chapter viii [3]. 122 See Chapter vi.

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[7] Sobrino’s Christology and Feminist Concerns God is Father, Jesus is Son. This is a proper place then, to address what may be seen as a shortcoming in Sobrino’s theological work; one which does in fact threaten to undermine its liberative intention and character. I refer to a notable lack of explicit sensitivity to feminist concerns. The critical questions that must be raised – and that have been raised since the birth of feminist theology – are these: are a God-Father and a Saviour-Son “good news” to oppressed women? Can a male saviour save women?123 In spite of this strong emphasis on Jesus’ relationship to God as Father, Sobrino shows no explicit, critical awareness of the possible patriarchal and hence oppressive consequences of such an interpretation. For this he has received criticisms from feminist theologians, as would be expected.124 The fact that Sobrino does not refer to gender issues at all reveals a more general problem in his outline, which may be seen as a lack of nuances in his treatment of oppressive structures and oppressed groups. The poor-rich dichotomy seems to govern the whole of his thinking to such an extent that other, equally important oppressive structures (sexist, racist, cultural etc.) disappear from sight.125 Although he has argued that this primacy be given to the socioeconomic oppression, Sobrino seems to be increasingly aware of the 123 This question is the heading of a chapter in Rosemary Radford Ruether’s classic Sexism and God-talk, Radford Ruether 1983. 124 See e.g., the criticism made by Primavesi 1995. 125 “In contrast to malestream liberation theologies, a feminist liberation theology does not privilege a Marxist class analysis but seeks to comprehend the multiplicative structures of women’s oppression – racism, class exploitation, heterosexism, and colonialism – that determine and diminish all of our lives.” Schüssler Fiorenza 1994, 12-13.

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difficulties raised by this one-sidedness. In the introduction to a recent article, he summarises with approval some major criticisms and self-critisicms of liberation theology.126 Among these, he refers to the need to take more seriously the reality of women, which he admits has been “absent in the beginning and neglected to the present” in liberation theology.127 But is Sobrino’s basic approach helpful, from a feminist perspective? Can feminist concerns be integrated into it without a fundamental change in its structure? At least three reasons point in the direction of a positive answer. Firstly, because of the centrality that it gives to the constitutive character of relationships. Secondly, because of the emphasis on the continuity between Jesus and his followers, a following which – importantly – is never seen as restricted to men. And thirdly, because of the liberating character of Sobrino’s christology: its committed stance on the side of victims. “A basic insight of feminist studies is that women often describe their experience using the terms relatedness and interconnection.”128 Hence these terms have become central in feminist theology. This “metaphysics of connection”, Mary Grey notes, sees the interdependence and interconnection of all things on the widest possible scale: “It is not simply that all people interconnect but that all living things are organically interconnected.”129 The similarity with Sobrino’s thinking becomes more visible however, when we hear that this perspective enables one to see the self as a self-in-relation, which means that “I become in relation to you,”130 and furthermore when Grey points out that “connection” is “an energizing 126 Sobrino 1995b, 116. 127 Ibid.: “[…] hay que tomar en serio la realidad de la mujer – ausente en los comienzos y descuidada hasta el presente.” 128 Grey 1991, 7. 129 Grey 1991, 11. 130 Ibid.

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way of living and experiencing”, and a “historical process.”131 A leading scholar in feminist social ethics, Beverly Wildung Harrison, makes the centrality of relationship one of her “fundamental basepoints” for a feminist moral theology.132 Starting from the contention that “relationality is at the heart of all things,”133 Wildung Harrison sketches a reinterpretation of Jesus’ ministry and death which sees it in terms of Jesus’ “power of mutuality”. Jesus’ death on the cross, his sacrifice, was no abstract exercise in moral virtue. His death was the price he paid for refusing to abandon the radical activity of love – of expressing solidarity and reciprocity with the excluded ones in his community.134

This interpretation concurs much with Sobrino’s, as we shall see. And like Sobrino, Wildung Harrison sees this “radical activity of love”, this “way of being in the world that deepens relation”, as something to which every follower of Jesus is summoned.135 This leads to my second argument that Sobrino’s christology is 131 Op. cit., 15. 132 Harrison 1985, 15-20. One of the two other “basepoints” shows clearly a further correspondence with Sobrino’s thinking, namely “Activity as the Mode of Love” (8-12). Whether the third one, emphasising ‘embodiment’ (“Our Bodies, Ourselves as the Agents of Love”) is compatible with Sobrino, is less clear. See below, Chapter vii, [1]. 133 Op. cit., 15. 134 Op. cit., 18. Harrison continues: “Sacrifice, I submit, is not a central moral goal or virtue in Christian life. Radical acts of love – expressing human solidarity and bringing mutual relationship to life – are the central virtues of Christian life. That we have turned sacrifice into a moral virtue has deeply confused the Christian moral tradition […] To be sure, Jesus was faithful to death. He stayed with his cause and he died for it. He accepted sacrifice. But his sacrifice was for the cause of radical love, it was in order to make relationship and to sustain it, and, above all, to right wrong relationship, which we call ‘doing justice’.” 135 Ibid.

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compatible with fundamental tenets of feminist theology, the emphasis on the continuity between Jesus and other human beings, i.e., his followers. I shall soon return to this relation as Sobrino depicts it. But an important point to be made here is that the emphasis on constitutive relationality – in which we grow, become, change in relation to each-/an-other – applied to the continuity and connection between Jesus and other human beings, makes it possible to overcome the static soteriological essentialism that has had and continues to have such oppressive consequences for women, as feminist theologians have rightly pointed out. This requires, of course, that such relations not be seen as exclusive in the sense that some persons or groups of persons are systematically barred from participating in them, and, furthermore, that they not be seen as hierachical, or – to use Schüssler Fiorenza’s neologism – “kyriarchal”.136 In other words, if Jesus becomes saviour in and through the relations in which he is embedded, if his status as the true human being depends on these relations, then we may conclude – as Radford Ruether does137 – that the maleness of Jesus has no ultimate significance. 136 Schüssler Fiorenza 1994, 14. “[…] I have argued for a redefinition of the concept of patriarchy to mean not simply the rule of men over women but rather a complex social pyramid of graduated dominations and subordinations. Because feminist discourses continue to use the term ‘patriarchy’ in the sense of gender dualism, I introduced in But She Said the neologism ‘kyriarchy,’ meaning the rule of the emperor/master/lord/father/husband over his subordinates.” 137 Radford Ruether 1983. Interestingly, though, Radford Ruether sees the maleness of Jesus as having “social, symbolic significance in the framework of societies of patriarchal privilege. In this sense Jesus, as the Christ, the representative of liberated humanity and the liberating Word of God manifests the kenosis of patriarchy, the announcement of the new humanity through a lifestyle that discards hierarchical caste privilege and speaks on behalf of the lowly.” Ibid.

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We need to think in terms of a dynamic, rather than a static, relationship between redeemer and redeemed. The redeemer is one who has been redeemed, just as Jesus himself accepted the baptism of John. Those who have been liberated can, in turn, become paradigmatic, liberating persons for others.138

Sobrino does think in terms of such a dynamic relationship between Jesus and his followers – the Crucified and the crucified. But is he in fact willing and able to give women full and equal admittance to this relationship? Sobrino himself clearly belongs to a tradition – that of the Jesuit order – which explicitly and systematically expresses male supremacy in discipleship by not inviting women to enter the Society of Jesus. Does his christology have the potential to supersede this kyriarchal tradition? To Sobrino, the ultimate albeit contradictory sign of the salvific presence of Jesus in history is the continuing occurrence of martyrdom. Martyrdom shows that there has been a true following of Jesus taking place. The crucial test case will then be whether women are recognised and counted among those true followers, those mar138 Radford Ruether 1983, 144. Radford Ruether’s outline of a feminist christology coincides with Sobrino’s liberation christology in other aspects as well, e.g., in the choice of a starting point: “A starting point for this inquiry must be a reencounter with the Jesus of the Synoptic Gospels, not the accumulated doctrine about him but his message and praxis.” What will then occur, Radford Ruether believes, is a “figure remarkably compatible with feminism.” (142). At the same time Radford Ruether points to the danger of over-emphasizing past history, without being critically aware of the the present from which we approach it. “Christ, as redemptive person and Word of God, is not to be encapsulated ‘once-for-all’ in the historical Jesus. The Christian community continues Christ’s identity”, 144. Although this expresses perhaps the fundamental trait of Sobrino’s christology and the rationale for introducing the reality and symbol of the crucified people in it, it is exactly this point that is somewhat obscured in Sobrino’s usage of the “historical Jesus”, I submit.

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tyrs. Is Sobrino able to “encounter Christ in the form of our sister”, to use Ruther’s words?139 In her moving reflection on the martyrdom of women in El Salvador, Jane M. Grovijahn critically observes: Renewed interest in the efficacy of martyrdom is forced on the church because of the brutal destruction of life in El Salvador. Yet within these martyrologies, women are practically nonexistent. […] Why is an attack on a priest viewed as as an attack on the entire church, but a brutal rape and murder of a female catechist not even remembered?140

Sobrino, however, stands the test. As Grovijahn recognises, he explicitly and forcefully acknowledges Christ’s presence through women: “In a reflection upon the brutal murder of the four American women in 1980, Jon Sobrino celebrates salvation coming to El Salvador through women.”141 Another feminist theologian, Elizabeth A. Johnson, also strongly endorses Sobrino in this, commenting that he “got it exactly right” when he wrote of the North American women: I have stood by the bodies of Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, Dorothy Kazel, and Jean Donovan […] The murdered Christ is here in the person of four women […] Christ lies dead here among us. He is Maura, Ita, Dorothy and Jean. But he is risen, too, in these same four women, and he keeps hope in liberation alive.142

139 Ibid. 140 Grovijahn 1991, 20. – Grovijahn calls for a redefinition of the traditional understanding of martyrdom, which she finds “not only deceptive, but idolatrous.” (21). Sobrino has launched proposals in the same direction, cf. Sobrino 1991d, 440-451. 141 Grovijahn 1991, 27. 142 Johnson 1992, 74. The quotation is from Sobrino 1988b, 153-156. Original Spanish wording in Sobrino 1987a, 185-188. The emphasis is Sobrino’s.

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Thirdly, and in more general terms, I regard Sobrino’s christology as compatible with feminist concerns because it is critical and oriented towards a liberating praxis on behalf of victims. Here, once more, an enlightening passage from Schüssler Fiorenza’s latest work on christology will suffice to show to what extent Sobrino’s approach coincides with fundamental traits of feminist theological reflection: (A) critical feminist theology of liberation does not simply seek to analyze and explain the socioreligious structures of domination that marginalize and exploit women and other nonpersons, to use an expression by Gustavo Gutiérrez. Instead, it aims to change entirely structures of alienation, exploitation, and exclusion. Its goal is to transform theoretical and theological-religious knowledges and socio-political structures of domination and subordination. Such a feminist theology understands itself as a critical theology of liberation because its critical systemic analyses and its intellectual practices for the production of religious knowledge seek to support struggles for wo/men’s liberation around the world. Hence its articulations are diverse and often in tension and conflict with each other.143

At the same time, however, feminist theologians have pointed to the ambiguities and dangers lurking in the term “victim”. “We need not minimize the radicality of women’s oppression in varied cultures and communities nor minimize Christianity’s continuing involvement in that oppression”, Wildung Harrison underscores, “but we must not let that recognition confirm us in a posture of victimization.”144 And closely linked to this, feminist theologians have raised fundamental criticisms of traditional theologies of the cross, including the more recent expression these have found in i.a. Moltmann’s work.145 The question whether Sobrino may be seen as responding satisfactorily to these critical feminist concerns, must await our further treatment in Chapters VI and VII. 143 Schüssler Fiorenza 1994, 12. 144 Harrison 1985, 7.

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Here I conclude that while Sobrino’s christology displays a remarkable lack of explicit reflection on and treatment of vital feminist concerns, there seem to be no impediments in the fundamental method, structure or thrust of his work that would prevent him from taking on these concerns approvingly. On the contrary, his approach coincides to a large extent with those of leading feminist scholars of today. This is the case not least, I should add, with the emerging feminist theology from a Third World perspective.146

[8] Third Relation: Jesus and his Disciples. The Primacy of ‘Following’ As noted in the introduction to this chapter, Jesus is not only imbedded in relations to God and God’s Kingdom (what traditionally might be labelled “vertical relations”). He is also deeply interrelated with other human beings (“horizontal relations”), whom he 145 Schüssler Fiorenza reviews some of these criticisisms in op. cit., 98-107. Referring to a study by the Swiss feminist theologian Regula Strobel (“Feministische Kritik an traditionellen Kreuzestheologien” in Strahm, Doris & Regula Strobel (eds.): Vom Verlangen nach Heilwerden. Christologie in feministisch-theologischer Sicht Exodus, Fribourg 199, 52-64), Schüssler Fiorenza writes: “The notions of innocent victimhood and redemption as freely chosen suffering enable militarist and capitalist societies to persuade people to accept suffering, war, and death as important ideals for which people have died in the past and for which it is still worthy to die. For women, a theology of the cross as self-giving love is even more detrimental than that of obedience because it colludes with the cultural ‘feminine’ calling to self-sacrificing love for the sake of their families. Thus it renders the exploitation of all women in the name of love and self-sacrifice psychologically acceptable and religiously warranted.” Op. cit., 102. 146 See, e.g., Fabella and Mercy Amba 1989, Tamez 1989a and Tamez 1989b.

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invites into a fellowship which comes to expression in “discipleship” or “following”. This is a fundamental term in Sobrino’s christology. I shall now try to spell out more clearly how Sobrino describes this relationship with a basis in his re-reading of the history of Jesus. (1) Sobrino holds it a “historically assured fact” that Jesus of Nazareth called different people in his surroundings to follow him.147 This call was differentiated, however, both in terms of different periods in Jesus’ public ministry and in terms of whom Jesus was calling. As we have just seen, Sobrino divides Jesus’ public ministry into two periods. The dividing-line between these two periods is what exegetes have called “the Galilean crisis”, when Jesus in Galilee experiences an internal and external crisis, which in the synoptic accounts culminates in Peter’s confession, followed by Jesus’ harsh and surprising rejection of Peter (Mk 8:27ff. par; Jn 6:66 ff.) Until this point, the public ministry of Jesus has been a service to the coming Kingdom. The good news of the Kingdom – that God intervenes in history for the salvation of God’s people – is particularly directed to the poor, in the two-fold meaning referred to above. The preaching of Jesus and his miracles and salvific practice make this clear. When Jesus calls disciples to follow him in this period, it is not a universal call, in the sense that it would have the same meaning for everybody. It is primarily a call to particular persons, and it is first and foremost a call to join Jesus in his mission: the service of the Kingdom. Jesus does, however, call everybody to conversion. But his call is differentiated. To the poor and outcasts, the call to conversion is primarily a call to gain new hope; not to despair, to believe that God is gracious on their behalf, that God is intervening for their 147 Sobrino 1983b, 938: “Es un hecho histórico asegurado que Jesús llamó a diferentes personas a seguirle en comunidad de vida, misión y destino.”

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salvation, that the Kingdom is coming as grace and joy, not repudiation and exclusion. But, to the rich, those who are “well off ” within the social and religious society of that day, the call to conversion is a call to turn away from the security they believe they have in their wealth and position, and to follow Jesus actively in his unselfish and humble service to the poor. In the second period, after the Galilean crisis, the call to follow Jesus takes on a new character. The Kingdom has not come in its fullness – as Jesus and his disciples had expected – and resistance is increasing. Jesus starts to speak of his suffering and death. The following is now concretised in the following of the concrete person Jesus, in a situation in which it is no longer obvious that Jesus himself would have anything to do with the coming of the Kingdom, as was earlier believed.148

Following Jesus now becomes acceptance of the “Jesus scandal”, a following in suffering, darkness and – apparently – total failure. The call to follow Jesus also becomes more universal at the end of Jesus’ ministry, Sobrino believes.149 As noted above, Sobrino has been criticised for these differentiations in the interpretation of Jesus’ call to follow him, built upon a disputable structure of Jesus’ ministry.150 Admitting and discussing its difficulties, Sobrino relies less on the chronological structure and the Galilean crisis in his more recent Jesucristo liberador than was the case in Cristologia desde América Latina.151 He maintains, however,

148 My translation of Sobrino 1976, 277. “El seguimiento se concreta ahora en el seguimiento de la persona concreta de Jesús, en una situación en la que ya no parecía obvio que Jesús mismo tuviera mucho que ver con la llegada del reino, tal como había sido pensado anteriormente.”, cf. Sobrino 1978a, 361. 149 Sobrino 1983b, 939. 150 Cf. e.g. Batstone 1991, 56-57.

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that “Jesus has changed, and this change has not been simply peaceful and gradually developing”.152 (2) If we now turn from a historical to a more systematic approach, we must ask what this relationship between Jesus and his followers actually means when seen as a constitutive relationship. A full treatment of the significance in and for theology of the centrality of this relation in Sobrino must await our concluding chapter (VIII). However, seeing it in the perspective of Jesus’ life and mission, it may be helpful to address already at this stage some main elements of the meaning and content of following Jesus today according to Sobrino. Because of historical as well as theological differences, following Jesus today “cannot and ought not be pure ‘imitation’”153, Sobrino points out. The historical differences are obvious. Among the most important theological differences are the (negative) fact that the Kingdom has not come, and the (positive) presence and action of the Spirit. This latter makes following today “spirit, not law”. It is not supposed to be realised by everybody in the same manner, but according to the personal carismas. One should for this reason speak of an “analogy of following.”154 However, “following” 151 Sobrino 1991d, 259-262; 259: “La historicidad de esta crisis es hoy discutida o, al menos, matizada […]” 152 Sobrino 1991d, 262. “Jesús ha cambiado y ese cambio no ha sido simplemente evolutivo y pacífico. Se le llame o no ‘crisis’, se la pueda datar y localizar como crisis ‘galilea’ o no, es secundario para el propósito de este apartado. Lo importante es que Jesús aparece en fidelidad a Dios hasta el final, y esa fidelidad queda expresada como ir a Jerusalén, donde se va a encontrar con Dios, otra vez de forma nueva, en la pasión y la cruz.” 153 Sobrino 1983b, 940. “El seguimiento de Jesús en la actualidad no puede ni debe ser pura ‘imitación’, por la diversidad de circundancias históricas y teológicas.” Cf. Sobrino 1976, xvi. 154 Sobrino 1976, xvi.

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is the structuring principle of any Christian life, which consists in “continuing (proseguir) in history the fundamental structure of Jesus’ life: incarnation, practice and spirit of mission, cross and resurrection.”155 Following Jesus today is continuing his mission. It is a mission that presupposes an incarnation, a (Gr.:) kénosis, into the world of the poor. This should be real, not just intentional. It should therefore be possible to verify it. This should also be an exclusive mission, Sobrino believes; an incarnation in the world of the poor signifies a rejection of the world of the rich and powerful. Thereby it is conflictual and presupposes a conversion.156 The mission of Jesus was a mission for the sake of the Kingdom. This is the mission that should be continued by his followers. It consists in preaching the good news of the coming Kingdom – of which the primary addressees are the poor – , and making the appropriate response to this in a liberating practice.157 This practice grows out of the same misereor super turbas that was Jesus’, and takes concrete shape in the promotion of justice. As a Christian practice, it should be carried out in the “spirit of Jesus”158, i.e. a spirit of joyful confidence in the Father and of obedient fidelity to the Father. 155 Sobrino 1976, xvi. “El seguimiento, sin embargo, es el principio estructurante y jerarquizador de toda vida cristiana […] Ese principio no es otra cosa que proseguir en la historia la estructura fundamental de la vida de Jesús: encarnación, práctica y espíritu de la misión, cruz y resurrección.” 156 Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 34. “El seguimiento de Jesús es, por esencia, conflictivo porque significa reproducir una práctica en favor de unos y en contra de otros, y esto origina ataques y persecución”. 157 Cf. Sobrino 1982a, 106ff. 158 This is a fundamental thought in all of Sobrino’s writings on spirituality, cf. Sobrino 1987a, 8: “La teología vive, antes que nada, de una práctica y de una espiritualidad. Esa práctica no es otra cosa que el seguimiento de Jesús, y esa espiritualidad no es otra cosa que la actualización del espíritu de Jesús.” See also, cf. i.a., Sobrino 1992e; and Sobrino 1993a.

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As we can see, this is the kind of following that corresponds to the first part of Jesus’ ministry. Sobrino is convinced that a contemporary proseguimiento of Jesus, as an incarnation into the world of the poor and a service to the Kingdom, will lead to a participation in Jesus’ destiny. Thus, following him becomes, as in the second part of Jesus’ ministry, a following in suffering. Sobrino finds this theological statement confirmed by contemporary Latin-American experience. Following Jesus means entering into conflict with the idols of death; it means persecution and death. Following Jesus is following him to the cross – even today.159 There are “crucified” in contemporary history, then. Crucifixion is a consequence of following, and a confirmation that true following has taken place. Paradoxically, it gives credibility and efficacy to the Christian service to the Kingdom. This is one of the central propositions of Sobrino’s christology, and the main scope of this study. Here, we should note its close relation to the concept of following. “Whoever follows Jesus in this manner, already participates in his resurrection”, Sobrino continues. Living as “resurrected in history”, the follower of Jesus has hope in the middle of darkness and suffering. It is a hope which is not naive, but a “hope against hope” (Romans 4:18).160 This point is stressed by Sobrino: The Christian hope of resurrection is primarily a hope for the “crucified.”161 In order to share this Christian hope it is necessary to “participate in the crucifixion, even if it be in an analogical manner.”162 To this theme, however, I shall return in the Postscript of this study. 159 Cf. e.g. Sobrino 1982a, 168 and 180. 160 Cf. Postscript, below. 161 Sobrino 1982a, 176.: “(L)a resurrección es esperanza en primer lugar para los crucificados. Dios resucitó a un crucificado, y desde entonces hay esperanza para los crucificados de la historia.”

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There is accordingly a significant, substantial relationship between Jesus and other human beings, in Sobrino’s view. Interestingly enough, being a constitutive relationship, Sobrino depicts it as reciprocal. The followers of Jesus participate in some analogous way (to be determined further) in Jesus’ status as “Son”, “Messiah”, and (after the resurrection) “Lord.” This is what ultimately is expressed in the phrase “hacerse hijos en el Hijo.”163 Jesus’ followers may become as Jesus, they may become sons and daughters (‘hijos’) of God, just as he is the Son (‘Hijo’) of God. But, at the same time, Sobrino claims that there is a causal relation also in the opposite direction: the fact that there are followers, constitutes Jesus as Lord and Son of God. The most significant fact about the historical Jesus is his ability to generate followers through history.164 “Christ’s actual lordship is shown in the fact that there are ‘new human beings’, and these are the ones who make real in actu that Jesus already is the Lord.”165 Sobrino even maintains that if the figure of Jesus ceased to be of interest to people, if nobody followed Jesus any more – “which faith holds to be impossible” – then Jesus “would no longer be the revelation of human being, and thus not the revelation of God.”166 These are remarkable statements. I shall return to a more detailed consideration of them in Chapter viii.167 The main point at this stage, is to note that there may be other mediators, messiahs, 162 Sobrino 1982a, 177: “Hay que participar, pues, de la crucifixión, aunque sea analógicamente, para que exista una esperanza cristiana”. 163 Sobrino 1982a, 180. Cf. St. Augustine’s expression “filii in Filio”. 164 Sobrino 1976, xviii-xix: “Y es a la vez la más radical verificación de la verdad de la cristología: que Jesús es el hijo eterno del Padre porque a través de su Espíritu es capaz de seguir engendrando seguidores suyos, configurando a otros en su imagen.” 165 Sobrino 1982a, 179: “Más aún, existe una correlación entre ambas novedades: el señorío actual de Jesús se muestra en que existan los hombres nuevos, y éstos son los que hacen realidad in actu el que Jesús sea ya ahora Señor.”

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and children of God, in Sobrino’s view. We saw this clearly expressed in the citation above: “[…] before and after Jesus other mediators exist, related to him and authorized by him […]” In fact, Jesus wants there to be other mediators. Jesus calls his followers to correspond to the coming of the Kingdom in the same manner as he himself does, and he invites them into the same trusting relationship with God-Father. And Sobrino truly believes that there have been and are others, from the prophets and messiahs of the Old Testament, to martyrs and prophets of our days: Martin Luther King, Ita Ford168, Mgr Romero.169 Accordingly, Jesus appears in “horizontality” with other human beings, although as a particular human being. He is “the firstborn” among brothers and sisters, Sobrino says, referring to Rom. 8:29. This reciprocal relationship between Jesus and his followers in Sobrino’s christology will be important for my further study. I shall consider both the soteriological and the methodological consequences of the primacy that Sobrino accords to the categories of relationship and following. I shall also ask whether the reciprocity of these relations also implies that they are totally symmetrical.170 However, some critical questions should be raised already. The most urging one regards nothing less than the central core of 166 Sobrino 1976, 297. “El día en que la figura de Jesús dejase de interesar, dejase de ser camino de salvación – lo cual la fe considera imposible – ese día la fórmula no sería verdadera, Jesús hubiese dejado de ser la revelación del hombre y de esa forma también la revelación de Dios.” 167 See below. 168 Sobrino 1987a, 188: “Maura, Ita, Dorothy y Jean som el Cristo muerto hoy. Pero son también el Cristo resucitado, que mantiene viva la esperanza de liberación. […] Con Maura, Ita, Dorothy y Jean, Dios pasó por El Salvador.” 169 See the bold statement by Ellacuría in Ellacuría 1990: “Monseñor Romero, un enviado de Dios para salvar a su pueblo”, an expression often recalled by Sobrino. 170 See Chapter viii [3], below.

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Christian faith, viz. the divinity of Jesus. In answering that question, some basic observations will follow.

[9] From one ‘son’ to the ‘Son’: Is Jesus’ True Divinity Questioned? The continuity between Jesus and other human beings before and after him is a fundamental tenet in Sobrino’s christology. It is, of course, this tenet that makes it possible to focus on the relationship between Jesus and other crucified ones in history. Does not underscoring this continuity question or even challenge the confession of Jesus’ true divinity? Sobrino admits that his interpretations of Jesus as “mediator”, “messiah”, “son”, etc. do not present him in total discontinuity with other human beings. Here, one may note in passing, Sobrino clearly distinguishes himself from the main protagonists of the “second quest”, in spite of the exegetical dependence which I have demonstrated. And we saw in Chapter ii, this is a point where Jüngel and Sobrino would disagree. How does Sobrino actually reason in this matter? […] Jesus in proclaiming and intiating the Kingdom of God, followed the line of the anointed one, the ‘messiah’ who responds to the hope for salvation of a poor and oppressed people. And by his relationship to God-Father he followed the line of the ‘son’, of a human person who responds and corresponds to God. This does not force us to confess him as the messiah and the son, but makes it credible so to confess him.171

Here we are at a crucial point in Sobrino’s christology, with respect to both its method and its content. Sobrino chooses a historicaltheological reading as his methodological approach. It is thus a

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reading which is conscious that it starts from a position in a particular moment of history in a particular community. In this community there is already present a confession, a faith in this Jesus of whom the texts speak. At the same time this methodology stresses that that which is read and confessed is something which appeared in the same history as the one the readers experience and take part in. There is a clear continuity between the communities in which Jesus appeared and made a profound impact, and the communities in which the christological reflection of today is carried out. Now, this is the same continuity that we find in the testimonies to Jesus’ relationship with other human beings, according to Sobrino. Jesus actively seeks such continuity and horizontality: “[…] the ‘messiah’ seeks followers and the ‘son’ wants all to call God ‘Father’.”172 This is a first step, so to speak, in the reflection on the christological confession. Although it is consciously starting from a position of confession, it applies a method (‘historical reading’) which makes it possible to stress this continuity of Jesus with other human beings, and explain why this person could be called “messiah”, “son” etc. Moving from a description of Jesus as a “son” or a messiah to an outright confession of him as the Messiah and Son of God, is something which never ceases to be a leap of faith, Sobrino is convinced. But he argues that from this position, through this methodological approach, it is a leap of faith which seems more historically and 171 Sobrino 1994c, 159. / Sobrino 1991d, 272: “Pues bien, a partir de lo que hemos dicho, Jesús, por su anuncio e inicio del reino de Dios, va apareciendo en la línea del ungido, el ‘mesías’ que responde a la esperanza de salvación del pueblo pobre y oprimido. Y por su relación con Dios-Padre va apareciendo en la línea del ‘hijo’, del ser humano que responde y corresponde a Dios. Lo dicho no fuerza a confesarlo como el mesías y el hijo, pero hace verosímil que se lo pudiese confesar de esta forma.” 172 Sobrino 1994c, 159. / Sobrino 1991d, 273: “[…] el ‘mesías’ busca seguidores y el ‘hijo’ quiere que todos llamen Padre a Dios.”

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soteriologically plausible.173 This historical-theological re-reading which has stressed the particular relationships of Jesus with the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom lends credibility to the confession that in this Jesus, the reality of God has appeared in history in a decisive manner. It is a way of preparing for the possibility of a correct formulation of and – not least – a concrete understanding of the christological dogma, Sobrino believes. In this way the possibility of formulating and, above all, of correctly understanding [the] christological dogma is being built up. Starting from Jesus’ actual relationship to God and the Kingdom of God, and from his actual relationship with his ‘brothers and sisters,’ it becomes possible to confess what his true divinity and true humanity actually consist of.174

The continuity between Jesus and other human beings does not represent a hindrance to the full confession of his divinity in Sobrino’s view. To the contrary, Sobrino holds that this continuity actually founds that confession, both epistemologically and theologically. This is a crucial point for the understanding of Sobrino’s theology, and thus for his treatment of the theological significance of suffering by way of the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified. It will continuously engage our attention. At this stage, I shall make four basic observations emerging from my investigation so far. (1) The first observation deals with the rhetorical character of Sobrino’s christology. That Sobrino’s christology is rhetorical is of 173 This is the point that Chow fails to understand, see Chapter iii [3] (1). 174 Sobrino 1994c, 159. / Sobrino 1991d, 273. “De esta forma, se prepara la posibilidad de formulación y, sobre todo, la correcta comprensión del dogma cristológico. A partir de la concreta relación de Jesús con Dios y su reino, y partir de su concreta relación con los hermanos se podrá confesar en qué consiste su verdadera humanidad y su verdadera divinidad.”

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course no surprise. Any theological endeavour is rhetorical by essence, in that it seeks to convince its public about the plausibility and coherence of its theses.175 In the passage cited above, it is clear that Sobrino makes use of this particular method in order to make the confession more credible. His principal aim is to convince; hence the rhetoric. Furthermore, it is a well-formulated and -performed rhetoric, thanks to Sobrino’s systematic and logically ordered argumentation, combined with his personal and emotional tone – all clothed in his very creative, at times splendid, linguistic formulations.176 Nevertheless, perhaps because of the often reductionist or negative associations linked to the term “rhetorical” (which Sobrino himself alludes to177), this obvious rhetorical character is not openly admitted by Sobrino. Although this fact need not become problem175 Cf. Chapter iii [3]above. The term “rhetoric” has traditionally applied to the principle of training communicators – those seeking to persuade or inform others; in the 20th century it has undergone a shift of emphasis from the speaker or writer to the auditor or reader. In all, our century has witnessed a “return to rhetoric” according to which the inescapability and importance of rhetorics as a concern for audience, for intention, and for structure in linguistic formulations have been thoroughly underlined. See entry on “rhetoric”, Encyclopaedia Britannica 1995d. 176 Sobrino’s style has certainly changed throughout the years. His prose is gaining in originality and accessibility, in my view. One can appreciate that he is making a determined effort to make his writing more easily readable to a large audience, without thereby losing its scientific precision and depth. His ability to coin new phrases and twist traditional formulations has been demonstrated several times in this study, already. The personal and meditative tone has also come to the fore, thus increasing the existential and spiritual character of his writing. Yet, precisely this development makes a critical reflection on Sobrino’s own rhetoric interesting and necessary when one seeks to make an appraisal of his theological proposals. 177 See e.g. the following formulation in Sobrino 1991d, 345 : “[…] mucho más que retórica piadosa […]”

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atic, it does so, in my view, when Sobrino puts forward his case with key-terms like “reality”, “history”, and “theological concept”, that remain vague and finally undefined. Accordingly, I think that Sobrino’s theology would benefit from a more explicit reflection on the rhetorical character of the theological enterprise, and on the nature of religious and theological language – indeed, of language at all.178 (2) My second observation regards the translation of Sobrino’s books into other languages, which sometimes is in danger of obscuring this theological two-step method, e.g. from “son” to Son. It can be seen most clearly in the translation of the Spanish title Jesucristo liberador into the English Jesus the Liberator. What the Spanish title indicates is that Jesus Christ – i.e. the Jesus who is confessed as the Anointed one, Messiah – is in fact one who can be perceived as a liberator. This is what Sobrino wishes to demonstrate through his “historical-theological re-reading.” In the English title, because of two changes, the most natural interpretation seems to be a somewhat different one. ‘Jesus’ stands here without its confessional predicative ‘Christ’, while the capital L in Liberator could indicate that it should be understood as a confession; Jesus is the (ultimate) Liberator. These are nuances, which do not amount to contradictions, but the capitalisation of words in English titles and headings seems to alter the original meaning in Sobrino’s texts here.179 178 The British theologian Gareth Jones faults Sobrino for his (lack of reflection on) rhetoric. Jones 1995, 85-112, especially 110-111. For a further discussion and development, see Chapter v, below. 179 There is also a considerable difference between the orginal Spanish title Cristología desde América latina and its English version: Christology at the Crossroads, which Macquarrie has correctly pointed out, Macquarrie 1990, 316: “The Spanish original edition bore the very sober and descriptive title Cristología desde América latina, but the English version has the more dramatic title […]”

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(3) In the prevailing situation of pluralism, I find this two-step, or rather two-dimensional method (“historical-theological [re-] reading”) particularly relevant. In Chapter i raised the critical concern of whether the committed and practical character of Sobrino’s methodology made it become a “closed circle”, which in fact would be “irrelevant for anybody who does not uncritically accept its presupposi-tions.”180 On the basis of what we have seen so far, this concern can be discarded. In my view, this method answers both to the requirements of honesty about one’s own presuppositions and openness for dialogue and mutual criticism vis-à-vis other interpretations and points of view. On such a basis, “a Jesus-based ecumenism is possible,” Sobrino rightly believes. 181 Although its point of departure is clearly one of commitment and faith, this method does not automatically lead to fideism. Nor should it be considered a closed discourse from the outset. However, the interpretive move that is implied in it, which does require a moment of critical distance even in the middle of the seguimiento, should be spelled out clearer. I shall come back to this point in the next chapter. When this moment of critical distance is preserved, then this method opens up the possibility of a common quest for truth and justice, mindful of the variety of perspectives and plurality of interpretations.182 (4) Finally, it becomes particularly clear here to what extent Sobrino’s christology is trinitarian. The distinction between Father and Son is crucial in this respect. Jesus is Son, not Father. He is understood as “Way” – he is the expression of how one corresponds to the mystery of God in history. By raising Jesus from the dead, God-Father confirms the essential and unique relation between the reality of God and the reality of this particular human life and 180 See Chapter i [4], above. 181 Sobrino 1994c, 158. / Sobrino 1991d, 271. 182 See Chapter viii [4], thesis 13.3.

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death. This constitutive relation confirmed in the resurrection and effective in history through the presence of the Holy Spirit is thus the theological basis for the confession of Jesus as the Son of God, Sobrino holds: Jesus is the eternal Son of the Father because through his Spirit he is continually capable of raising up followers, by shaping other human beings in his image.183

The centrality of following in Sobrino’s christology makes it clearly trinitarian, not only with regard to its content, but even as a fundamental, structuring and methodological feature.

[10] Conclusions What is the good news of Jesus? How does Jesus bring salvation through his life, according to Sobrino? Firstly, Jesus brings salvation by being mediator of the Kingdom of God. Jesus initiates and proclaims the coming of the Kingdom in the midst of a human history of sin and suffering. The Kingdom brings multiple salvations, according to the different needs of human beings. Jesus saves people around him through his merciful 183 Sobrino 1976, xviii-xix, my translation. “[…] Jesús es el Hijo eterno del Padre porque a través de su Espiritu es capaz de seguir engendrando seguidores suyos, configurando a otros hombres a su imagen.” The English translation in Sobrino 1978a, xxv-xxvi seems to me somewhat more moderate than the Spanish original: “We also provide the most radical and thorough verification of the truth of Christology: i.e., that Jesus is the eternal Son of the Father. For we thereby show that through his Spirit he is continually capable of raising up followers and shaping other human beings in his image.”

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and helpful attitudes and actions towards them. He reacts in mercy when faced with the concrete needs of persons and groups of people that he meets. This responding to the concrete needs of the miserable, the outcasts and the sinners is at the same time a corresponding to the coming of the Kingdom. It thus brings salvation in history. Remembering that Sobrino defines the Kingdom as “just life for the poor always open to a ‘more’”, it comes clear that the fundamental gift of salvation is life, understood as the basic essentials of life, always open to a “more”, a life in abundance in the biblical sense. But this positive, joyful announcing and acting upon the coming of the Kingdom is also accompanied by a negative and conflictive side, which consists in a denouncing and reacting against everything in history that opposes the coming of the Kingdom: sin, the anti-Kingdom, the idols of death. I shall soon treat this important negative side of the issue in more detail; at this point I simply note that this is also sub specie contrarii a part of the salvific function of Jesus’ life. Secondly, Jesus saves by being “son of God”. Jesus becomes an authentic human being in the presence of a God-Father, to whom he responds in love, hope and disponibilidad (‘readiness’) – in one word – faith. In this manner Jesus walks with God and to God, and this finally makes possible the confession of him as participating in the being of God, by living his creatureliness in fullness, i.e. by being fully human. Jesus thus reveals what it is to be truly human, and who the true God is, and how one corresponds in history to the reality of this true God. This revelation is salvific. Thirdly, this means that Jesus saves by being the “Way”: Through his life and mission, Jesus shows how and where all human beings can respond and correspond to the reality of God in history, and hence become an authentic human being (humanisa-

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tion) by participating in God’s life (divinisation or deiformación) – i.e. receiving salvation. Let me finally return to my point of departure and rationale for undertaking this detailed analysis of the account Sobrino gives of Jesus’ life and its salvific effects. My motivation for doing so was to find out how Sobrino can defend his thesis that the crucified people or the crucified in history bring salvation in history. This would have to have something to do with the constitutive relationship that according to Sobrino exists between the crucified Jesus and the crucified people. Therefore, a definition of how and why Jesus brings salvation in history was required. I have not yet arrived at an analysis of the salvific effects of Jesus’ death. But as argued earlier, the death of Jesus must be seen in close relationship with his life, particularly as this comes to expression through relations and praxis. Furthermore, it is not merely through his death that Jesus saves, according to Sobrino, but through the totality of his life-death (and resurrection). Therefore, having now set out how Sobrino portrays the salvific aspects of Jesus’ life, it would follow that he sees the crucified in history as (potentially) salvific in similar manners. This would have to mean that insofar as the lives of the crucified people contain some of the same main features of the life of Jesus – features which, furthermore, lead towards the incomprehensible darkness of suffering and death (crucifixion) – these lives too bring salvation to history. More concretely, if we follow the thrust of Sobrino’s argument, the crucified people can be seen as salvific to the extent that, firstly, they function as mediators of the Kingdom. Jesus is the Mediator of the Kingdom, but he calls for other mediators, to continue his salvific work through history. These other mediators may be individuals or groups, communities, peoples. The crucified people are mediators of the Kingdom as they correspond to the good news of the Kingdom’s nearness in hope, in struggle for liberation and jus-

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tice, and in concrete acts of love. They are mediators of the Kingdom when they provide a critical light that unmasks the injustices of this world. They are mediators of the Kingdom when they do not take revenge, but rather offer forgiveness and possibilities of conversion and reconciliation. They bring salvation to history as they celebrate the gift of life always open to a “more”, in the very presence of circumstances and forces that threaten this life. Secondly, the crucified people bring salvation to history in their status as sons and daughters of God. As Jesus, in his responding and corresponding to the nearness of the Kingdom, becomes the Son of God – true human being and true God – in his relation to Godthe-Father, the crucified people through him enter into the same relation. God calls all persons to this relationship as a child of God, this filiation, which is simultaneously a process of humanisation and deification. This process is salvific; and since salvation is a quality to be shared, it brings salvation to human history at large. In their similarity with the destiny of the One whom Christians confess to be the ultimate revelation of that filiation, the crucified people can be recognised as offering this salvation in history. This corresponds to a third perspective, namely that the crucified people bring salvation to history by being ‘way’. As Jesus is the way to correspond to the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom in history, the crucified people – in their likeness with Jesus – reveal a way through history. It is, in Sobrino’s view, a way of liberation, a way of authentic humanisation, a way of participating in the love and life of God; hence, a way of salvation. As the pattern and specific content of Sobrino’s thought get clearer, the critical questions return with new force: What is actually implied in this interpretation? Is it not a somewhat idealised vision of the destiny of suffering people today? Does it not make salvation too much of a human effort? And, is it really admissible on Chris-

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tian terms to draw such a close comparison between Jesus and his followers – and even victims in general? In other words, these views regarding the salvific function of the crucified people seen in the light of Jesus’ life pose questions regarding the clarity and validity of the concept. One such question is related to the observation that these characteristics (“mediators”, “sons and daughters”, “way”) still seem to suppose the active and conscious commitment of the crucified people. The theology of the crucified people is closely related to ecclesiology, we note again, particularly with reference to the church of the poor, the Church Base Communities (CEBs). But at the same time, Sobrino also wishes to speak of “crucified people” in a wider sense, including innocent victims of history – with or without awareness of an analogous relationship to Jesus. Perhaps the influence of Rahner here comes to the fore through an implicit idea of “anonymous mediators”, “sons and daughters”, “followers”. Is there an “anonymous crucified people”?184 Another question that arises regards the relationship between the crucified people as receivers and mediators of salvation. Are they themselves saved by bringing salvation to the world? How can they be understood as saved – recalling that salvation according to Sobrino must show itself in history – if salvation is “life in fullness”, and this life is precisely what they – as “crucified” – are being deprived of?

184 Sobrino 1991d, 448, n. 29: “Este sería el lugar para mensionar a los ‘mártires anónimos’. Según la lógica de los ‘cristianos anónimos’, y pensamos que su tratamiento es necesario en la actualidad. Por decirlo gráficamente, en vida los seres humanos tenemos nombres y apellidos. Con la muerte, perdemos los apellidos (cristianos, budistas, musulmanes, hindúes, agnósticos, ateos […]), pero con la muerte por amor recobramos para siempre el nombre de ‘humano’ que Dios nos ha puesto a todos.”

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One should recall here that for Sobrino, it is fundamental to underscore that the crucified people bring salvation to history by being related to and authorised by Jesus. The constitutive relationality is the ultimate decisive reality. But is this relationship really reciprocal in such a manner that what can be said of Jesus, can also be said of the crucified in history? To anticipate my evaluation for a moment, I would say that Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s emphasis on the similarity between Jesus and suffering people of today is of considerable significance for a contemporary theology. The novelty and richness of their perspective should be appreciated. It represents a victimological turn in theology which is firmly rooted in the Christian witness, while at the same time responding to urgent needs of our time. Nonetheless, there is still a need to maintain a difference or a distance between the crucified and the Crucified, and to clarify the character of this difference. There is an “otherness” in Jesus as well as in the crucified people that any theologian should respect. Only by paying due attention to both similarities and divergences can a sound “theology of the crucified people” be worked out. As noted above, Sobrino’s application of analogy in this connection does open up for both resemblance and difference. But does he draw the line between them with sufficient care? A more thorough discussion of these interpretations and judgements will be found in Chapter viii. Now I shall return to Sobrino’s re-reading of the history of Jesus.

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v. The Crucifying Conflict A Struggle Between the God of Life and the Idols of Death

En la historia existe el verdadero Dios (de vida), su mediación (el reino) y su mediador (Jesús), y existen los ídolos (de muerte), su mediación (el antirreino) y sus mediadores (los opresores).1

In some sense, the very root of the soteriological problem in all Christian thinking can be summarised in the following question: If God created the world good, why is salvation at all necessary? This question comes in many versions, as do the answers. In Sobrino’s theology this question is framed in contemporary, historical terms. If God is the God of history, the God of the poor and oppressed, why is there still so much oppression, poverty, and premature death? If God is the God of all reality, why does this reality appear to be crucified? This, in Sobrino’s view, is the quandary which sets off theological reflection in Latin America.2 And when one reflects on the history of Jesus, this question reappears as the enigma of why Jesus the mediator of the Kingdom, the son of God, the messiahliberator is facing resistance, rejection and finally execution. Thus this chapter will reach an inner core of Sobrino’s theology of the crucified people. When the questions are posed why salvation (and thereby why Christian reflection and practice at all) is required, why Jesus died, and why the people is oppressed and suffering, then Sobrino responds by claiming that reality, history and human existence are all subject to a “struggle of gods.” I shall follow 1 2

Sobrino 1991d, 278. Sobrino 1986, 37-44.

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his reasoning in these ultimate matters by first considering Sobrino’s rendition of Jesus’ anti-idolatrous praxis, a praxis which leads to a progressive aggravation of the conflict between Jesus and his opponents. We shall see how the theme of the struggle of gods moves into the very centre of the interpretation, and leads Sobrino, together with other Latin American theologians, to a critique of what they see as European theology’s virtual negligence of this fundamental biblical theme. In the eyes of the liberation theologians the antithesis of faith is not primarily atheism, but idolatry. Since this is such a fundamental and foundational feature in Sobrino’s theology, I shall subsequently discuss it critically in the light of some of the main observations that I have made during my inquiry so far. Having identified some crucial questions regarding reality, history, and language, I shall then draw on the contributions of Paul Ricoeur and José Severino Croatto in these areas. Their proposals will aid my analysis of the theological significance Sobrino accords to the present reality of suffering.

[1] God is at Stake: Jesus’ Anti-Idolatrous Praxis At this point of his interpretation of the history of Jesus, Sobrino deems it useful to distinguish between “practice”, which he sees as a “broad sweep of activities” in general, and “praxis”, which he defines as a group of activities that has as its correlative society as such and as its purpose the transformation of society as such.3 Yet this should not necessarily be taken to include all the aspects of the common (Marxist) use of the praxis-term, as for instance the role of ideology and of an organised people as privileged subject in this process of 3

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Sobrino 1994c, 161./ Sobrino 1991d, 276. Cf. Sobrino 1982a, 115-149.

transformation. It is sufficient to underscore its relationship to society as a whole and to the goal of transformation of this society as a whole. Jesus does have such a praxis, according to Sobrino. He does relate to society as a totality with the goal of transforming it. However, Jesus’ only weapon in this praxis is the word. Therefore it is a ‘prophetic praxis’, which basically consists in controversies, ‘unmaskings’ and denunciations. (1) In the controversies as recounted in the gospels, Jesus engages in discussions and bitter quarrels with particular persons and groups of people, who are gradually depicted as Jesus’ opponents and adversaries. Jesus is questioned and criticised, and has to defend himself. But it seems also that he deliberately provokes and engages in these controversies with a particular purpose. In order to uncover this basic cause and purpose Sobrino examines several of the controversies, especially as they are described in Mark: 1) the healing and forgiving of the paralytic in 2:1,12; 2) eating with sinners in 2: 15-17; 3) the question of fasting in 2:18-22, 4) plucking grain on the sabbath in 2:23-28 and 5) curing the man with a withered hand in 3:1-6. Furthermore, he undertakes an analysis of the controversy over the greatest commandment (Mark 12:28-31; Luke 10:25ff; Matthew 22:34-40). The main reason for the controversies, Sobrino concludes, is God. God is the reality which is in question. But the basic question is not whether God exists or not – primarily a Western post-Enlightenment dilemma, it seems – but who this God is, who the true God really is and how this reality of God is adequately corresponded to. Jesus’ purpose in engaging in these controversies seems to be primarily a defence. Jesus defends his vision of God as the true God of life. This is necessary because God and God’s Kingdom are challenged.

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The history and reality in which Jesus realizes his prophetic praxis, is a battleground. Just as Jesus himself, mediator of the Kingdom, is opposed by persons and groups – who by opposing and finally eliminating the mediator of the Kingdom act as mediators of another Kingdom, the anti-Kingdom – so also the true God of Jesus is opposed by other divinities: the idols of death.4 The true God has to be defended against the false divinities and their mediators, who seek to take God’s place. So the controversies are interpreted as dealing with the correct relationship with the true God. What is characteristic for Jesus’ position regarding this relationship in the controversies, Sobrino concludes, is that the correct “vertical” relationship is seen in close connection with the “horizontal” relationship between human beings. This comes out most clearly in the controversy about the greatest commandment. Sobrino favours as the most historically probable account of this controversy a reconstruction of the version in Mark made by M.-E. Boismard. According to Boismard’s reconstruction, Jesus replies: “It is: you shall love your neighbour as yourself; there is no greater commandment than this.” As we can see, love for God is not even mentioned here, because it is implicitly understood in one’s love for one’s neighbour. What Jesus underscores, then, is that love for God cannot be separated from love for one’s neighbour – an interpretation Sobrino probably would defend, even if Boismard’s reconstruction of the text in Mark should turn out to be inaccurate. But in what sense does this relate to society as such? If the central issue of the controversies is the correct relationship with the true God and this relationship is seen as expressed in and through the horizontal relationships between human beings, then obviously this issue affects the over-all structuring of such relationships in society: 4

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Sobrino 1994c, 160ff./ Sobrino 1991d, 275ff.

Jesus does not draw this picture for purely theoretical reasons, but for its practical consequences: according to the particular God they accept, so human beings behave, and so they structure society into the form of the Kingdom or anti-Kingdom. 5

This frequent use of the term “anti-Kingdom” in Sobrino merits a comment. It is somewhat curious that this term, which does not occur in the New Testament, is given such a central position in Sobrino’s argument. If we look to, e.g., Matthew 12:26 or Luke 11:18, we find the term “Satan’s Kingdom” as the contrasting alternative to God’s Kingdom. Why does Sobrino avoid using this term, and prefer “anti-Kingdom”? Correspondingly, we find little mention of Satan as God’s enemy in Sobrino’s texts.6 He rather refers to “the idols (of death).” I suspect that Sobrino avoids speaking directly of Satan and Satan’s Kingdom because he insists on the struggle of gods as a historical reality. The naming of Satan as God’s enemy in persona may be seen as having too obviously mythological and even “superstitious” connotations in order to be able to open up such an understanding. If this is the case, then Sobrino’s choice of wording may indicate a problem which I shall address below, namely a fusion of myth[olog]ical/theological language and historical explanation that is not properly accounted for. Now, what is at stake in the controversies – the question of how to correspond in history to the true God – is in principle also the essence of the other two forms of prophetic praxis in which Jesus 5

6

Sobrino 1994c, 167. / Sobrino 1991d, 287: “Y esta ilustración no la hace Jesús por razones puramente teóricas, sino por sus consecuencias prácticas: según se acepte a un determinado Dios, así se comportan los seres humanos, y así configuran la sociedad en forma de reino o de antirreino.” Cf., however, Sobrino 1991d, 167, where Sobrino defines Satan as “[…] la fuerza negativa de la creación, que la destruye y la hace capaz de destruir, la cual se expresará histórica y socialmente como antirreino.”

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engages, according to Sobrino: namely, unmasking and denunciation. (2) By his unmaskings (‘desenmascaramientos’) Jesus exposes the fact that the reality of God is distorted and manipulated by human beings through their presentation of false visions of God. These false visions are often presented in order to defend particular (power-)interests and to justify various oppressive practices. That is why they are not just false theories about God, but theories that bear directly upon the structure of inter-human relationships and society. What Jesus does, is to lay open the ignorance and lies about God that sustain oppressive practices in his society. Against this background, it becomes obvious that the misuse of religion is a particularly grave problem. Hence, Jesus is often seen in conflict with the religious professionals, such as the Pharisees, the priests, and the Sadducees. Their discussions deal with fundamental theological interpretations, such as the question of how to gain knowledge of and respond to the true will of God. And it is finally, as we shall see, this conflict with the religious leaders and institutions – as symbolised in Jesus’ “cleansing of the Temple” – that turns out to have deadly consequences for Jesus. (3) The unmasking of false interpretations of God, and unmasking of the way in which the true God has been replaced by false idols, is complemented and further sharpened through Jesus’ direct denunciations. Here Jesus takes up the tradition of the Old Testament prophets, uttering harsh words and anathemas against dominating groups in society. First, Sobrino points to Jesus’ denunciations of the rich (Luke 6:24; 12:34; Matt. 6;21; Mark 10:25; etc.).7 The way in which Jesus sees wealth in a dialectic and mutually exclusive relationship with poverty, mirrors how the God of life and the idols of death, and the Kingdom of God and the anti-Kingdom,

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are absolutely incompatible. This is what is so unconditionally expressed in Jesus’ saying: “You cannot serve God and mammon” (Matt 6:24 and Luke 16:13). Jesus calls mammon – which Sobrino directly translates “wealth”8 – a “master” (Matt 6: 24) and thus shows its character of idol. It is something which radically opposes God because – note the relational definition – it is built on injustice and causes other people to be poor (impoverished). As poverty is “premature death”, what wealth does in its dialectic relation to poverty is to produce victims: mortal victims. And this is ultimately the functional definition of an “idol”, as Sobrino sees it: it produces mortal victims. The fundamental pattern is clear, then: the God of life opposes the idols of death. The gift of God is life for the poor; the “gifts” of the idols are human sacrifices and deaths. Jesus’ denuciations are also directed against the scribes, Pharisees and the priests. These groups are attacked primarily for their manipulation of the knowledge of God, which gives them great symbolic-exemplary power in society. They possess “intellectual and 7

8

The choice of beginning with these is somewhat “arbitrary”, Sobrino comments, underlining that he does not want to attribute to Jesus a view that would see the economic sphere as determining everything else. The “not” here is important, since it is by mistake omitted in the English translation (Sobrino 1994c, 170; cf. Sobrino 1991d, 292). However, the strong denunciations of the rich and their wealth, which furthermore is seen concretely in its relational character vis-à-vis poverty, fits well with Sobrino’s basic interpretation of God’s salvific gift in the Kingdom as “just life for the poor.” Furthermore, by following Ellacuría in his definition of “poor” and “poverty”, making material poverty the irreplaceable condition for all poverty, Sobrino himself does seem to hold such a view of social reality, giving primacy to the sphere of economy in configuring society. Even if it might be said to be “arbitrary”, it suits Sobrino’s purpose very well to begin with Jesus’ denunciations of the rich. Sobrino 1994c, 173. / Sobrino 1991d, 297. “[…] ‘no pueden ustedes servir a Dios y al dinero’.”

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ideological influence”9 of great importance, according to Sobrino. But they do not use this to correspond to the coming of the Kingdom to the poor; rather, they block the coming of the Kingdom with their narrow self-interests. Thus they oppress the truth, instead of teaching it, and they hinder people instead of helping them. Doing this in the name of God, makes it – again – a matter of falsification of true divinity, which leads to idolatry. This is why the gospels recount so many harsh attacks made by Jesus upon these supposedly pious persons and groups. The attack by Jesus on the Temple in words (Mark 13:2; Matt 24:2; Luke 21:5-6) as well as in (symbolic) action (Mark 11:15-19; Matt 21:12-17; Luke 19:45-48; John 2:14-16) is the culmination of this conflict. “Jesus is highly critical of the Temple and its implications: rites, sacrifices, the priesthood”.10 Sobrino assumes that Jesus’ attack had both historical and “theologal” reasons. The way the temple cult functioned in Jerusalem and in the Jewish society had concrete, oppressive consequences. That this also had to do with economic and political power, not just religious-ideological power, may be deduced from the concrete content of the symbolic cleansing; it relates to economics, business, profits. But in the end, what is really at stake here, as in all of Jesus’ prophetic praxis, is defending the truth about how to correspond to the reality of the true God and God’s approaching Kingdom. The basic presupposition is that – put simply – Jesus holds it to be good for human beings to know the true God, because in his eyes the true God is good. And, what is good for human beings, is good for society in totality. When false gods take the place that truly belongs to God, then human beings are de-humanised and society becomes oppressive. Because the God of Jesus “lets human being be human”, 9 Sobrino 1994c, 174. / Sobrino 1991d, 299. 10 Sobrino 1994c, 178. / Sobrino 1991d, 304: “Jesús es sumamente crítico del templo y de lo que conlleva: el culto, los sacrificios, el sacerdocio.”

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an authentic faith in God is humanising. This is why controversies, unmaskings and denunciations are necessary. Knowing and corresponding to the true God requires an active attitude of both affirming and negating; affirming the God of the Kingdom, negating the idols of the anti-Kingdom. Did Jesus not also denounce the (explicitly) political authorities? Not so much, Sobrino holds, citing only a couple of instances, as in Luke 13:32, where Jesus calls Herod a “fox”. This is not to say that Jesus’ mission was not political. On the contrary, if one employs a comprehensive definition of “political”, then the totality of this prophetical praxis of Jesus is profoundly political. It has to do with transforming society.

[2] Idols and Victims: The Anti-Idolatrous Character and Victimological Orientation of Sobrino’s Theology (1) It is worth emphasising the degree to which this perspective of “the struggle of the gods” moves into the very centre of Sobrino’s christology. He insists that the most important challenge to theology, the radical opposition to faith against which it must argue, is not lack of faith or atheism, but false faith: idolatry. This anti-idolatrous emphasis is a common trend in Latin American theology, beginning with Juan Luis Segundo11, and presented in breadth in the book entitled La lucha de los dioses.12 Although there are predecessors in recent European theology – such as Moltmann, but also G. Aulén13 – this has nevertheless become one of the major distin11 In this sense, his Nuestra idea de Dios from 1970 was groundbreaking. The issue of idolatry was always central to Segundo, a Uruguayan Jesuit and one of the “founding fathers” of liberation theology. Cf. Sobrino 1996.

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guishing marks of Latin American liberation theology. Sobrino and the other liberation theologians accuse their European colleagues14 of having forgotten or played down this fundamental perspective of the Bible.15 And the absence of this perspective is particularly serious, they hold, because its omission may contribute to covering up the oppressive, idolatrous mechanisms of the contemporary situation. By posing the question of God only according to the dichotomy faith-atheism, and not faith-idolatry, one may consciously or unconsciously be “playing into the hands of oppression.”16 But what does Latin American theology actually mean by “idols”? Commenting on and further developing an analysis made by Archbishop Romero “with the help of I. Ellacuría” on the matter,17 Sobrino points out the following five characteristics: (1) The idols are not something of the past, nor merely something that occurs in the religious sphere. Idols “[…] currently and really exist: they are actual realities that shape society and determine the life and death of the masses.”18 (2) They are called idols in the strict sense since they take on divine attributes, such as ultimacy, self-justification and untouchability. (3) The principal idol, which originates all 12 Richard 1980. This significant collective work of Latin American biblical scholars, systematic theologians and social scientists includes Jon Sobrino’s article “La aparición del Dios de Vida en Jesús de Nazareth” (79-122), which was later also published in Sobrino 1982a, 115-152. See also Araya 1983, 149167. 13 See Chapter vii, below. 14 Although one may ask whether “European” as the cultural-geographical designation really is the important point here. 15 Sobrino exemplifies this view with a critical reading of Walter Kasper: Der Gott Jesu Christi (Mainz 1982), Sobrino 1991d, 338f. 16 Sobrino 1994c, 182. / Sobrino 1991d, 339: “[…] se esté haciendo el juego a la opresión […]” 17 “Desenmascarar las idolatrías de nuestra sociedad” in Cardenal, MartínBaró, and Sobrino 1996, 145-149, cf. Sobrino 1991d, 343-346, and Sobrino 1992a.

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the others, is “the economic configuration of society, which is unjust, structural, lasting, with many other organs at its service: military, political, juridical, intellectual and often religious, which partake analogously of the being of the idol.”19 (4) The idols demand a cult as well as orthodoxy, for which they in turn promise salvation to their followers. But instead of receiving salvation, these worshippers of idols are dehumanised, de-Latin-Americanised and de-fraternised. And finally, but decisively, (5) these idols produce millions of innocent victims, who suffer the slow death of hunger or the violent death of repression. The reason why the “real existence” of idols and hence the importance of the perspective of idolatry to a contemporary theology has been recovered in Latin America seems to Sobrino to be threefold. Primarily, the process of secularisation is not (yet?) as advanced as in Europe. The question of God is therefore not posed in terms of existence or not, but in terms of content: Who is God? How is God? Where is God at work today, in this historical moment, during these times of conflicts and crises? This makes a reading from a Latin American context particularly attentive to the biblical texts in these matters, because in these texts the existence of God is also a fundamental presupposition. Again, Sobrino argues on the basis of what Boff called ‘isomorfismo estructural’ between the original biblical context(s) and the context of interpretation today – 18 Sobrino 1994c, 185-186. / Sobrino 1991d, 345: “[…] los ídolos no son cosa del pasado ni de realidades que sólo aparecen en el ámbito religioso, sino que en verdad existen: son realidades históricas que configuran la sociedad y determinan la vida y la muerte de las mayorías populares.” 19 Sobrino 1994c, 186. / Sobrino 1991d, 345: “[…] el ídolo por antonomasia, originante de todos los demás, es la configuración económica de la sociedad, injusta, estructural, duradera, al servicio de la cual están otras muchas realidades: el poder militar, el político, el cultural, el judicial, el intelectual y, también con frecuencia, el religioso, los cuales participan analógamente en la realidad del ídolo.”

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a similarity in situation which gives Latin America a hermeneutical advantage, so to speak, in recapturing fundamental biblical concerns.20 Secondly, this perspective becomes particularly relevant in Latin America because it gives absolute priority to the question of life and death, rather than, e.g., to the question of the meaning of (personal) existence, Sobrino maintains. When God is believed and experienced as the giver of life, then the issue of where so much premature and violent death actually comes from – and why – becomes a fundamental concern. The experience of the struggle of forces of life against forces of death is the historical and phenomenological basis for posing the question of God in terms of faith-idolatry. When idols of death are described as forces that produce victims, require sacrifices, in history, then it should come as no surprise that these idols are more easily discovered from the standpoint of a ‘world of victims’, ‘the world of the poor.’ Thirdly, the concept of idolatry makes the question of praxis crucial. With reference to Segundo, Sobrino reminds us that “idolatry is by its nature a praxic concept”.21 Since its very beginnings, Latin American liberation theology has preferred orthopraxis to orthodoxy. As I have shown in Chapter i, Sobrino shares in this accentuation. And the concepts of “ortho-praxis” and of faith as being “anti-idolatrous” illuminate and strengthen each other mutually. It is necessary to act against idols in order to serve God, and serving God in truth is something that cannot be done through 20 Sobrino 1991d, 336: “A esta forma de plantear la cuestión de Dios (i.e. the question of atheism, my comment SJS), Jesús no ofrece una especial iluminación, pues tanto para él como para su auditorio la existencian de Dios no estaba en cuestión, y, por supuesto, para Jesús es evidente que Dios humaniza al hombre. En general, lo mismo ocurre todavía hoy entre las grandes mayorías de América Latina […] ”. 21 Sobrino 1994c, 181. / Sobrino 1991d, 337.

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words alone, but requires a total life-commitment realised in praxis (Matt 7:21). The relationship between an anti-idolatrous faith and an orthopraxic faith is in Sobrino’s outline intimately bound up with the reality of victims: “What we have to do is exactly the opposite of what idols do; if they beget victims, we must defend these, ‘do justice’ in Jeremiah’s words.” 22 (2) In my opinion, here we approach bedrock, the fundamental concern and nerve-centre in Sobrino’s christology. He frames all his theology in what I propose to call a victimological perspective. As just pointed out, it is from this perspective that the significance of the battle between the God of life and the idols of death emerges. Before continuing my analysis of this ‘crucifying conflict’, I shall therefore draw particular attention to this characterisation. What do I mean by ‘victimological’ in this connection, and why is Sobrino’s theology accurately characterised thus?23 22 Sobrino 1994c, 190. / Sobrino 1991d, 352: “Lo que hay que hacer es estrictamente lo contrario de lo que hacen los ídolos: si éstos generan víctimas, lo que hay que hacer es defenderlas, practicar la justicia en el lenguaje de Jeremías.” 23 This ultimacy for the whole theological enterprise that Sobrino accords to liberating praxis with and for the victims of this world, can be seen clearly in the following key statement: “Ortopraxis es, pues, responder a Dios, correspondiendo a su realidad. Y eso es, en definitiva, lo que Dios quiere. La última fundamentación de la ortopraxis es sumamente sencilla: es bueno que Dios sea un Dios para las víctimas, y es bueno que así sean los hombres (sic). Y parece que no se puede ir más allá de esta argumentación”. Sobrino 1991d, 352 (The English translation of this paragraph in Sobrino 1994c, 190 is not satisfactory, in my judgement. I would propose the following translation: “Orthopraxis is, then, response to God, corresponding to God’s reality. The basic foundation of orthopraxis is extremely simple: it is good that God should be a God for the victims of this world, as it is good that we too should be serving them. There seems to be no way of going beyond this reasoning.”)

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The word ‘victim’ has gained an increasing importance in Sobrino’s writings.24 To some extent, it seems to be replacing the term ‘poor’. This may be a result of the heightened awareness of the variety of oppressive relations and situations, which would render the term ‘poor’ – at least the way it is commonly understood – too one-dimensional. Or this replacement may simply be seen as a result of a certain exhaustion of the term ‘poor’ and its potential in liberation theology. Whatever the reason, this shift in terminology is noteworthy.25 Yet, in spite of its centrality, Sobrino has not given any clear definition of ‘victim’, nor has he discussed its implications. Since it is a word originating in the institution of sacrifice – the Latin victima means ‘offering’, ‘sacrifice’, ‘sacrificial animal’ – which in our time has taken on an entirely secular meaning – referring to a person struck by a tragedy or catastrophe, or offended by an act of crime – the possible connotations and interpretations of this term within the framework of christology and soteriology are diverse and even conflicting. A thorough analysis of it would therefore certainly be needed in Sobrino’s theology. 24 See e.g., Sobrino 1991d, 440ff (compare pp. 64ff.); Sobrino 1992b, 254-256; Sobrino 1994d, 53-57; Sobrino 1995a. 25 In an article on the status and future of liberation theology, Hugo Assmann interrelates “opción preferencial por los pobres”, the Victim Jesus and oppressed victims: “Tenemos que reaprender, a cada paso, a convivir con las implicaciones de la contigencia humana en el plano socio histórico. Rechazar los ídolos que exigen víctimas y renunciar los sacrificialismos, y, al mismo tiempo, discernir los dioses mezclados, soportar la durísima realidad de no poder eliminar, de una vez, las sacrificialidades idolátricas que crucifican el don de sí – cómo vivir y operativizar todo eso en la práctica? Pienso que es precisamente por eso que la opción preferencial por los pobres se impone como la referencia iluminadora, sin la cual no hay fidelidad serena posible. Es el humilde aprendizaje de la escucha del clamor de la Víctima-Jesús, y de las víctimas oprimidas, el que puede mantenernos en un esperanzado estado de metánoia.” Assmann 1995, 110.

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The term ‘victimology’ was coined in 1949 by an American psychiatrist, Frederick Wertham26. It gradually became a common designation for a specific area of study within criminology, namely “the study of criminal-victim relationships.”27 When I submit that Sobrino’s theology – as liberation theology in general – opts for a “victimological perspective” or has a “victimological orientation”, I refer to his claim that the fundamental theological questions – questions of God, of Jesus, of salvation and liberation – can existentially best and most appropriately be posed from the perspective of the victims. Furthermore, as should be clear by now, their posture is not just one of perspective, but also one of commitment: they hold that these questions therefore must be posed here; face to face with victims, sharing in their sufferings and hopes, already in active service for them and together with them in order to remove the causes of suffering and bondage, or in the words of liberation theologians: in the struggle for historical liberation. This praxis-orientation, which rather than a merely detached study of victims presupposes and fosters commitment and active intervention, seems to concur with the understanding of victimology which i.a. Emilio C. Viano advocates: “[…] the common denominator of victimological work is crisis intervention and the short- and long-term remedies that should be made available to victims.”28

26 Wertham used it for the first time in his book The Show of Violence : “The murder victim is the forgotten man (sic). With sensational discussions on the abnormal psychology of the murderer, we have failed to emphasize the unprotectedness of the victim and the complaceny (sic) of the authorities. One cannot understand the psychology of the murderer if one does not understand the sociology of the victim. What we need is the science of victimology.” Quoted from Fattah, Ezzat A.: “Victims and Victimology. The Facts and the Rhetoric” in Fattah 1992, 31. 27 See Schafer 1977, 1.

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Such a practical and committed understanding of victimology is not uncontroversial among victimologists, though. Ezzat A. Fattah, professor of criminology at the Simon Fraser University in British Columbia, Burnaby, opposes firmly what he sees as […] (t)he ideological transformation of victimology from the study of the victim into the art of helping victims, the over-identification with crime victims, and the missionary zeal with which the ‘interests’ of those victims are defended and pursued […]29

Besides a rather conventional and highly disputable claim that such transformation necessarily is “jeopardizing the quality of scholarship” 30, Fattah gives three arguments for his opposition to this development and his call for a critical victimology, which are noteworthy also in connection with my proposal to apply the term “victimological” to liberation theology. Firstly, Fattah sees in the diligent quest for victims’ rights a manifest or latent willingness to sacrifice the rights of offenders. “A false contest is created between the rights of both groups.”31 Secondly, he points to how easily the sympathy for crime victims is turned into a cry for vengeance, thus leading to a more punitive criminal justice policy, for instance. The strong right-wing bend of much of the rhetoric and politics of victim’s rights in the United States during the last decade proves this point, in Fattah’s view. This also shows the potential danger of manipulation related to any rhetorical claim of being on the side of the victims: who could be antivictim?32 Such manipulative rhetoric often exploits and consoli28 “Introduction – Victimology: A New Focus of Research and Practice” in Viano 1990, xiii. 29 Fattah, Ezzat A.: “The Need for a Critical Victimology.” in Fattah 1992, 12. 30 Ibid. 31 Fattah 1992, 13. 32 Op. cit., 5

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dates general stereotypes of sympathetic, blameless victims vs. monstrous, evil offenders that are both untrue and damaging, to both groups. Media portrayals, “turning victims into saints”33, contribute strongly to the maintenance of these stereotypes, while as a matter of fact, research shows that these groups tend to have a lot in common. 34 This is not the place to discuss whether a committed, praxisoriented victimology really is incompatible with a truly critical victimology. But Fattah’s arguments are important reminders also for a theology which seeks to adopt the perspective of victims and promote their cause. Might a “theology of the crucified people” become negligent of or even antagonistic towards the reality and – after all – humanity of crucifiers, and thus miss what many hold to be one of the major treasures of the gospel – the forgiveness of sins? Does such a theology portray the victims as saints and the offenders as demons, and thus contribute to false stereotypes? Does it make use of a manipulative rhetoric? Any theology with a victimological orientation should be critically aware of these dangers. Even theology may end up “re-victimising” the victim.35 “Victim” and “victimological” are not unproblematic terms then. Some of those who earlier defined themselves as victims prefer now to present themselves as “survivors”, also in the Central American context.36 In Chapter iv, we were also reminded of a certain uneasiness with this terminology among feminist theologians.37 Yet, it would be an even greater problem if the ambiguities of the terminology “victim” and its possible manipulation were to allow covering up the reality to which it refers. There is reason to be 33 Fattah refers to Ellis Cose’s article “Turning Victims into Saints” in Time Magazine, Jan. 22, 1990. 34 Fattah speaks of “striking similarities between the victim and offender populations”. See “Victims and Victimology: Facts and Rhetoric” in op. cit., 33-41. 35 See: Viano 1990, xiii.

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concerned that a fear of applying such language could lead to the convenient and complacent silencing of the reality of so many victims, and their just demands. When I am applying the term “victimological” here, then, it is with a clear awareness of these ambiguities and critical perspectives. In fact, through this characterisation, I have been able to bring out weighty critical questions for my further analysis of Sobrino.

[3] A Theologal-Idolatrous Structure of Reality The ultimate “reason” or explanation of the soteriological problem seems, to Sobrino, to depend upon a ‘duellic’ (combative) vision of reality, which he defines as “the theologal-idolatrous structure of reality” – la estructura teologal-idolátrica de la realidad.38 Basically, this is a view of reality which claims that at the fundamental level, reality is subject to an ongoing struggle of antagonistic forces.

36 The well-known leader of the Guatemalan Human Rights organisation GAM Nineth Montenegro, later a Member of Parliament, underlined this in a meeting in Oslo, fourth of December 1996: “We don’t speak of ourselves as victims anymore. We are the survivors of this war.” The point in this shift in terminology, as far as I can understand, is to emphasise the active role of these persons themselves; that they are ‘in charge’ in spite of what has been done against them. It is thus a way of escaping the objectifying and passive overtones of ‘victim’. While maintaining the term ‘victim’ I shall take this crucial point into account, both when speaking of the Crucified One and the crucified ones. I shall speak of Jesus as victorious victim. I shall also draw attention to the question about the crucifiers. See below, Chapters VI [7], and VIII [4] thesis 9. 37 See Chapter iv [7]. 38 Sobrino 1991d, 277-278. Sobrino 1994c, 161-162.

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Here, however, I want to concentrate on examining the theologal-idolatrous structure of reality, an aspect that is no less historical and effective. History contains the true God (of life), God’s mediation (the Kingdom) and its mediator (Jesus) as well as the idols (of death), their mediation (the antiKingdom) and mediators (oppressors). The two types of reality are not only distinct, but present themselves to our eyes in an agonic disjunction. Thus they are mutually exclusive, not complementary, and work against each other.”39

The struggle which goes on at the most profound level of reality, then, is a struggle between the God of life and the idols of death, according to Sobrino. This must be taken to mean that this struggle structures all reality and all human history, and that the present state of affairs derives from this structure of reality. It provides, then, the framework for answering the basic soteriological problem. It may be called the root of the soteriological problem in Sobrino’s christology. – But is it also the root of the problem of Sobrino’s christology? At least, there are some basic difficulties here. (1) Faced with the reality of unjust suffering in Latin America, it is easy to see why some sort of dis-harmonious, conflictual view of reality is favoured. This reality, experienced from the viewpoint of a living and resisting faith, is the reason why Sobrino, together with many of his Latin American colleagues, chooses to frame the question of God in terms of faith-idolatry rather than faith-atheism. But where does this idea of a theologal-idolatrous structure of reality 39 My translation, SJS. Cf. Sobrino 1994c, 162. Spanish wording: “Aquí, sin embargo, nos concentramos en al análisis de la estructura teologal-idolátrica de la realidad, no por ello menos histórica y efectiva. En la historia existe el verdadero Dios (de vida), su mediación (el reino) y su mediador (Jesús), y existen los ídolos (de muerte), su mediación (el antirreino) y sus mediadores (los opresores). Las realidades de ambos tipos no son sólo distintas, sino que aparecen formalmente en disyuntiva duélica. Son, por lo tanto, excluyentes, no complementarias, y una hace contra la otra.” Sobrino 1991d, 278.

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come from? It is certainly a wide-ranging contention. Saying that reality is thus structured, and not otherwise, is surely something which should require a thorough argument. Naturally, Sobrino does rely on a basic biblical – fundamentally apocalyptic – imagery. This is also the primary context of his argument here, namely an interpretation of the conflictual character of the ministry and destiny of Jesus, as reflected in the biblical narratives and proclamations. Furthermore, such a world view, especially focusing on the disjunctive alternative, has profound Jesuit roots40. An Hegelian-Marxist dialectic view of the progress of history would in many ways accord with this description of ‘the structure of reality’.41 The idea of a Kampf der Götter also plays a significant role in Max Weber’s sociology.42 Most of all, however, the concrete reality of deadly oppression and open warfare – even in the name of God – in Central America in the last decades would make such a conflictual approach understandable. After all, Sobrino’s theology claims to begin with ‘historical reality’ – ‘from Latin America.’ Nevertheless, there seems in the passage just quoted to be an unwarranted fusion of the biblical, apocalyptical world view or view of history, and a claim about the actual structure of reality in general. Again, we note in Sobrino’s writing a rather general and undefined use of the terms ‘history’ and ‘reality’, which creates 40 See Chapter i [3] above. 41 See Dussel 1993, 170-173, and 235-255. On Sobrino and Marxism, see Ratzinger 1990, 373f, responded by Ellacuría in Ellacuría 1984b, 168, 170. 42 Michael Löwy has recently made this a point of departure for an analysis of the intimate relationship between religion, politics and social issues in Latin America over the past thirty years; Löwy 1996, 2: “The expression ‘war of gods’ is a reference to Weber’s well-known argument about the polytheism of values and the unbridgeable conflict of ultimate beliefs (‘gods’) in modern society. For instance, in Science as Vocation (1919) Weber wrote: ‘So long as life remains immanent and is interpreted in its own terms, it knows only of an unceasing struggle of these gods with one another […]’.”

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difficulties in trying to reach clarity. What does it actually mean when he states that the true God and the idols “exist in history”?43 In spite of the above-mentioned definitions or characteristics of “idol”, Sobrino does not really explain. Rather, he presents this view of reality as a given “overall framework for interpreting reality.”44 It is in other words assigned an explanatory function, without itself having been explained – or at least carefully argued for. “This structure of reality is what explains Jesus’ prophetic praxis […]”45 (2) This fundamental problem – that it is given an explanatory function without being explained itself – is closely related to the hermeneutical problem here. Observing that the terms used to describe this theologal-idolatrous structure of reality are derived from the biblical language – “God” against “idol”, “Kingdom” against “anti-Kingdom”, etc. – one must ask what this language may in fact mean today. Sobrino is of course aware of this problem, mentioning as he does the issue of de-mythification.46 But he bypasses it too quickly, arguing that “[…] the primary task of enlightenment will therefore be, not to de-mythify, but to de-idolize God.”47 Sobrino and other liberation theologians have made a strong case that the de-idolatrization of God is an urgent theological task. But when one chooses to describe the “structure of reality” in lan43 This is a more direct translation of the Spanish: “En la historia existe el verdadero Dios (de vida) […]” Sobrino 1994c renders, as we have seen, “History contains […]” 44 Sobrino 1994c, 161 45 Sobrino 1994c, 162. My italics, SJS. “Esta estructura es lo que explica la práxis profética de Jesús […]” Sobrino 1991d, 278 46 For an early treatment of this issue by Sobrino, see Sobrino 1974, cf. Sobrino 1976, 207, n. 5. 47 “[…] la tarea primaria de la ilustración no será, por lo tanto desmitificación, sino la desidolatrización de Dios.” Sobrino 1991d, 346ff.

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guage which is close to or outright myth[olog]ical, it is not sufficient in my view to justify this by a reference to the similarity of historical circumstances, nor to the common use of biblical language in Latin-America today. A thorough hermeneutical method is also needed.48 The problem can be illustrated by the term “anti-Kingdom”. What does it in fact refer to in historical terms? Avoiding the direct expression “Satan’s Kingdom” does not in fact take away the difficult task of historicising the concept, giving it concrete meaning in contemporary terms, without falling into the pitfall of a direct, quasi-referential understanding of myth[olog]ical language. There is here the risk of a dangerous shortcut, which may lead to a direct demonizing of concrete, historical, political, or theological opponents.49 A famous example of such manipulative use of mythological language for political purposes is President Reagan’s labelling of the Soviet Union as the “evil Empire”. It would be exaggerated to claim that Sobrino commits this error. There is a great distance between his careful theological analysis and Reagan’s rhetoric (in the pejorative sense). I do, however, question whether Sobrino secures his approach sufficiently against such unintended negative implications, or whether, in fact, he remains rather vulnerable at this point. (3) That these questions are not just speculative exercises growing out of a secularized European context, can be demonstrated by making reference to one of the most urgent Latin American challenges to liberation theology today, viz. the rapid growth of popular 48 The translator makes a mistake when he translates Sobrino’s title “Jesús y la cuestión de Dios: desidolatrización de la divinidad” (Sobrino 1991d, 346) with “Jesus and the Question of God: Demythifying Divinity” (Sobrino 1994c, 186). It is tempting to interpret this error as an unconscious indication of this lack of reflection on the mythological language in Sobrino.

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Protestantism. This phenomenon is complex, and often too superficially and stereotypically analysed by liberation theologians. It would therefore merit closer consideration.50 The point which I 49 Raymund Schwager, in an interesting commentary on this aspect in Sobrino’s theology delivered as a response in the disputation in Graz referred to above, recalls the inherent dangers in seeing the devil at work in one’s enemies and opponents: “Mindestens der Teufelsglaube war in der Geschichte des Abendlandes eine sehr reale historische Macht, denn in seinem Namen wurden Hunderttausende, ja vielleicht sogar Millionen von Menschen schuldlos hingerichtet. Der Teufel war allerdings in erster Linie nicht dort wirksam, wo man ihn glaubte zu erkennen, nämlich in den Hexen, sondern im System, das ihn bekämpfte und das mittels der Folter selber jene Beweise schuf, auf die sich die Verurteilungen stützen.” Schwager 1992, 45. He also finds the above-mentioned relationship between the historical powers of oppression and the biblical statements about the devil, Satan, etc. unclear in Sobrino. This unclarity may be overcome however, Schwager is convinced, and he presents his own proposal of how this may be done (51, n.7). In brief, Schwager’s proposal sees “[…] das Satanische als die letze Eigengesetzlichkeit einer Öffentlichkeit […], die sich selber verschliesst, das Böse in ihr auf andere projiziert und diese zu Opfern macht […]” (52). By way of this definition, emerging from an analysis of the biblical material which Schwager has presented in various writings, it is possible to give an answer to what the biblical statements may mean in today’s context: “Dazu muss die Eigengesetzlichkeit jenes Systems näher betrachtet werden, das unsere Welt vorherrschend bestimmt.” Sobrino’s prime criterion for recognising the presence of idols, is that they produce many victims. While deeming this an important criterion, Schwager thinks it should be strengthened by two other criteria: 1) “Eine Eigengesetzlichkeit ist dann satanisch, wenn sie sich in sich selber einschliesst, dies heisst, wenn sie keine Zukunft eröffnet.” 2) “[…] ein System [kann] erst dann im eigentlichen Sinn als teuflisch bezeichnet werden, wenn es nicht bloss physische Opfer zur Folge hat, sondern auch die Würde und die Seelen der Menschen angreift” (53). Finally, Schwager thinks that such an understanding of the demonic also gives important clues to how “Satan” must be fought: “[…] kollektive Projektionen werden nicht durch Gegenprojektionen, sondern nur durch das langsame Erarbeiten einer wahreren Sicht der Wirklichkeit überwunden” (54).

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wish to make here is related to the often fundamentalistic and apocalyptic character of these movements. Their preaching is frequently highly speculative, using a mythological language that is not “translated”, i.e. without hermeneutical awareness. While Church Base Communities combat social problems with the help of biblical concepts through ‘secularising’ these concepts, many Pentecostal movements do the opposite; they sacralise social problems.51 It therefore becomes crucial to pay particular attention to the hermeneutical problems related to the use of an apocalyptic/mythological language, especially when addressing a situation in which this language may not cause estrangement in the first place, but rather feel “familiar.” Under such circumstances, it may become an even more dangerous instrument for manipulation. Jon Sobrino’s hermeneutical method is a hermeneutics of praxis. This method has many advantages and is an important corrective to the often theoretical-abstract – explicative rather than transformative – hermeneutical methods that have been favoured in mainstream Western theology since the Enlightenment. Nevertheless, as I have pointed out at several stages now, there still seems to be a shortcoming in Sobrino’s hermeneutics, which relates to an insufficient account of the interpretative steps taken in any theological enterprise, however rooted in praxis it may be. In a short comment, Sobrino says at one point that we should not “look to Jesus for an answer to our modern systematic questions.”52 I take this to mean that we should not approach the figure of Jesus as norm and foundation for Christian theology without a careful hermeneutical awareness. The question arises, however, if it is not so that Sobrino at times comes close to doing exactly that. 50 Cf. my article: Stålsett 1995d. 51 See Cecilia Mariz’ interesting comparison: Mariz 1994, 78. 52 Sobrino 1994c, 177. / Sobrino 1991d,302: “[…] ni hay que esperar de Jesús una respuesta a nuestras preguntas sistemáticas de hoy.”

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[4] Crucial Questions: Reality, History, Language I am now mid-way in this study. Although I shall continue along the course set out in the beginning since important pieces of the total picture are still lacking, I am nevertheless at a turning point in my analysis. I have encountered some difficulties along the way. Let me briefly review some of the principal ones. In Chapter i, I considered the foundations on which Sobrino relies when he attempts to do theology in “a crucified reality.” I found that although it plays a central role, he does not dedicate any thorough discussion to the meaning of the term “reality” in his work. He uses the word frequently, often with almost pleonastic determinations “true reality”, “real reality”, etc. which give it a strong polemical edge. The centrality of the term makes the absence of a clear definition, or at least of a discussion, all the more deeply felt. However, we saw that (1) his concept of reality seems to be influenced by the “open realism” of Zubiri and Ellacuría, also including primary concerns from Marxist philosophy, (2) he describes the structure of reality in theological terms, recognisably influenced by Rahner’s transcendental method and (3) he thinks that there are privileged accesses to reality, which are primarily (a) the experience of the negativity of reality (it is “crucified”), which leads to the epistemological prerogative of the suffering, the poor and oppressed, and (b) working on reality in order to transform it, i.e., the epistemological priority of praxis. My primary difficulty with this regards the possibility of adopting a critical distance, which would take due account of our conditioned and often distorted access to reality. Sobrino is correct to insist that a careful attention to and committed attitude towards the negative aspect of reality is necessary in order to reach an adequate interpretation of it. The strong emphasis on the epistemological character of practice, and the practical character of cognition, is

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fully legitimate, and liberation theologies in this aspect represent an advance in theological method. However, this must not preclude the possibility of an open and critical conversation among all interpreters regarding the adequacy of our proposed new descriptions of reality. And it must not lead to a praxis-determinism, in which the arduous task of interpretation is reduced to something which occurs almost automatically, once one engages in a ‘correct’ practice (whereby the question for the room for critical evaluation reemerges, as we have seen!) I emphasise that I have not yet said that this is the case with Sobrino; I have only pointed to tendencies which expose themselves to a critique along these lines. In Chapter ii, I followed the term “the crucified people” from “historical reality” to “theological concept”, taking this procedure to be in accordance with Sobrino’s own recommendations about what the primary task of the theological endeavour should be. Tracing its development and possible meaning from Ellacuría’s historical soteriology to Sobrino’s christology, I ended up with questions regarding the status of a “theological concept” in Sobrino’s work, which subsequently revealed a lack of an explicit reflection on the status of religious and theological language. How can reality be ‘elevated to theological concept’? The burning issues of reality, reference and rhetorics are vital to any theology, and not least to a theology of ‘martyrdom and liberation’, a theology of the crucified people. Here I noted that there is a need for further elaboration in Sobrino’s work. In Chapter iii, I showed that Sobrino, in order to safeguard christology from its possible manipulations and abuses – which have been so frequent during and in the aftermath of the conquest of Latin America – seeks to root his own attempt in history. “The historical Jesus” becomes the key to a liberating Christology. He is seen as the norma normans both for the formulation of a relevant christology, and for the search for effective liberations from the

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oppressive structures and realities of contemporary society. However, scrutinising Sobrino’s further argument regarding the historical Jesus, and the de facto use he makes of this term in his own writings, I found that it has a distinct meaning in his work. Both poles of the historical existence are taken into consideration from the very beginning. What Sobrino looks for is not the Jesus of Nazareth ‘in himself ’ (who of course, is out of reach) nor primarily as he is seen by ‘scientific’ historians, but rather the Jesus of Nazareth as seen from the vantage-point of believing and struggling Christian communities in Latin America. The connection between these two poles is seen primarily as a chain of remembrance realised in practice – ‘following’. Although recognising this distinctness of the ‘Latin American historical Jesus’ and its comparative advantages to (although at the same time dependence on) the so-called ‘three quests’ for the historical Jesus, I joined other critics bound in asking whether (1) it really is helpful to make use of the term ‘the historical Jesus’ while acknowledging important differences from what has commonly been understood by it, and whether (2) this term really is consistently applied in Sobrino. It seemed that he tends to slide between this openly contextualised and interested quest for the Jesus of history – or history of Jesus -, and a more traditional historistic argument where “historical” is used to lend scientific legitimacy and “objectivity” to the results obtained – or rather, the interpretation presented. Now, in this chapter, midway in my analysis of Sobrino’s rereading of the life and death of Jesus, I have come to a point where all of these hitherto unanswered crucial questions return, with renewed strength. I have found that the ultimate explanation in Sobrino’s christology, the root cause of the experience of suffering and main motivation for a praxis of theological cognition and liberating practice, is that reality has a theologal-idolatrous structure.

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The ‘gods’ are at war with God. This is why there is a yearning for and an objective need for salvation in and through history. This is why the Son of God meets resistance and rejection, and finally execution. This is why sons and daughters of God in the world today become victims of oppression, injustice and seemingly endless suffering. Thus, at the very foundations of Sobrino’s christology and soteriology, and subsequently, his whole theological project, lies an explanation of the structure of reality which is expressed in theological-myth[olog]ical language, but which at the same time Sobrino claims to be historical. How can it be? Should this be seen as an inconsistency? Or should it rather be considered a necessity, because what we deal with are attempts at putting the unspeakable into words, the inexpressible into logical reasoning? These basic questions still need further elaboration in Sobrino’s works. In a sum, there seems to be something of a short-cut in Sobrino’s general outline; a short-cut from reality to theology, from history to theology, and from praxis to theory, which may in the end result in a too tight interconnection of the crucified and the Crucified. While appreciating the need for and attempt at a unified perspective, I hold that this must not and need not be achieved at the expense of a conscious and critical awareness of the distinction between and relative independence of each pole. Therefore I shall now draw on some perspectives and contributions that throw fresh light on these issues, and which in my opinon could serve to complement and advance Sobrino’s outline. I shall turn to the hermeneutical methodology prepared by the philosophical contributions of Paul Ricoeur, and then applied in theology with a particular regard to the Latin American situation by José Severino Croatto.

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[5] From the Problem of Evil to Hermeneutics: P. Ricoeur We need some tools or alternative frameworks in order get a better understanding of these tight interconnections of reality, (religious) language, history and praxis that I have found in Sobrino’s texts, so far, and if need be, to loosen these. Where should we look? There are certainly good reasons to turn to the French philosopher Paul Ricoeur (b. 1913). His work presents a wide-ranging and multidisciplinary attempt to come to terms with problems parallel to those we have detected in Sobrino’s thinking. It has won a worldwide hearing, not least among theologians. A comprehensive analysis and assessment of Ricoeur’s work on these themes would of course be far beyond the scope of my present study.53 I shall limit myself to a heuristic search for elements that will advance my critical analysis of Sobrino’s liberation christology. The appropriateness of my recourse to Ricoeur will be demonstrated primarily by the extent to which it provides me with relevant tools for my further inquiry.54 More concretely, I will search for alternative ways of describing the interpretative moves from ‘reality’ to ‘language’, from ‘language’ to ‘understanding’, and from ‘understanding’ back to human interaction with reality.

53 See e.g. Uggla 1994, and Kemp 1996. 54 The objection might be raised that Sobrino himself shows little dependence on Ricoeur. Though this is correct at least on an explicit level (although Sobrino refers to Ricoeur’s definition of symbol, Sobrino 1976, 175), it does not at all invalidate Ricoeur as a source for further investigation into Sobrino. I see a main common denominator between the two in a basic theme to both: the problems of interrelating reality, reflection and human action. Furthermore, they do also have some common influences, e.g. another French Catholic philosopher, Gabriel Marcel, cf. Sobrino 1965a and Sobrino 1965b.

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The philosophical project of Paul Ricoeur has been described as a journey from action to text and then back to action again.55 He started out with ‘action’ in the sense that, during the 1950’s, he worked on developing a philosophy of the will in dialogue with the dominant phenomenological and existentialist philosophical trends of the time. Identifying as one of the weak spots of existentialism its failure to distinguish between the phenomena of finitude and guilt, Ricoeur made a thorough analysis of their difference and their connection. During this work, however, Ricoeur discovered that in introducing “the dimension of evil into the structure of the will, a fundamental change in the method of description itself was required.”56 The problem of evil led to a focus on the problem of language, because it seemed that when dealing with evil, human beings turn to a metaphorical and symbolic language. (W)e speak of evil by means of metaphors such as estrangement, errance, burden and bondage. Moreover, these primary symbols do not occur unless they are embedded within intricate narratives of myth which tell the story of how evil began: how at the beginning of time the gods quarrelled; how the soul fell into an ugly body; or how primitive man was tempted, trespassed a prohibition, and became an exiled rebel.57

These myths, expressed in a metaphorical and symbolic language, need interpretation. This puts Ricoeur on the track towards his theory of interpretation and other contributions to philosophical hermeneutics, which have come to be the most noted and appraised parts of his work. “I had to introduce a hermeneutical dimension within the structure of reflective thought itself,” Ricoeur comments.58 55 “Från hermeneutik till etik” Introduction by Peter Kemp and Bengt Kristensson Uggla in Ricoeur 1993, 25. Cf. Ricoeur 1991. 56 Ricoeur 1978, 315. 57 Ricoeur 1978, 316.

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This turning point is somehow parallel to the development I have described so far in my analysis of Sobrino’s writings. An honest encounter with the negativity of human existence – although seemingly on a more individual and existential level in Ricoeur than in Sobrino, whose point of departure is more social and historical – leads to a consideration of the ultimate causes for this negativity, expressed in terms of myth. Noting that “an understanding of human reality as a whole operates through the myth,”59 Ricoeur undertakes a particular analysis of “the myths that speak of the beginning and the end of evil.”60 For Ricoeur, a myth is not a false explanation by means of images and fables, but is rather a traditional narration which relates to events that happened at the beginning of time and which has the purpose of providing grounds for the ritual actions of men of today and, in a general manner, establishing all the forms of action and thought by which man understands himself in the world.61

The problem with myths for ‘modern man’ is however that they cannot be connected with the time of history as this is understood when applying a critical method, and likewise, that they cannot be connected with geographical space. That is why myths cannot any longer function directly as an explanation. Therefore, the call for demythologisation is legitimate and necessary, according to Ricoeur. Does not this expel myths from the domain of modern thought? No, because in losing its explanatory pretention, the myth reveals another important function in the process of understanding, namely its “exploratory significance”, which Ricoeur calls its “sym58 59 60 61

Ibid. Ricoeur 1969b, 6. Ricoeur 1969b, 5. Ricoeur 1969b, 5.

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bolic function – that is to say, its power of discovering and revealing the bond between man and what he considers sacred.” The value and validity of myths in modern thought is thus discovered when they are “demythologised through contact with scientific history and elevated to the dignity of a symbol […]”62 This means that myth “can no longer be defined in opposition to science. Myth consists in giving worldly form to what is beyond known and tangible reality.”63 The primary function of the symbol is that it “gives rise to thought”, Ricoeur concludes.64 Myths can reveal and explore reality through its symbolic expressions. But there must be an element of explanation, in other words, a demythologisation. This process does not invalidate the function of the myth, however, but enables us to exploit its revelatory and exploratory qualities. By way of symbolic language we reach a better understanding of our world. Already at this stage in Ricoeur’s work, one can see the major gain of what he later develops into a more comprehensive theory of interpretation: he manages to unify, by bringing into a dialectical relation, two basic moments of any interpretative process, namely, the moments of “understanding” and “explanation”. But before dealing with the overcoming of this dualism, which is a fundamental concern in almost all of Ricoeur’s work, I shall follow his inquiries into the ambiguities of language a little further. He began with the function of myths in religious language in particular, and this led to a reassessment of the function of symbol in the interpretation of the totality of reality, of the world of human beings. But this in turn led him to consider the more general problem of the creation of meaning in all language. Choosing metaphor 62 Ricoeur 1969b, 5. 63 Ricoeur, 60-61. The citation is actually Ricoeur’s rendering of Bultmann’s defintion of myth, but it seems to be in accordance with his own view. 64 Ricoeur 1969b, 347-357.

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as his next focus of study, Ricoeur takes a definite stand against what he sees as a fatal error in the understanding of language until our own days, namely “the reduction of metaphor to a mere ornament.”65 Instead he proposes to see metaphorical statements in a similar way as symbolic discourse, namely as having a capacity of giving a creative and suggestive redescription of reality. “(M)etaphor bears information because it redescribes reality.”66 Metaphorical discourse represents an imitation of reality, a mimesis in Aristotle’s sense, which opens up the world to us in a new way, pointing to new possibilities.67 This novel understanding of the function of metaphors is extremely important, since it implies that the commonly held distinction between literal and figurative speech – the former of which is deemed capable of describing reality truthfully, while the latter is seen as illusory and deceptive – must be given up, or altered. The idea that words possess a proper or original meaning in themselves is an illusion. The only difference between the literal and the metaphorical lies in their use in discourse.68 There is even a “metaphoric” at work at the very origin of logical thought, Ricoeur claims, at the root of all classification.69 Colin Gunton, drawing on Ricoeur, takes this to mean that : the truth of a claim about the world does not depend upon whether it is expressed in literal or metaphorical terms, but upon whether language of whatever kind expresses human interaction with reality successfully (truthfully) or not.70

65 66 67 68 69 70

Ricoeur 1978, 45. Ricoeur 1978, 22. Ricoeur 1993, 23. Ricoeur 1978, 290-291. Ricoeur 1978, 22-23. Gunton 1988, 35.

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It is of course not possible here to deal exhaustively with Ricoeur’s extremely thorough and careful analyses in this field. Nevertheless, I hope to show that this and other central aspects of his theory of metaphor will prove helpful when I later make a final evaluation of Sobrino’s concept – which I will suggest should be defined more precisely as a symbol in the Ricoeurian sense71 – of “the crucified people”. Returning now to the two moments of “understanding” (verstehen) and “explanation” (erklären), these have been set in dichotomical opposition since the birth of modern hermeneutics. They concern epistemology as well as ontology.72 Ever since the rise of the modern sciences there has been a split and even a competition between the sciences that explain the world, such as the natural sciences, and sciences that seek to understand the world of human beings, i.e. the human sciences. One of the major impulses behind the renewal of hermeneutical reflection, beginning with Schleiermacher and continued by Dilthey, was the desire to justify the scientific status of the human sciences. But the solution was often sought by seeing the two as alternative, albeit equally legitimate ways of interpretation. Ricoeur traces this dispute between “explanation” and “understanding” all the way up to the hermeneutical debates of our own time, particularly as it is expressed in the disagreement between Gadamer and Habermas on the role of the tradition. Where Gadamer advocates something which critics see as close to submission to the authority of tradition in order to obtain the 71 “I define ‘symbol’ as any structure of signification in which a direct, primary and literal meaning designates, in addition, another meaning which is indirect, secondary and figurative and which can be apprehended only through the first.” Ricoeur, Paul: Le Conflit des Interprétations: Essais d’Hermenéutique Seuil, Paris 1969, 12 (his italics), quoted from Jeanrond 1988, 41. 72 Ricoeur 1993, 67.

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goal of understanding, which he calls a Horizontverschmelzung, a “fusion of horizons”, Habermas struggles to maintain a critical position vis-à-vis the tradition, by opting for a hermeneutics of suspicion. Gadamer is reluctant to admit that the element of explanation through the use of critical tools is legitimate in order to reach a true understanding. This is why it has been suggested that his magnum opus Wahrheit und Methode should rather be called Wahrheit oder Methode.73 Habermas, on the other hand, is reluctant to see in tradition anything other than a possible distortion of meaning; he has difficulties in seeing tradition as a constructive element in the hermeneutical process. What is at stake here is really the place and role of criticism in the hermeneutical process. As pointed out, this has been one major concern in my reading of Sobrino. Ricoeur’s great achievement is to overcome this opposition. He does so by interconnecting understanding and explanation: a hermeneutics of suspicion and a hermeneutics of retrieval. Just as the myth cannot any longer be accepted as an immediate explanation of the world, so we cannot yield ourselves totally to the tradition in order to reach understanding. The element of critical assessment, of suspicion, of explanation through using all available and fruitful methods, is totally legitimate and necessary. But this can only take place after having listened to the myth and its symbolic expressions. First, we must receive what the symbol “gives”, just as much as we must accept that the meaning of a text from the past is not simply transmitted by the tradition, but also shaped by it. This is the first moment of understanding, according to Ricoeur. It is a kind of “first naïveté”, as he terms it. Then there is a “second 73 See Jeanrond 1992, 69: “The title of Gadamer’s magnum opus should really be ‘Truth or Method’ for he sees a radical conflict between his phenomenological approach to hermeneutics on the one hand and the host of modern methodological proposals for an adequate text-understanding in the other.”

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naïveté”, a second moment of understanding, after the intermediary step of explanation through the use of critical methods.74 In Ricoeur’s remarkable expression: “Beyond the desert of criticism, we wish to be called again”.75 This second understanding, to which we are “called again”, is also called comprehension. For Ricoeur then, ‘interpretation’ embraces the whole dialectic process, encompassing explanation and understanding. I propose to describe this dialectic first as a move from understanding to explaining and then as a move from explanation to comprehension. The first time, understanding will be a naive grasping of the meaning of the text as a whole. The second time, comprehension will be a sophisticated mode of understanding, supported by explanatory procedures. 76

This dialectic unification of the two formerly competing interpretative moves in a hermeneutical method of “understanding – explanation – understanding (comprehending)” turns out to have vast potential.77 Ricoeur demonstrates its usefulness not only in the interpretation of texts, but also in the fields of a theory of action and a theory of history. This is where we can follow the thrust of Ricoeur’s philosophy from the interpretation of texts and back again to action, i.e. into the field of anthropological philosophy.

74 75 76 77

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Ricoeur 1978, 318. Ricoeur 1969b, 349. Ricoeur 1976, 74. I do, however, agree with Werner Jeanrond’s critique of Ricoeur’s model regarding its “steps” of interpretation. Jeanrond prefers to speak of “dimensions”: “Ricoeur’s clear differentiation of ‘understanding-explanation-comprehension’ appears to me to be too idealistic and for this reason I find it more appropriate to speak of dimensions of interpretation. It would be truer, it seems to me, to speak of these dimensions as simultaneously coming to pass on different levels of reflection and as being related to each other in a state of mutual tension.” Jeanrond 1988, 68.

The main goal in interpreting a text is not to understand the world “behind” the text. Ricoeur clearly disagrees with the romanticist hermeneutics of e.g. Schleiermacher, to whom the ideal interpretation should result in the reader’s understanding the mind or spirit of the author – even better than the author himself. Other ways of searching for what is behind the text belong to the other pole (explanation), such as for instance different historical-critical methods. Nor is it according to Ricoeur sufficient to understand the world “in” the text, in the way that different structuralist and literary proponents argue (e.g. Northrop Frye). Instead, text-interpretation means uncovering what lies “in front of ” the text, he holds. Understanding has less than ever to do with the author and his situation. It seeks to grasp the world-propositions opened up by the reference of the text. To understand a text is to follow its movement from sense to reference: from what it says, to what it talks about. 78

This creative and revelatory potential of a text – and likewise of a symbol, a myth, a metaphor – which is so central for Ricoeur, is due to the polysemy inherent in all signs. As the interpreter struggles with – or rather enters into a conversation (consisting in a dialectic interplay of understanding and explanation) with these signs – they may open up a possible world and a possible way of orientating oneself within it. Thus the process of interpretation becomes for Ricoeur the process by which a human being relates to reality and to one’s own self. I have already mentioned that Ricoeur makes use of Aristotle’s term mimesis, by which is meant a creative imitation of human action (from the Poetics), in his theory of interpretation.79 Ricoeur 78 Ricoeur 1976, 87-88. 79 “Explanation and Understanding. On Some Remarkable Connections between the Theory of Texts, Action Theory and the Theory of History”, Transl. by Kathleen Blaney, in Ricoeur 1991, 138.

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uses this term to show the interconnection of text, action and, finally, history through narration and interpretation of narratives. Even human action can be seen as a “quasitext”.80 Every action leaves behind it a trace, a mark, which has its own independence once the act is done. In this manner, the action is a “work”, open to be interpreted by an infinity of possible “readers”. This similarity of texts and actions makes the overcoming of the dualism of explanation and understanding necessary even within a theory of action. Showing how this field also has been divided into theories of causality which require explanation of human action on the one hand, and theories of motivation and intention which call for understanding on the other, Ricoeur holds that what truly characterises human action is that it relates to both the realm of causality and the realm of motivation.81 These cannot be opposed to one another. Furthermore, seeing human action as interference in the world, “making something happen” in it, i.e. causing a transformation of the world, one is bound to admit, according to Ricoeur, that the opposition between a “mentalism” in the understanding of human action and the “physicalism” in explaining it, is untenable. To act is always to do something that makes other things happen in the world, but at the same time, there is no action without the possibility of acting in the world (“pouvoir-faire”).82 80 Ricoeur 1991, 138. 81 Ricoeur 1991, 134-135: The human phenomenon is situated between causation that has to be explained and not understood and motivation belonging to a purely rational understanding, Ricoeur claims. 82 Ricoeur 1991, 137: “Acting is always doing something so that something else happens in the world.” Ricoeur continues: “On the other hand, there is no action without the relation between knowing how to do something (being able to do something) and that which the latter brings about. Causal explanation applied to a fragment of world history goes hand in hand with recognizing and identifying a power that belongs to the reportoire of our own capacities for action.

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This interaction of text-theory and theory of action is further strengthened, Ricoeur believes, as we move into the field of history. Again, Ricoeur has no difficulties in showing how historical science has been affected by the same alternative approaches of understanding and explanation. As examples of the former, he mentions the anti-positivist trend among French historians such as Raymond Aron and Henri Marrou. They maintain that history has to do with human action in the past that is guided by intentions, motivations and projects. Hence it is only possible to interpret history through the historian’s own, subjective Einfühling in these intentions and projects. An objective approach of explaining, like the one prevalent in natural sciences, is impossible. As one of the main proponents of the opposite stance Ricoeur mentions Carl Hempel, who claims that the explanation of a historical event must follow the same pattern as the explanation of a physical or natural process: one has to describe the initial conditions, and then attempt to formulate a general law which may explain the event on the basis of these conditions.83 Again, Ricoeur intends to show how this opposition is false. In doing so, he turns to a term which has gained increasing importance in his work: “narration”.84 One can see how understanding and explanation interact dialectically in interpreting history, when this is seen as the ability to follow the thrust of a narrated history. To understand a narrated history implies understanding a chain of actions, sentiments and thoughts that has a direction, but at the same time is open to surprises. One cannot logically deduce what has to be the end of the story. But on the other hand, the end of the story has to be acceptable in some sense: it cannot be totally abrupt 83 Ricoeur 1993, 140. 84 This has been further developed in his monumental three-volume study Time and Narrative Chigago, Chicago University Press 1984-1988, cf. Kemp 1996.

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or without internal consistency, if understanding is to occur. There is therefore a certain kind of logical continuity in all narrated history, Ricoeur concludes. And it is this continuity that calls for an interplay of understanding and explanation. The narration seldom explains itself. It leads to further questions: “Why?” “- and so what?” In this sense, it is an unfinished structure, according to Ricoeur. It calls for explanation – an explanation that very well may follow the method proposed by Hempel. But this explanation is only a tool, a step on the way to reaching a better, more complete understanding of the meaning of that which is narrated.85 As one can appreciate, Ricoeur’s work covers a wide area. And it has, as already mentioned, won worldwide attention, making him one of the most important thinkers of our day. In his generally very positive assessment of Ricoeur’s contribution to hermeneutics, Werner Jeanrond has, however, raised an important critical concern. Acknowledging that Ricoeur opens up for a plurality of interpretations, he does not find Ricoeur’s proposal sufficiently developed with respect to the possibility of assessing the legitimacy of this plurality of readings. How can one distinguish between appropriate and inappropriate interpretations?86 Ricoeur requires that a given reading be validated through explanatory moves, as we have seen. Yet, according to Jeanrond, he “does not address the possibility of conflicting readings which may all be validated by the respective critical moves.”87 In order to undertake such an assessment, Jeanrond holds an “ethics of reading” to be required. 85 For a critique and proposal for further development of Ricoeur’s model of interpretation in the perspective of a theological hermeneutics, see Jeanrond 1988, 56-64; and Jeanrond 1992, 70ff. 86 “Any good pluralist should always be able to discuss the differences between good, bad and downright awful interpretations.” – Isaiah Berlin, quoted by David Tracy in Tracy 1987, 95. 87 Jeanrond 1992, 76.

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Sketching out some basic ingredients of such an ethics of reading,88 Jeanrond submits 1) that a reader’s claim to the appropriateness of his/her interpretation should correspond to the actual task fulfilled,89 2) that a total adequacy of reading is impossible, but one should indeed strive for a “relative adequacy”90 3) that such relative adequacy can be achieved when “a text is read through perspectives which seem appropriate to its generic and stylistic identity”, and when “the reader aims at responding critically to the text as far as possible without claiming to have exhausted the text”91, and finally 4) that distortion of interpretation may emerge both from the text and from the reader, but such distortion may be unmasked when a given interpretation is validated in a community of readers. Jeanrond’s critique and proposal for a further development of Ricoeur’s thinking in terms of an ethics of reading is helpful. At the same time, it confirms the importance and applicability of Ricoeur’s work. But can Ricoeur be of guidance also in Latin America, among poor communities struggling for liberation? José Severino Croatto’s answer to this is definitely in the affirmative.

88 Jeanrond 1992, 116-119. 89 Jeanrond 1992, 116. – A reader may choose to interpret the text as thoroughly as possible, or, for instance, to use the text rather as a springboard for further reflections. Both reading strategies are legitimate, but the reader’s claim should correspond to the actual kind of reading undertaken. 90 Jeanrond 1992, 117. This term is coined by David Tracy. “Interpretation is never exact but, at its best, relatively adequate.” Tracy 1987, 44. 91 Jeanrond 1992, 117.

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[6] A Latin American Reception and Application of Ricoeur: J. Severino Croatto The philosophical and hermeneutical advances achieved by Ricoeur have found a creative and fruitful application in a Latin American theological context in the work of the Argentinian biblical scholar José Severino Croatto (b.1930).92 Croatto chooses, as he says, a “markedly Ricoeurian approach”93 in his effort to contribute to the methodology of the theology of liberation.94 This approach leads him to concentrate first of all on the theme of Exodus, which he deems a hermeneutic key to the salvific message of the Bible, and a theme in which “Latin American theology finds a focal point and an inexhaustible light.”95 But he also explicitly deals with some of the other central themes we have found in Sobrino, such as a christology with emphasis on the Suffering Servant and on the Messiah, the relationship between history and myth, and the relationship between interpretation and praxis. It is thus highly relevant to take Croatto’s proposals into consideration at this stage. The Ricoeurian influence is obvious in Croatto’s development of a theory of reading as the production of meaning. Following the thrust from semiotics to hermeneutics, Croatto strives to show how the interpreter in fact “enlarges the meaning of the text being interpreted.”96 Any linguistic sign is polysemic. In language as a system 92 Although a professor of Old Testament Studies and Hebrew at one of the most important Evangelical seminaries in Latin America, the Instituto Superior Evangélico de Estudios Teológicos (ISEDET) in Buenos Aires, Croatto is a Catholic scholar. 93 Croatto 1981, 1. Spanish original: Croatto 1978 See also: Croatto 1987: 1, 3, 17, etc. Spanish original: Croatto 1984. – For the usefulness of Croatto’s proposals in another Third World context, see West 1995, 154ff. 94 Croatto 1981, iv. 95 Croatto 1981, iv.

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of signs (langue) there is an underlying potential polysemy, i.e. a variety of possible meanings. Now, in the application of language – i.e., language as event (parole) 97 – in an ordered discourse used by someone in order to say something about something to someone, there takes place a “first distantiation”, which is in fact a “closure” of meaning.98 The speaker and the hearer determine the meaning of the words they use. But once this discourse is inscribed in a text, the discourse “opens up” again, and becomes polysemic anew. The author, the original frame of reference, and the original addressee all “disappear”, and only the linguistic codified structure remains. But this disappearance is the very fact that opens up the text again, by activating its semantic wealth. As we can see, the distance between the original context of a text (its author, frame of reference, addressee) and the reception (reading) of it, is not a hindrance in the hermeneutical process according to this Ricoeurian mode of thought. On the contrary, it is this very distance that makes interpretation possible. The distantiation is hermeneutically productive, as it actualises or rather discloses a meaning that was “hidden” in the original event (a concept to which I shall shortly return) leading to its formulation in language. Great distance actually represents a hermeneutic advantage in Croatto’s view.99 A “second distantiation” occurs when the text reaches a reader. The possible meanings of the text arising from its condition as linguistic sign, represent what Ricoeur called the “world of the text”, which, as we remember, the interpreter must search for in front of the text, and not behind it. The reader, approaching the texts from

96 97 98 99

Croatto 1987, 1. This distinction has become a commonplace in linguistics since de Saussure. Croatto 1981, 2; Croatto 1987, 13-15. Croatto 1987, 37.

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her own horizon, produces or enlarges the meaning of the text, in the sense that the reading supersedes the first contextual meaning (not only that of the author but also that of his first readers). This happens through the unfolding of a surplus-of-meaning disclosed by a new question addressed to the text.100

This is why any reading is a production of meaning, according to Croatto. The reader actualises the “competency” of the text, which is its openness to a plurality of readings. This openness is not due to its ambiguity, but to its “capacity to say many things at once.”101 This is also why the commonly held opposition between eisegesis and exegesis is inadequate, according to Croatto. In fact, all exegesis is also eisegesis, in his view, because it is always “practiced from within a particular (social or theological) locus – that is from within a given (pre-)conception of reality.”102 Here the congeniality with Sobrino’s methodological presuppositions discussed in Chapter i, and particularly the emphasis on the locus theologicus, becomes apparent. The point where Croatto, in his own view, goes beyond the proposals of Ricoeur103 is where he moves behind the text in order to describe the step from historical events to texts.104 The text – whether written or not – originates in some sort of experience. It 100 101 102 103

Croatto 1981, 3. Croatto 1987, 21. Croatto 1987, 67. “Without confusing things we shall see that the interpretation of texts supposes the existence of another process, that of the interpretation of particular practices or events, and that the very constitution of those texts originates in an experience that is interpreted. And so I go beyond the limitation imposed by Paul Ricoeur, for example, when he defines hermeneutics as ‘the theory of the functions of understanding in their relationship to the interpretation of texts’.” Croatto 1987, 1-2. 104 Croatto 1987, 36ff.

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may be a particular practice, an unexpected happening, a situation of oppression, an action for liberation, or even a natural phenomenon; whatever makes an impact on human life. When this “event”, as Croatto chooses to name it, is seen as important, it is interpreted in a “word”. Interpretation takes place at two levels when this occurs. First, the fact that the experience is seen as so significant as to be given a word, is in itself an interpretative step. Second, the word that narrates the event is simultaneously interpreting it. This is what Croatto calls the phenomenon of “selection-and-closure.” Thus we see that the original event “does not exhaust itself ”, as Croatto puts it, “simply by occurring”.105 But nor does the mere description of what happened terminate its potential. The “historical effect” of an event lies in its capacity to generate other happenings, Croatto points out in accordance with Gadamer’s concept “Wirkungsgeschichte”. But Croatto’s interest here is not at the level of causality, i.e. that the first event actually unleashes the subsequent events. Rather, he is concerned with this phenomenon from the viewpoint of understanding: “The meaning of the more recent event is found to be already included within the prior event.”106 This is why Croatto calls these original events “foundational” or “founding” events. This is a crucial point in Croatto’s hermeneutical theory, and it is of particular interest to us since it in a way bridges the gap between text and historical reality and practice. The interpreting word forming a “text” springs from an experience, a particular moment in history, a particular practice. It does not, however, offer an objective representation or rendering of this moment or practice. This experience, moment, or practice is always already interpreted. When this foundational event is remembered from another particular moment in history, from within another concrete practice, it is 105 Croatto 1981, 1. 106 Croatto 1987, 36.

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recharged with meaning. The “re-reading” of the text interpreting the event is a production of meaning, as we have seen, so that the original event in fact takes on more meaning as history continues. This is the surplus-of-meaning activated by the practice of the interpreter. An ‘originary event’ broadens its meaning in readings made of it at a distance, as it incorporates new events […] But this is a ‘two-way street’. The ‘enrichment reading’ in turn invests with new meaning the events or practices from which it operates.107

The fact that this is a “two-way street” prevents interpretation from becoming a merely subjective enterprise. The meaning of the original event is encoded in the text. Although the text is open to polysemy, it does not permit just any interpretation. As Croatto points out: “There must be something in the event that permits the derivation of such-and-such interpretation.”108 This does not mean that we can escape conflicts of interpretations, of course. Rather, such conflicts are sharpened, since each interpretation is “totalizing”, according to Croatto. It is exclusive; it seeks to appropriate all meaning. One reading excludes the other. Why are there different readings of the same event, then, if the meaning of the event is codified in the text? – “What is decisive is the praxis that generates the reading,” Croatto responds. The conflict of interpretations corresponds to a conflict of praxises. Hence Croatto holds that text and event or praxis mutually condition each other.109 Furthermore, he insists that this is valid with regard to both “ends” of the text. The two poles of interpretation are two existential, historical moments, which are both rooted in human interaction with history. The text becomes an “in107 Croatto 1987, 38. 108 Croatto 1987, 40. 109 Croatto 1987, 2.

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between”, linking the founded event (contemporary praxis) to the foundational (past praxis or happening), but only in a productive remembrance through (re-)reading as the production of meaning.110 Given Ricoeur’s application of his own hermeneutical method in the field of theory of action, I am not convinced that Croatto actually goes much “beyond” Ricoeur here. In our context however, that is of minor importance. What Croatto does in any case is to make Ricoeur’s insights fruitful with regard to a contextual theology of liberation, which in turn makes him an interesting comparison to Sobrino. – But more concretely, how does he relate this general hermeneutical theory to liberation theology? Foundational events are often, as a matter of fact, deeds of liberation. As a nation or people remembers its decisive moments in history, it furnishes these moments with a meaning which is intended to inspire and undergird a contemporary socio-political praxis directed towards the future.111 This general observation certainly holds true for the biblical message, Croatto continues. The main foundational event of the Bible is the Exodus: God’s liberating act in favour of the Israelite people in Egypt. This event is subsequently re-read and recharged with new meaning again and again. Each new reading adds to the original interpretation of the event. At the same time, it subsumes earlier interpretations in such a way that it actually conceals the transformations taking place. The actualised meaning of the original foundational event becomes its original meaning. Thus, the theme of the Exodus reappears again and again throughout the Bible, each time with a novel meaning arising from the new situations of the people, from new events that have been generated. Nevertheless this new meaning is now claimed as the authentic meaning of the original Exodus-event. Hence the inher110 Croatto 1987, 2. 111 Croatto 1987, 39.

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ent conflict of interpretations which can be witnessed throughout the scriptures, but particularly in the New Testament. The kerygma of Jesus Christ implies a new interpretation of the whole Jewish faith, its foundational events and constitutive traditions. On this basis, it should not cause surprise that the conflicts surrounding Jesus escalate to such a serious level that they finally become intolerable. Liberation is thus one main “semantic axis” of the biblical texts, which becomes a “kerygmatic axis” on the level of message, according to Croatto.112 In fact, the very origin of the Bible was in a liberation process, he believes.113 This observation is important in two aspects. First, the focus on semantic and kerygmatic axes is introduced as a safeguard against relative and totally random interpretations of the Bible message. To interpret the Bible well, is to follow these axes: from the foundational event to the founded event, from the past praxis to the present, and from an original revelation to contemporary “signs of the times” – and, since we are dealing with a “two-way-street” here, vice versa. Secondly, this enables Croatto in turn to argue for the hermeneutic advantage of a reading of the Bible done from an actual praxis for the liberation of the poor. If the Christian can read the signs of the times, this reading will be in harmony with the ‘kerygmatic axes’ of the Bible, themselves coded in the ‘semantic axes’ (on the textual level) […] This hermeneutic perspective – reinforced by recourse to semiotics – guarantees the legitimacy of grass-roots theologies such as the theology of liberation.114

The option for the poor now becomes a hermeneutical principle, according to Croatto, since the Bible itself has its principal origin in experiences of suffering-and-oppression and is written with a pro112 Croatto 1987, 53. 113 Croatto 1987, 51. 114 Croatto 1987, 79-80.

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found hope of salvation. The most adequate “ownership” of the Bible, and the most adequate “pertinency” for re-reading its kerygma, is accordingly with the poor, he claims. They are on a “horizon of understanding” that renders the biblical kerygma “pertinent” to them. Corresponding to this is their “horizon of production.” In other words, there is a common frame of reference.115 We recognize here clearly the emphasis on the hermeneutical value of what Sobrino with Boff calls “isomorfismo” – a similarity in the situations of “sender” and “receiver”. However, this emphasis seems to have a more solid underpinning in Croatto’s thought than in Sobrino’s. Croatto makes it quite clear that this similarity is not something which automatically leads to a disclosure of a supposed original and consistent meaning of the past event. This would be the pitfall of “concordism”, he says, an approach to the Bible according to which one seeks “correspondences” between real-life situations and ocurrences related in the scriptures. Such a method of interpretation is reductive, since it “limits the biblical message to situations having a parallel in the history of Israel or the first Christian communities”, and since it confuses what happens with the meaning of what happens.116 There is a fine balance in Croatto’s approach, then, between the ever hermeneutically creative distantiations and the continuously productive re-readings on the one hand, and the necessity of entering into the “open ends” of the biblical texts, harmonising or “tuning in” with their semantical and kerygmatical axes, on the other. This process of interpretation goes on and on, and is in itself a part of the biblical message, Croatto is eager to point out. New interpretations according to the contemporary situation are not just legitimate, they are called for. I shall finally show how Croatto

115 Croatto 1987, 62-63. 116 Croatto 1987, 6.

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exemplifies this in a way that becomes particularly relevant for our study. The Servant Songs of Deutero-Isaiah: to whom do they actually refer? Who is the “extra-linguistic” referent of these texts? Joakim? Zerubabbel? Israel herself? A prophet? A sage? We no longer know. We know only that the texts present a royal figure with a mission to rescue the people of Israel, who encounters fierce resistance, persecution and suffering until death. His suffering is interpreted as vicarious, and – ultimately – salvific. Historico-critical methods may help us in suggesting possible candidates for the original referent of these songs. But that would merely clarify the genesis of the songs, not their meaning. If we content ourselves with uncovering a probable, original “Servant”, then we are “binding ourselves to a kind of historicism”, by “reducing the meaning of the text to its first production”, Croatto maintains. 117 These texts are polysemous, not only by leaving the concrete extralinguistic referent of the Servant open, nor merely by their poetic and symbolic mode of speech, but in their very status as texts, as “structuration of signifiers and significates.” And as religious texts, that have been and continue to be reinterpreted time and again, they entail a “very strong tendency not to retain the historical referent”, according to Croatto. These texts call for the manifestation of a “surplus of meaning”. Every interpreter must heed this call and enter into the process of ever new identifications of the referent, through a re-reading of the texts that is a production of (new) meaning, and not merely a repetition of their first meaning. Croatto distinguishes four stages in the history of the re-reading of the Servant Songs. Already in the canonical recension of these texts – their redaction, wording and selection – we can detect the hermeneutical process at work. According to Is. 49:3 the Servant is identified with Israel, although this is in direct contradiction with 117 Croatto 1987, 25.

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verses 5 and 6, where the Servant is sent to Israel. Croatto’s comment here is enlightening: For literary criticism, this is an ‘inconsistent gloss’. Hermeneutically, this gloss is rich, as a transfer of meaning to an updated referent in virtue of the needs of the community that is handing down the text.118

A second stage is found in the Septuagint, where we still find a collective interpretation of Israel as the Servant, now seen in the light of the experiences of persecution and exile in the diaspora. Israel’s salvific mission is here highlighted. Moving to the New Testament, the individual interpretation takes over totally. Because of the symbolic reference to one person in the songs, the christological reading is facilitated. “This reading was so powerful, in light of the Christian experience, that it permeates many pages of the New Testament.”119 However, the collective exegesis is kept alive and can be refound in the Targum of Jonathan (second century A.D.), which in fact differentiates the references of the Songs, holding Is. 42:1-9 to refer to the Messiah and 50:4-11 to the prophet Isaiah. In Croatto’s view, these manifold and different re-readings are fully legitimate and prove the openness of the texts. And again, this process of re-readings is bound to continue, even after the Christ event: By the same token, we too can reread [the Servant Songs] without being limited by the christological reading of the New Testament. Paul himself had already extended the figure of the Servant as the ‘light of the gentiles’ to himself (Gal. 1:15; in one of the Lukan accounts of Paul’s vocation, Acts 26:18 and in the episode of Antioch, Acts 13:47.) Today, too, situations exist in which persons, groups of persons, or whole peoples call for a new interpretation of these songs – these mighty compendia of the presence of God and of the trust of those working in God’s service.120 118 Croatto 1987, 28. 119 Croatto 1987, 28.

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Here Croatto takes us back to our main theme, the theological significance of contemporary suffering as this is conceptualised through “the crucified people” in the theology of Jon Sobrino. What Sobrino has done is in fact to present such a new interpretation of the songs from a particular historical perspective. After studying the contributions of Ricoeur and Croatto, we are better equipped to continue our analysis of this new interpretation, its meaning and implications. We have gathered some partly convergent and partly alternative perspectives on the crucial questions regarding reality, history and language that have been raised so far. By the help of these perspectives, I shall now continue the investigation. But first, I shall sum up the findings of this chapter.

[7] Conclusions The root of the soteriological problem according to Sobrino’s theology is that reality is subject to a continuous struggle between the God of life and the idols of death. Reality has a “theologal-idolatrous” structure. This was the first main finding of the present chapter. Through an analysis of Sobrino’s reading of the conflicts that develop around the activity of Jesus – particularly his prophetic, anti-idolatrous praxis consisting in controversies, unmaskings and denunciations – we saw how this theme of the confrontation of divinities is given the function of the ultimate “explanation”, not just within the framework of the biblical worldview, but analogously in world history at large. This is indeed a crucifying conflict. Idolatry, not atheism, is accordingly the main opponent of faith,

120 Croatto 1987, 28.

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Sobrino claims, in company with other Latin American theologians. Idols exist in contemporary history, Sobrino claims. Their principal characteristic is that they produce mortal victims. Thus one of the main reasons for the recovery of this biblical perspective of idols and idolatry as the opposite of Christian faith in the God of Jesus, is what I have chosen to call the victimological orientation of Sobrino’s christology. Along the same lines I would also claim that the option for the poor in Latin American theology implies a victimological turn in modern theology. The “perspective of victims” gains increasing importance in Sobrino’s writings. By using the term “victimological”, borrowed from the field of criminology, we are also made critically aware of some of the problems that may be connected to the use of the terminology of “victims”. Furthermore, we are thereby reminded of the question about the offenders – in this context – “the crucifiers”. The reference to a “theologal-idolatrous” structure as ultimate explanation of the soteriological problem is expressed in a symbolicmyth[olog]ical language. It is in Sobrino’s outline nevertheless directly related to concepts as “reality” and “history”. I therefore raised some critical questions regarding the function and interconnection of reality, history and language in Sobrino’s theology. Does this fundamental, ultimate explanation also uncover, if not the root of the problem of Sobrino’s christology, then at least a shortcoming in it? Making a brief review of the previous chapters, I recalled that these issues are the ones that have caused difficulties and critical comments at several stages so far. One principal critical objection to Sobrino’s outline, then, is that it lacks an explicit reflection on the status of religious and theological language and how this relates to reality and human history. This can be seen as a more general shortcoming or short-cut in Sobrino’s hermeneutical approach, which

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does not make due account of the interpretative steps taken, and – in particular – does not leave sufficient room for a critical evaluation of this ultimate explanation of the structure of reality and the root causes of suffering and evil. Whether this is a fair evaluation of Sobrino’s writings, and if so, how it might be made constructive through proposals for overcoming these difficulties, are questions that remain to be answered. This is the task of the rest of this study. I have looked for some alternative viewpoints and theoretical frameworks that shed light on these issues, with the goal of clarifying, and if possible, modifying and advancing Sobrino’s conception. I suggest that Paul Ricoeur’s profound work in the field of philosophical hermeneutics, and the reception and creative further development of this by José Severino Croatto in a Latin American theological context, are particularly promising in this aspect. In the account I have given of some main characteristics and tenets in this Ricoeurian line of thought I have particularly highlighted the questions of (1) how symbolic and mythological language relates to historical reality and human experience of suffering and evil (Ricoeur), (2) how there can be a critical, explanatory moment in a hermeneutical process without thereby yielding to a reductive – and in fact, outdated – sense of historicism and rationalism (Ricoeur and Croatto), and (3) how the interpretation of texts, and particularly the biblical texts, may be open to ever new meanings without thereby becoming random and relativistic, and likewise without becoming separated from a committed historical praxis for the liberation of the poor (Croatto). This has furnished us with critical elements for our continuing inquiry into the meaning and implications of “the crucified people” for a contemporary theology. Before moving on, I shall come back for a moment to Sobrino’s reading of the history of Jesus. Who is Jesus, according to Sobrino,

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when one takes into consideration Jesus’ anti-idolatrous praxis? Jesus is a prophet, standing in the long Jewish tradition of the great prophets. Jesus’ arduous attacks on idolatrous faith and praxis, the radicality of his envisioning of God’s will, and his committed and consistent defence of the weak and destitute, reflect the earlier figures of Jeremiah, Amos, Micah, Isaiah, etc. Like the prophets of old, Jesus enters into a total confrontation with powerful groups of his time. His faithfulness towards the God of life and the Kingdom of life makes it inevitable for him to confront the forces and lords of death. It becomes his destiny; like so many prophets before and after him, Jesus falls victim to the powers he has dared to confront. Moreover, like so many prophets before and after him, Jesus’ radical negation of the forces of death stands in the service of a more primary and comprehensive affirmation of life; his prophetical critique is but the other side of his salvific restoration and invitation. And as with so many of the prophets before and after him, we find indications that this exterior mystery – the incomprehensible and paradoxical presence and power of these destructive forces in actual history, culminating in the death of the mediator on the cross – also affects his interior, to the point of doubting even his deepest conviction, the faith in God-Father: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This is where our investigation will have to continue then: into the dark history of Jesus’ suffering and death. It has taken some time to get here, but I trust it will become clear why it was necessary to take this path. For Sobrino, the theological significance of the crucified people today is closely related to the significance of Jesus’ death. And the theological significance – and salvific value – of Jesus’ death cannot be seen without a careful examination of his life, which should be analysed primarily in terms of constitutive relations and praxis.

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Hitherto, as I emphasised and discussed in the previous chapter, Sobrino has presented Jesus primarily in continuity with other human beings. This is valid here, as well, as I have signalled: “[…] like so many prophets before and after him.” It is a continuity which works in both directions. Just as Jesus “follows” Hosea and Amos, so he himself has prophetical followers such as Mgr Romero and Mgr Proaño […], Sobrino repeatedly points out.121 Jesus is a prophet. Not necessarily the Prophet, yet.122 The ultimate leap of faith from “son” to “the Son”, from “messiah” to “the Messiah”, is also a leap from seeing Jesus as one of the prophets to see him as the one, unique and ultimate Prophet. This problematic concerning the dialectic tension continuity-discontinuity is, as we shall see, crucial for the assessment of our theme: the crucified and the Crucified. I have warned about a possible short-cut between the two. In this connection, it means that there is a need for an appreciation also of the discontinuity in this relationship. Will perhaps Sobrino’s analysis of Jesus’ death on the cross give a better foundation for making the leap of faith required to see the discontinuity between Jesus and other human beings?

121 Sobrino 1991d, 305-306. 122 Again, the English translation of the title is misleading: “Jesús ‘profeta’” is translated “Jesus ‘the Prophet’”. Sobrino 1991d, 305 / Sobrino 1994c, 178.

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vi. The Crucified Liberator (2) Interpreting Jesus’ Death as Salvific

La muerte de Jesús no fue un error. Fue consecuencia de su vida y ésta, a su vez, consecuencia de su concreta encarnación, en un antirreino que da muerte, para defender a sus víctimas.1

The heart of the matter in our inquiry into the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified in Jon Sobrino’s christology has to do with the death of Jesus. What does this death mean, when seen against the background of suffering and death of millions in our time and history? Can it possibly be attributed a salvific significance? And what light can be thrown on this contemporary suffering around the globe – and in our midst – through an interpretation of Jesus’ death? In the present chapter I shall consider Sobrino’s interpretation of Jesus’ death.2 My analysis will basically follow Sobrino’s own taxonomy in dealing with this topic in Jesucristo liberador. While his treatment in Cristología desde América latina was governed to a considerable degree by Moltmann’s approach, in Jesucristo liberador the composition is basically inherited from Ellacuría’s article “Por qué 1 2

Sobrino 1991d, 334. In this core theme of the whole theological production of Sobrino, the influence from primarily Moltmann but also Ellacuría becomes particularly visible. Sobrino follows the course pointed out by Moltmann in Moltmann 1974, sometimes even in details. Sobrino makes no attempt to hide this dependence, although in Jesucristo liberador it is less obvious than in Cristología desde América Latina. Again, the particularity of Sobrino vis-à-vis Moltmann is his attempt to root this theological reflection in a concrete historical context: the world of the poor in Latin America.

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muere Jesús y por qué le matan,” first published in 1977.3 That article opens with a programmatic statement: The intention of seeing Jesus in relation to history and, subsequently, the Church in relation to history, is essential for the understanding and realization of Christianity, and for the realization and understanding of history. If one does not achieve clarity regarding this “relation”, one will fall into the pitfalls of purely religious or purely secular positions [“en posturas religiosistas o en posturas secularistas” ], and in that way lose sight of what historical salvation really is.4

Ellacuría’s principal argument here is that there is an intimate relation between the historical reasons for Jesus’ death and its soteriological significance. He is contesting a theological thinking which operates on two “levels” – whether these are called “religious” and “secular”, “natural” and “supernatural”, or otherwise. There is only one historical reality, which is “without separation and without confusion”, in which God and human beings intervene respectively.5 This christological (Chalcedonian) approach to reality6, which in modern Catholic theology has profound roots in Vatican II and particularly Rahner’s theology, makes the intersection of the historical and soteriological/theological interpretations of the death of 3 4

5 6

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Ellacuría 1978b. The article was first published in the Spanish theological review Misión Abierta, 70, 1977, 176-186. My translation, SJS. “El intento de poner en relación a Jesús con la historia, y consiguientemente, a la Iglesia con la historia, es esencial para la comprensión y realización del cristianismo, así como para la realización y la comprensión de la historia. Si no se llega a tener clara esta ‘relación’, se cae en posturas religiosistas o en posturas secularistas, con menoscabo de lo que es realmente la salvación histórica.” Op. cit., 65 Cf. Ellacuría 1991b, 327. Sobrino holds that “[…] el dogma cristológico ofrece ‘una categoría estructuradora de la realidad’, en palabras de J. I. González Faus.” Sobrino 1991d, 27. Cf. Maier 1992, 344-348.

Jesus particularly revealing. It lays bare the “dual unity of God in human being and human being in God”, as Ellacuría, Rahner’s student, formulates it.7 Thus one should not separate the theological question of why Jesus died from the historical question of why he was killed.8 Following this programme and pattern, then, Sobrino begins with what he calls historical interpretation (“Why was Jesus killed?”) and then proceeds to the soteriological interpretation (“Why did Jesus die?”). I shall follow the same order. The strictly theo-logical question (“Where is God when Jesus dies?”), which Sobrino raises in direct continuity and discussion with Moltmann’s groundbreaking and influential study The Crucified God and the harsh criticisms it evoked, will be dealt with in the next chapter. This distinction historical/soteriological/theological is exactly what I find to be diffuse in Sobrino. Even when he separates these aspects – for the sake of the argument – he sees them as intrinsically unified.9 This is consistent with the methodological principles laid down by Ellacuría in his “historical soteriology” and, of course, in tune with Sobrino’s own aspiration of presenting a “historical-theological reading.” It is, however, precisely this process of unification which has caused problems in our analysis, so far. – How do history and theology, liberation and salvation, the crucified and the Cruci7

8

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Ellacuría 1991b, 340. “Precisamente, la unidad total de una sola historia de Dios en los hombres [sic] y los hombres en Dios no permite la evasión a una de los dos extremos abstractos: “sólo Dios” o “sólo el hombre”; pero tampoco permite quedarse en la dualidad acumulada de Dios y del hombre, sino que afirma la unidad dual de Dios en el hombre y del hombre en Dios [sic!]”. Cf. Chapter ii above. Ellacuría 1978b, 73: “[…] el por qué murió Jesús no se explica con independencia del por qué lo mataron; más aún, la prioridad histórica ha de buscarse en el por qué lo mataron. A Jesús le mataron por la vida que llevó y por la misión que cumplió.” Cf. also here Moltmann 1974, 113, 119.

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fied, continuity and discontinuity, etc., actually relate to each other in Sobrino’s outline? I have pointed to a tendency in his writings towards making a short-cut, which blurs the distinction between these and weakens the element of discontinuity. Also in my examination of the account Sobrino gives of the death of Jesus, I shall point to this tendency. It was in order to expose the difficulties that it entails, and find a way to overcome these, that I brought in the perspectives of Ricoeur and Croatto in Chapter v. Now I shall show how their proposals – partly alternative, partly complementary to Sobrino’s – may provide guidance. In this chapter I shall also deal with another bipolar structure which plays an important role in Sobrino’s thinking, namely the opposition between antagonistic and harmonious, or constitutive, relations. This study focuses particularly on the importance of relationships or relatedness in Sobrino’s theology. Sobrino speaks of a “constitutive relatedness” as opposed to a traditional ontological essentialism. In order to reach an adequate understanding of his thought, it is necessary to pay due attention to how these relationships work. As was shown in the two previous chapters, Sobrino portrays Jesus as profoundly embedded in relationships. His life, identity and destiny are all defined and shaped out of and through these relationships. But they are relationships of two quite distinct kinds. In Chapter iv I examined the positive, constitutive relationships of Jesus: namely his relation to the Kingdom of God and to the God of the Kingdom. In Chapter v we saw, on the contrary, the negative, antagonistic relations which increased in strength during Jesus’ historical life: the relation between Jesus as mediator of the Kingdom and the mediators of the anti-Kingdom, which reflects the antagonism on a more profound level between Kingdom and anti-Kingdom, God of life and idols of death.10 As I shall demonstrate, Sobrino answers the question why Jesus is killed with reference to the antagonistic relationships, whereas the

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radical question of why Jesus dies is dealt with primarily by taking into account the positive, constitutive relationships. Whether this is a fruitful mode of procedure, and if so, what results can be gained from it and what problems it may generate, are accordingly the major concerns in this chapter.

[1] Why was Jesus Killed? Historical Interpretation (1) Rudolf Bultmann held that the real significance of Jesus’ person and destiny, i.e. his suffering and death on the cross, was grasped only when the concrete historical origins and circumstances of these were emptied of importance.11 Jon Sobrino takes the opposite position. For him, the recovery of the concrete historicity of Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross is a primary concern. The kind of evasion of concrete history represented by Bultmann’s existential interpretation is hardly better in his eyes than the evasion from history that has upheld the traditional “christologies” of domination in Latin America (cf. Chapter iii.) But this devaluation of the historic10 Cf. Sobrino 1983a, 499: “Todo lo dicho explica suficientemente ‘por qué matan’ a Jesús, dada la relacionalidad conflictiva y antagónica con sus ejecutores. Pero no se ha esclarecido la respuesta a ‘por qué muere’, pregunta que se impone por sí misma, dada la relacionalidad constitutiva y altamente positiva de Jesús con el Padre y su reino.” 11 What Jesus means “for me, in faith,” he says in an essay from 1958, is hardly touched by a historical point of view. “We cannot find him by asking about his historical origins. His real significance appears only when we refrain from such a way of posing the question. We shall not ask about the historical foundation of his life and suffering.” Bultmann 1968, 57, my translation, SJS. As regards the cross, he supports this view by claiming that “[…] not even in the New Testament is the crucified preached as if the cross drew its significance from his life.” Bultmann 1968, 61, my translation, SJS.

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ity of the cross did not begin either with Bultmann nor with the conquest “christologies”. The tendency is present already in the New Testament. There is a tendency to smoothen or even gloss over the scandal of the cross. As early as in Paul’s insistence on the preaching of the cross to the Corinthians, one can deduce that it must have been a great temptation for the first Christians to let the enthusiastic celebration of the triumph in Jesus’ resurrection take such a position that the cross was regarded only as a brief moment of transition, or even overlooked totally. It is therefore of utmost importance to Paul and to the evangelists to show that the resurrected is none other than the crucified. The tendency to bypass the concrete historicity and scandal of the cross present already in the New Testament, is accordingly a tendency which the New Testament itself corrects. One interesting example of this development, as Sobrino sees it, is the rapid disappearance of christological titles that link Jesus primarily with his suffering and death, such as the title comparing him with the Suffering Servant of Is. 53. Instances of comparison between Jesus and the Servant can be found, especially in traditions apparently stemming from Peter (Acts 3:13, 26; 4:27, 30; 8:26; 1 Pet 2:22-24.). But they soon became replaced by other titles that stress Jesus’ victory and exaltation in heaven, rather than his suffering.12 This tendency took other forms as well. One of them was the increasing inclination to give priority to cosmological and soteriological aspects. After the resurrection, the questions about the reasons for and possible meaning of the death of Jesus were posed from the viewpoint of eternity, so to speak: Why did the Son of God have to die on a cross? When the drama of Easter was seen as God’s design for the salvation of humankind, the more historical questions naturally lost interest. The cross was thus reduced from a real historical scandal and tragedy to a “noetic mystery”. Furthermore, 12 Sobrino 1976, 140.

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according to Sobrino, the attempt was made to explain all this by using pre-conceived, all-encompassing frameworks and concepts about “god” and “human being” which were not derived from Jesus. Why, then, is it so important to recover the concrete historical character of Jesus’ death? There are at least five reasons for this, in Sobrino’s opinion. First, because Latin American historical experience shows that the evasion of concrete historicity often implies harmonising and idealistic interpretative frameworks, which usually have the ideological effect of supporting status quo. Second, because it is believed (in line with the “soteriological presuppositions” set out in Chapter ii) that Christian salvation takes place in history. Since God is the God of history, God’s saving activity is realised in concrete history and will make itself felt there. Accordingly, the salvific significance of the cross cannot be grasped apart from the appreciation of its concrete historicity. Third, this soteriological significance of historicity is grounded in the incarnation. Jesus’ “becoming flesh” is taken at full force; Jesus becomes a concrete human being, in concrete historical, social, political circumstances. Since this has been God’s choice, the salvation to be found in the cross cannot be explained apart from these concrete circumstances.13 And fourth, because if one does not see the cross in its concrete historicity, the scandal of it may easily disappear. For Sobrino this scandal is crucial for a correct Christian understanding of the world, of humanity, and of God. There is no theology of the cross without offence and scandal.14 This scandal does not pass away even with the faith in the resurrection Sobrino 13 Cf. Sobrino 1976, 150: “6a tesis: La teología de la cruz debe ser histórica, es decir, ha de ver la cruz no como un arbitrario designio de Dios, sino como la consecuencia de la opción primigenia de Dios: la encarnación. La cruz es consecuencia de una encarnación situada en un mundo de pecado que se revela como poder contra el Dios de Jesús.” Cf. Chapter vii [3] (b)below.

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holds, but remains an unfathomable mystery which finds its contemporary parallel in the crosses of history. This is the ultimate reason for recovering the historicity of the cross, then: it corresponds to the daily experience of millions of Christians in Latin America. Again, Sobrino argues on the basis of the similarity (isomorfismo) of Latin America today and Palestine in Jesus’ time. Latin Americans are inclined to ask about the historical reasons of Jesus’ death, because they know so many who die like him today. (2) Among the first – and most difficult – questions relevant to a quest for the historical meaning of Jesus’ death are those related to Jesus’ own consciousness. Did Jesus expect to die a violent death? And if so, did he accord his forthcoming death a particular meaning? Sobrino maintains that Jesus must have understood what was in store for him. The whole climate of his mission was one of confrontation and persecution, and increasingly so. Jesus was a “man in conflict”. That this conflict could eventually take serious proportions and have a dramatic outcome, must have become gradually clear to Jesus. Ever since the violent death of John the Baptist, Jesus must have lived with this risk. Furthermore, since he saw himself and his own mission in line with those of the prophets, persecution to the point of death would also be seen as indeed a possible consequence of his activity.15 It is important to emphasise this, according to Sobrino, because it shows Jesus’ fidelity and loyalty to his mission. Jesus continues to correspond to the reality of the coming Kingdom and the goodness of the God-Father, in spite of all the opposition that this brings 14 In underlining this aspect, Sobrino can be seen in the tradition of inter alia Martin Luther and Søren Kierkegaard, see McCracken 1994. 15 Sobrino 1991d, 317ff.

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him. It shows Jesus’ freedom: his voluntary decision to continue on the same journey towards the mystery of God, even when this journey apparently leads to failure. And it shows his love and compassion: love of God and of his fellow human beings, unwavering even in the face of senseless and violent destruction and death. But does that mean that Jesus actually foresaw the salvific significance of his death? Certainly not in line with the post-paschal theories and explanation of Jesus’ death, in terms of sacrificial expiation or vicarious substitution, Sobrino responds.16 Sobrino finds “no grounds for thinking that Jesus attributed an absolute transcendent meaning to his own death, as the New Testament did later”.17 But this is not to say that Jesus could not look for and find meaning in his destiny – even positive, salvific meaning, he adds. The important question here is whether Jesus saw his death in continuity with his life and mission, i.e., his cause, or if it would rather represent a total rupture with this cause. A clear answer to this cannot be given from the New Testament texts, Sobrino believes, but important clues can be found, not least in Jesus’ eucharistic words, in the account of the Last Supper (1 Cor. 11:23-27; Luke 22:14-20; and Mark 14:22-25; Matt. 26:26-29). Acknowledging that the present, liturgical form of these texts strongly expresses post-paschal theological concerns, Sobrino nevertheless holds there to be a historical nucleus in them. When Jesus understood what was going to happen, he organised a solemn farewell meal, during which – through words and gestures – he interpreted the meaning of his death. What can be clearly seen here according to Sobrino, is that Jesus seeks a continuity between his life and cause and the probable death that is approaching. In the 16 Sobrino 1991d, 319, 322. 17 Sobrino 1994c, 201./ Sobrino 1991d,319: “En otras palabras, no hay datos para pensar que Jesús otorgara un sentido absoluto transcendente a su propia muerte, como lo hizo después el NT.”

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face of death, Jesus reaffirms his eschatological hope in the coming of the Kingdom of God: “Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the Kingdom of God” (Mark 14:25 par.). Thus he expresses a belief that his death will not represent a complete rupture with his cause, but rather, in some way, advance this cause. Again, it cannot be deduced from the texts exactly in what way, Sobrino says, but “in very general terms, his death will be something ‘good’ for others, for all”.18 Seen in continuity with Jesus’ life, then, Sobrino holds that the salvific significance that Jesus may have accorded to his own death is that of “sacrificial service.” Jesus gives his life to others; he has lived in service to others, and he dies “on behalf of ” (Gr.: hyper) others. This is what is subsequently expressed in different salvific themes in these texts: the body “given for you”, the blood “shed for many”, “for the forgiveness of sins”, as a “new covenant”. Such service until death is not something Jesus reserves to himself alone, however. As he has called his disciples to follow him throughout the course of his journey, the words and gestures of Jesus also contain implicitly an invitation to participate in his death. In the (theologised) version of John 13:15: “I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” So Jesus’ death becomes a “motivating example”: Jesus goes to his death with clarity and confidence, faithful to God to the end and treating his death as an expression of service to his friends […] He saw that this is good and required of him, and that it is good, and so required of others. In this sense, we can say that Jesus went to his death with confidence and saw it as a final act of service, more in the manner of an effective example that would motivate others than as a mechanism of salvation for others. To be faithful to the end is what it means to be human. 19

18 Sobrino 1994c, 202-203. / Sobrino 1991d, 321: “Dicho en forma muy general, su muerte va a ser algo ‘bueno’ para otros, para todos.”

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By this, we are immediately brought back to Jüngel’s argument outlined in Chapter ii. Does this confirm that Sobrino advocates a (merely) exemplary soteriology/christology? We must remain attentive to this critical question.20 It may seem that an important shift has taken place in Sobrino’s thought on this point. We have just seen how Sobrino stresses the continuity between Jesus’ life and his death, not only on an external level (that the opposition that he met persisted and finally grew as strong as to take his life) but also on an internal level: that the kind of service that followed from his faithfulness to the heavenly Father was a service that would remain unquestioned even in the face of death. Now, if we go back to Sobrino’s tenth thesis on the death of Jesus in Cristología desde América Latina,21 we find quite another version, in fact, one that seems to be in stark opposition to what has just been cited:

19 Sobrino 1994c, 203-204. / Sobrino 1991d, 323: “Jesús va a su muerte con lucidez y con confianza, con fidelidad a Dios hasta el final y como expresión de servicio hacia los suyos […] Ve que eso es bueno y exigido para él, y que eso es lo bueno, y por ello, exigido a los demás. En este sentido, puede decirse que Jesús va a la muerte con confianza y la ve como último acto de servicio, más bien a la manera de ejemplo eficaz y motivante para otros que a la manera de mecanismo de salvación para otros. Ser fiel hasta el final, eso es ser humano.” 20 Once again, we also note here the close connection between Jesus’ soteriological role and his true humanity in Sobrino. “Salvation” and “true humanisation” seem close to synonyms. Cf. Sobrino 1993j, 887: “La opción por los pobres es un modo de ver la historia, de reaccionar hacia ella y de encarnarse en ella; pero es también la manera de llegar a vivir como ser humano. Es salvación.” 21 This chapter, “La muerte de Jesús y la liberación en la historia”, was published as early as in 1975: Sobrino 1975b.

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What typifies the death of Jesus, and what differentiates it from the death of other religious and political martyrs, is that Jesus dies in complete rupture with his cause. Jesus feels abandoned by the very God whose approach in grace he had been preaching.22

It seems at least reasonable to assume that a significant change in accentuation has taken place here, which may also reflect a growing independence from Moltmann’s suggestions. One could however contest this assumption by saying that the two positions may not be as contrary as they appear, if one takes into account the difference in perspectives, or put otherwise: if one notes a certain chronological development between them. The fundamental question that we just dealt with was whether Jesus before his death was expecting what was going to happen and if so, whether he did interpret this possible ending in continuity with his cause and his life. Although in a tentative manner, Sobrino has given an affirmative answer. The issue at stake in the tenth thesis is whether there still is such continuity in the very moment of death, so to speak, and when seen from a theological perspective. Now the answer is negative.

22 Sobrino 1978a, 217. / Sobrino 1976, 162: “Lo típico de la muerte de Jesús, a diferencia de la muerte de otros mártires religiosos y políticos, es que muere en ruptura con su causa: Jesús siente el abondono de aquel Dios a quien él predicaba que se acercaba en gracia.” Compare Moltmann 1974, 56: “Jesus suffered and died alone. But those who follow him suffer and die in fellowship with him. For all that they have in common, there is a difference.” See also p. 149: “But as we have shown, for Jesus, according to his whole preaching, the cause for which he lived and worked was so closely linked with his own person and life that his death was bound to mean the death of his cause. It is this which makes his death on the cross so unique.” This uniqueness has to do with God, according to Moltmann: “Why did Jesus die? He died not only because of the understanding of the law by his contemporaries or because of Roman power politics, but ultimately because of his God and Father. The torment in his torments was his abandonment by God.” Ibid.

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But even with this harmonising interpretation, the statements are not easily conciled. If there has been a change here, then that change may have something to do with the emerging theme of the crucified people(s) in Sobrino’s theological reflection.23 (3) Let us now turn to the issue of Jesus’ trial(s). Historically, the conflicts in which Jesus becomes involved lead to his trial.24 This trial is both religious, since the primary conflict is with the religious authorities of his people, and political, as we see from the way he is finally executed. Crucifixion was a sentence that could be meted out only by the Roman authorities. And the final justification for this conviction is expressed in the inscription on the cross: Jesus is condemned for pretending to be King of the Jews, and thereby a suspected subversive rebel in the eyes of the Roman authorities. The historicity in detail of these trials is very much disputed. Sobrino does not intend to supply any new evidence to that debate.25 But he finds it to be “beyond doubt” that there was, at a minimum, some public reason for putting Jesus to death, and that this was carried out as the gospel narratives show, both by Jews and Romans.26 Having considered Sobrino’s argument for the importance of recovering the concrete historicity of the reasons for Jesus’ death, this modest ambition with regard to reaching a more secure historical foundation for the passion narratives gives rise to a certain perplexity. Was not the historical that important after all? It is clear 23 24 25 26

Compare Sobrino 1983a, 499. See Chapter v, above. Sobrino 1991d, 324. One of the main proponents of the “third quest”, John Dominic Crossan, is of a different opinion: “(T)he Trial is, in my best judgment based entirely on prophecy historicized rather than history remembered. It is not just the content of the trial(s) but the very fact of the trial(s) that I consider to be unhistorical.” Crossan 1995, 117.

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that it is not the historical-factual – in a “scientific” meaning – which is Sobrino’s concern. His concept of history is history experienced and remembered, i.e. interpreted, and then retold from a particular point of view, with particular interests and motives. What is of primary interest to Sobrino is to show that the trial against Jesus takes place also on a more profound level. As the conflict regarding Jesus is actually the struggle of the gods – the God of life against the idols of death – the process against Jesus also becomes a process against his God. And since the trials are both religious and political, it means the God of Jesus is challenged by two other gods: the god of the Law, of the temple, of the cultic sacrifice of the Jewish religious authorities on the one hand, and the political god of the Romans, i.e., Caesar, on the other.27 The particularity – and problem, it seems to me – of Sobrino’s reasoning here, is that he insists that this other “level”, the struggle of gods, is still the historical level. Through reconstructing the concrete historical circumstances around Jesus’ death, Sobrino claims to show that what it is all really about is this “theologal-idolatrous” struggle. This is where what I have called the “short cut -tendency” – i.e., a seemingly immediate move from “reality” or “history” to theology and vice versa – is notable again. In hermeneutical terms, 27 This framework is clearly expressed in theses 7 and 8 on the death of Jesus in Sobrino 1976, 152-161: “7a tesis: Jesús es condenado por blasfemo. El camino de Jesús al la cruz es un proceso sobre la verdad de Dios: o el Dios de la religión, en cuyo nombre se puede someter al hombre, o el Dios de Jesús que es predicado como la buena noticia de la liberación del hombre [sic]. La cruz deja abierta la pregunta por la verdadera esencia de la divinidad.” Sobrino 1976, 152. “8a tesis: Jesús es condenado como agitador político. El camino de Jesús a la cruz es un proceso sobre el veradero poder que media a Dios: o el poder del imperio romano y tambien los celotas o el poder de Jesús. Este es el amor situado y en este sentido un amor ‘politico’, no idealista. Desde la cruz se agudiza la pregunta por la verdadera esencia del poder.” Sobrino 1976, 156.

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this short cut implies a failure to make explicit every move in the process of interpretation. Ricoeur’s and Croatto’s contributions show a way to avoid this, without thereby losing the substantial point that Sobrino wishes to make in terms of theological content. But let us first briefly review Sobrino’s position on the trials of Jesus. (a) With regard to the religious trial, Sobrino considers that “the underlying objective reason” why Jesus was convicted was his attacks – in words and deeds – on the Temple (Matt.26:61; Mark 14:58; cf. John 2:15).28 His attacks were not just critiques on certain aspects of the Temple cult, but rather expressed a “distinct and contrary alternative” to the Temple.29 Harsh as their attitude may seem in a post-paschal perspective, it is therefore nevertheless not difficult to understand that the religious leaders felt offended and threatened by Jesus. His provocative stance with regard to the law, expressed clearly in his deliberate transgression of the law regarding the Sabbath, made him in the eyes of scribes, Pharisees, and priests guilty of blasphemy. This would in itself be reason enough for the religious leaders to have him condemned to death. But the issue gets even more antagonistic with the controversy regarding the Temple. That the culmination of this conflict evolves around the significance and role of the Temple, is for Sobrino consistent with the underlying struggle of gods and of their mediators and mediations: […] the reason for Jesus’ condemnation is absolutely consistent with his rejection right through his life. The anti-Kingdom (a society structured around the Temple in this case) actively rejected the Kingdom and its mediators. What the religious trial makes clear – even at an editorial level – is that the gods too are at war […] Jesus is condemned in the name of a god.”30

28 Sobrino 1994c, 204 / Sobrino 1991d, 326. 29 Sobrino 1991d, 326.

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(b) That Jesus’ preaching and practice ultimately represented a “radical threat” to the religious authorities is beyond discussion, according to Sobrino. Indirectly, it was a threat to any oppressive power. But the penalty for serious religious transgressions such as severe blasphemy or assault on the temple was stoning, not crucifixion. This is where the trial turns explicitly political. Here it should be remembered, however, that the sharp distinction between the spheres of religion and politics is a modern development. In the days of Jesus the two were intimately connected, as the story of Jesus’ condemnation clearly shows. Politically, Jesus was convicted as a rebel, a dangerous subversive, a threat to Roman rule in Palestine. Sobrino finds the most reliable sources from a historical point of view in Luke 23:2 and John 19:12.-15: “We found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king.”31 All of these three complaints about the activity of Jesus can be traced back to particular episodes related in the gospels. But at the end of the day, neither of these plausible causes for seeing Jesus as politically dangerous to the Roman authorities is the main reason for Pilate’s final conviction. On the contrary, Sobrino notes, none of the accusations made against Jesus really convinces Pilate. The turning point for Pilate is the general reasoning that is most clearly expressed in John 19:12: “If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor. Everyone who claims to be a king sets himself against the emperor.” 30 Sobrino 1994c, 206. / Sobrino 1991d, 326-327: “Si todo esto es así, la causa de la condena de Jesús es absolutamente coherente con el rechazo a Jesús a lo largo de su vida. El antirreino (una sociedad configurado alrededor del templo en este caso) rechaza activamente al reino y sus mediadores rechazan activamente al mediador. Lo que juicio religioso esclarece, aunque sea al nivel redaccional, es que también los dioses están en lucha […] Jesús es condenado en nombre de un dios.” 31 Sobrino 1991d, 327.

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Pilate finds himself confronted with an absolute, i.e. mutually exclusive, alternative: he can either be a friend of the emperor or a “friend” of Jesus. He cannot be both. “Because Pilate has to choose within this necessary disjunctive, Jesus dies”.32 Again, what is expressed at an external level of events is a result of an underlying structure, Sobrino claims, thus making his usual shift from historical to systematic reasoning: In systematic language, at the trial there is a confrontation between two ‘mediators’, Jesus and Pilate, representing two ‘mediations’, the Kingdom of God and the Roman Empire (the pax romana). While at the level of the mediators the progress of the trial is a sequence of individual irrationalities, its deep logic is clear: the ‘total encounter’ between Jesus and Pilate. The confrontation between the mediators reveals the confrontation of the mediations and, above all, that of the divinities that lie behind them: the God of Jesus or Caesar.33

The language of “trials” here then, points to something more than the external legal process leading to Jesus’ death. It discloses the continuous conflict going on at the very heart of historical reality: the struggle of gods. Reality has a “theologal-idolatrous structure.” Jesus’ death is therefore a “necessity”. Any opposition against the idols is dangerous. A consistent and enduring opposition in the name of the God of life is deadly. This necessity has to do with the incarnation, Sobrino holds. It was not just an incarnation into the 32 Sobrino 1994c, 209. / Sobrino 1991d, 331: “Por tener que eligir Pilato entre esa necesaria disyuntiva muere Jesús.” 33 Sobrino 1994c, 209. / Sobrino 1991d, 331: “Dicho sistemáticamente, en el juicio se enfrentan dos ‘mediadores’, Jesús y Pilato, de dos ‘mediaciones’, el reino de Dios y el imperio romano ( la pax romana). Si al nivel de mediadores, la marcha del juicio es un cúmulo de irracionalidades concretas, su lógica profunda es clara: el ‘encuentro total’ entre Jesús y Pilato. Y de esa confrontación de los mediadores se desprende la de las mediaciones y, sobre todo, la de las divinidades que están tras ellas: o el Dios de Jesús o el César.”

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world, but into a world “that is anti-Kingdom, which acts against the Kingdom.”34 And once more, Sobrino insists that this explanation is historical.35

[2] Who Killed Jesus: Human Beings or Gods? Two critical questions must now be posed: (1) Is not Sobrino’s historical reconstruction, his historical interpretation of why Jesus was killed, decisively governed by a pre-conceived (“biased”) systematic interest in presenting Jesus’ death as the result of the struggle of gods? And (2) does not as a matter of fact the application of a myth[olog]ical language here lead away from the historical level? (1) The suspicion that Sobrino’s historical reconstruction could be decisively shaped by a pre-conceived systematic interest, seems wellfounded. Sobrino’s historical portrait serves his theological purposes very well. It is true that a theological reasoning will be at work – explicitly or implicitly – in any historical reconstruction of the life of Jesus. Sobrino makes this circular interconnection of history and theology a determinative feature of his method: “a historical-theological reading.” It becomes confusing, however, when, in a chapter which to such an extent underlines the importance of coming to terms with the historical causes for Jesus’ death, he proceeds directly to a systematic analysis. His reasoning for doing so, is that history has, in his opinion, a “theologal” structure.36 Thus, the external events on a historical level reveal “internal” or “underlying” events 34 Sobrino 1994c, 210. / Sobrino 1991d, 333. 35 Sobrino 1991d, 330. 36 Sobrino 1991d, 331.

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on a theological level. This view, which makes it possible – at least in principle – to read theology almost directly from historical events (“read the signs of the times”), relies on basic presuppositions in liberation theology, as we recall: revelation takes place in history. Salvation is realised in and through history. There is only one history. I have already pointed out some problems in Sobrino’s use of the term “historical”. It is, however, only if and when the historicity of Sobrino’s reconstruction or “reading” turn out to be clearly inappropriate or improbable, that his procedure would actually lead him astray. In other words, although historical “evidence” in its more regular, scientific meaning may not positively verify Sobrino’s theological interpretation, it should at least be given the capacity to question it. It will therefore be useful to ask if Sobrino’s version of the historical reasons for Jesus’ death does comply with the standards of contemporary biblical scholarship in this field, particularly as we find it within the “third quest”? There is considerable disagreement among scholars regarding the historicity of the New Testament passion narratives. Luke Timothy Johnson, a fierce critic of the Jesus-seminar37 and a self-proclaimed defender of the “truth of the traditional gospels”, argues that these narratives should be considered historically credible since they present a lengthy, sequential and connected story, giving attention to details, including the accurate time and place of events, about which there is a relatively high degree of agreement not only among the synoptics, but among all four Gospel versions. Johnson also adds to this the way the passion narratives explicitly make the story of Jesus intersect with the realm of “real history”: Jesus is shown encountering well-known institutions (such as the Temple and the Sanhedrin), persons (namely Herod and Pontius Pilate) situations 37 Cf. Chapter iii [3] above.

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(such as the mob scene in Jerusalem at pilgrimage feasts), and historical evidence (such as that concerning the holding of trials, and who had rights to execute criminals for certain charges.38

Although Johnson’s book is consciously polemical, the opinion he voices is not exceptional. A more thorough and scholarly argument is that of Raymond E. Brown, who in his monumental The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave. A Commentary on the Passion Narratives of the Gospels39 also basically confirms the historical plausibility of these accounts.40 Brown’s work has however evoked a sharp response from John Dominic Crossan, another leading scholar in this field. Crossan’s book Who Killed Jesus? Exposing the Roots of Anti-Semitism in the Gospel Story of The Death of Jesus41 poses a “flat alternative to Brown’s The Death of the Messiah” 42, contending that “[…] (t)he units, sequences, and frames of the passion narratives were derived not from history remembered but from prophecy historicized.” 43 Crossan holds that we know virtually nothing about what actually happened during the trial against Jesus and the following execution, because since the disciples had fled from the scene, “those who knew did not care and those who cared did not know.”44 What Crossan positively affirms nonetheless is “the barest minimum: crucified by a conjunction of Jewish and Roman authority under Pontius Pilate at Passover.”45 38 Johnson 1996, 111. 39 Brown 1994. 40 Although he expresses himself much more carefully, often applying ‘litotes’: “not implausible”, “not impossible”. Cf. Crossan’s argument on this: Crossan 1995, x. 41 Crossan 1995. 42 Crossan 1995, xi. 43 Crossan 1995, 4. Crossan is here using the term “historicize” in a completely different manner than Ellacuría and Sobrino, cf. above, Chapter ii [2]. 44 Crossan 1995, 219. 45 Crossan 1995, 220.

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Crossan is clearly among the more pessimistic in contemporary scholarship as regards the historicity of the passion narratives. John P. Meier, in a review article on the “Jesus-of-history research today”, notes the ongoing controversy regarding this topic, which is due to at least three reasons in his opinion: “contradictions among the four gospels, our uncertainty about Jewish and Roman law in pre-70 Palestine, and religious polemics that plague us still.”46 He then lists different versions prevailing in recent scholarship, “each of which is possible”, although concluding that “the historian must remain uncertain.”47 The general tendency seems in other words to be more open towards the possibility of a historical grounding of the passion narratives than Crossan is, although this openness in no way implies certainty. There is, then, in general and at least as a minimum, no strong evidence against Sobrino’s historical interpretation of why Jesus was killed, according to which Jesus is put to death for having provoked Jewish religious authorities particularly through his words and actions against the Temple, and Roman political authorities for having attained a considerable popular following in a movement which could appear to be implicitly subversive to Roman rule. One must however ask whether this interpretation might not be defended even on the basis of “the barest minimum” of Crossan: “crucified by a conjunction of Jewish and Roman authority.”48 But is such a minimum sufficient to be held as “norm”? If the historical analyses in line with the second or third quests were to be 46 Meier 1991, 103. 47 Meier 1991, 104. 48 Cf. citation above. Sobrino would find support in Crossan also in his view on the decisive role of the conflict with the Temple: “My best historical reconstruction concludes that what led immediately to Jesus’ arrest and execution in Jerusalem at Passover was that act of symbolic destruction, in deed and word, against the Temple.” Crossan 1995, 65.

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all that Sobrino could count on in making – in general – the historical Jesus norma normans for his christology, and – in particular – for recovering the historicity of Jesus’ death on a cross, then he would seem to be building on a rather weak foundation. But our recourse to Ricoeur and Croatto has shown a more solid, and thoroughly hermeneutical foundation for “historicity”. If we follow Ricoeur, historical analyses of this kind belong to the explanatory move, which, as we remember, is a completely legitimate and necessary although not sufficient step on the way to understanding or comprehension. It is, as we recall, a step leading from a “first naiveté” to a “second naiveté.” Sobrino may draw support from such historical analyses, but should not rely completely on them as fully accomplished interpretations. If he does not wish to take into account such analyses, he will easily fall into what Croatto calls the pitfall of “concordism” – an uncritical search for correspondences between real-life situations and occurrences related in the scriptures. If his interpretation is in conflict with these historical analyses, then we have difficulty in arguing that his position has come past the level of “first naiveté”, of spontaneous fideism. This would hardly be a way of making historicity normative. On the other hand, if he remains content with a recourse to a historical analysis and cuts short his argument there, then it will not be a fully completed process of interpretation. He should not, in other words, give these historical analyses normative status alone. Furthermore, we learned from Ricoeur that what links understanding and explanation together when it comes to interpreting historical events, is the category of narration. The narrative precedes explanation; one has to enter into its dynamics, follow its thrust and development, and be open to its surprising turns. But at the same time the narrated story calls for explanation. There is a certain logical continuity in it. The end has to be acceptable in some sense, in

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order to be understood. In short, interpreting a historical narrative calls for an interplay of explanation and understanding. Adding to this Croatto’s insistence in the crucial role of the contemporary praxis which generates the reading of the narration of past events, past praxises, we may now again turn to Sobrino’s emphasis on the historicity of the passion narratives. Is the historicity of Sobrino’s interpretation secured in this wider meaning? It seems to me that it is. And this is, in my judgement, actually one of the strengths and particularities of Sobrino’s approach. Again, it has to do with his point of departure. When asking about the historical grounds of the story of Jesus’ suffering and death, Sobrino places himself consciously in the place (lugar) and praxis of suffering and persecuted Christian communities in his surroundings. From this place, he confirms – a posteriori – the historical verisimilitude of the biblical passion narratives. This is what Sobrino confirms when he finds “nothing mysterious in Jesus’ death, because it is a frequent occurrence.”49 Sobrino’s application of historicity as normative is, in fact, done with a conscious interrelation of the two poles of historical experience: past event and present praxis. As regards the two ‘steps’, which we, with Jeanrond, prefer to call ‘dimensions’ of historical interpretation according to the Ricoeurian model (from understanding to explanation, and from explanation to understanding or comprehension), Sobrino does not systematise his approach in this way. Although this is not always clear, as I have noted earlier, it seems to me that the historical analyses in Sobrino’s outline mainly play the role of explanatory moves which are given a correctional, although not definite or ultimate function in his interpretation. Ricoeur’s model helps us see this more clearly, and may therefore secure Sobrino’s approach against possible misinterpretations arising from the correct observation of a 49 Sobrino 1994c, 209. / Sobrino 1991d, 332-333.

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certain inconsistency, or lack of balance between Sobrino’s rhetorical emphasis on recovering and giving normative status to the historical basis, and the highly relative role played by more traditional historical analyses in the strict sense in Sobrino’s overall theology. The weaknesses inherent to a methodology which tends to make hermeneutical “short cuts”, may thus be overcome. This means, in other words, that I hold that historicity as normative in Sobrino’s approach should be understood in this wider, Ricoeurian sense, and that, when so understood, it is a possible and sound methodological criterion. Coming back to my critical question regarding a possible “preconceived systematic interest” governing Sobrino’s historical quest, then, it must be said that 1) this interest is not illegitimate, but necessary in order to fulfil the task of interpretation, and 2) when checked against contemporary historical findings Sobrino’s tenets are not invalidated; these findings (or at least the major thrust of them) do in fact support Sobrino’s interpretation, and may play the role of an explanatory move in the process of reaching a fuller comprehension of the past; in casu the chain of events leading to Jesus’ death on a cross. Hence, Sobrino may well proceed from this historical interpretation to a more systematic theological one, which is what he does when he interprets Jesus’ trial in terms of the scheme of the struggle of divinities and their mediations.50 But what is actually implied in this move from “historical” to “theological”? It is time to turn to our second critical question. (2) In Chapter v we were troubled by Sobrino’s insistence in the historicity of the anti-Kingdom and its mediators, the idols or gods – or more plainly, although Sobrino avoids using these more common terms – devils, demons, or the Devil.51 Here it seems that he is advocating a mythological and strongly dualistic world-view. Real-

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ity itself has a theologal-idolatrous structure. This is the reality that reacts against Jesus and puts him to death. If this is so, it is not difficult to see why the move from historical to theological judgements is such a short one, because then any study into the historical reality will implicitly and almost in directo supply theological insights. At the very bottom, historical reality is theological. But if one accepts this point of view, and then tries to see it within the framework of Sobrino’s complete theological project, then the existence of these “idols” becomes even more troublesome. – Is not Sobrino ontologising evil in a way that is actually subverting his whole theological project, by turning history, human beings and reality itself into a “real” battlefield in which Jesus and his followers, and thereby seemingly God too, fall victims? Would not such a world view encourage escapism, fatalism or resignation 50 Sobrino 1991d, 324 /Sobrino 1994c, 204. – Again it should be noted that Sobrino is not the first one to make this move from historical to theological trial. The extent to which he is indebted to Moltmann for this interpretation can be seen clearly in the following citation: “The history of Jesus which led to his crucifixion was rather a theological history in itself, and was dominated by the conflict between God and the gods; that is, between the God whom Jesus preached as his Father, and the God of the law as he was understood by the guardians of the law, together with the political gods of the Roman occupying power.” Moltmann 1974, 127. On the same page, we can find a citation which would almost be Sobrino’s christology in nuce: “But this death cannot be understood without his life, and his life cannot be understood without the one for whom he lived, his God and Father, and that for which he lived, the gospel of the kingdom of the poor.” 51 But note that the New Testament uses “the Devil”, etc. with more restraint than the Church Fathers: “As the Christian tradition took shape during the early centuries, the way in which Satan and the demonic realm came to be understood underwent some changes. In particular, there was an increasing tendency to personify the devil as an individual being defeated by Christ on the cross.” Gunton 1988, 62. For a critical and thought-provoking study of this development and its origins, see Pagels 1995.

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rather than responsible action in a praxis guided by faith in the God of life and hope in the future? In short, who killed Jesus – human beings or gods? I think that this apparent impasse in Sobrino’s theology can be solved by, first, paying due intention to Sobrino’s critique of traditional ontology or essentialism. He replaces it, as we have seen, with a relational approach. If we apply the category of “constitutive relationality” to the reality of “anti-Kingdom” and “idols”, then it would mean that these “exist” in history to the extent that they enter into relationships with persons, groups, forces in history and configure or effect the development of things. What we are dealing with here then, is an existence, a “being” that makes itself felt in history through relationships and effects. Such an understanding would be in concordance with Sobrino’s argument that we can know that idols exist in history – and particularly know this, experience this, in Latin America – since they produce mortal victims. We are not dealing here with an ontological dualism. The existence of the idols depends on their being believed in, adored and served in actual practice52 – implicitly or explicitly, knowingly or not! What we have here is rather images and functions of gods, not the “things-in-themselves.” In other words: idolatry is real – idols are not. This, I think, should be more clearly spelled out than is the case in Sobrino’s texts, so far. However, if I am right in this interpretation, then another crucial question must be raised immediately: is the status of God’s existence of a similar kind? If God and gods are rivals, and the existence of “gods” depend on their relationality and effect in history, does that mean that when Sobrino speaks of God, he speaks of a similar “constitutive relationality”? To put it sharply: is God’s existence dependent on actual, historical faith in God?53 I shall have to return to this below.54 52 Remember the praxical character of idolatry, cf. above, Chapter v [2].

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Second, I think the confusion regarding the actual status of these anti-Kingdom-forces occurs because Sobrino, in this aspect, at times confuses, at times completely overlooks the difference between what Ricoeur calls “explanation” and “understanding”, “explanatory” and “exploratory” moves. Myths and mythological language are both legitimate and necessary even in scientific reasoning, according to Ricoeur. However, their principal function is not explanatory. One cannot explain historical causality, for instance, by a direct reference to myths. Rather, myths – as symbols, models, and metaphors – are “exploratory”. Their potential is “creative and revelatory”, they open up possible worlds in front of the texts, and possible modes of existence for the interpreter in (the light of ) this new world opened up by the myth. A mythological language allows human beings to explore and try to grasp what lies beyond that which is directly observed. When Sobrino asks about the historical reasons for Jesus’ death and answers by reference to the competing gods – the God of Jesus or the gods of Romans and Jews –, he confuses these different aspects of linguistic use, in my opinion. Seeing the process against Jesus ultimately as a process on a theological level expressed in a mythological language of “battle of gods” may be fruitful and totally adequate. But it is not an historical explanation of the chain of events. Why is this distinction important? It is important because a direct reference to myths on a historical level – without a due hermeneutical awareness – easily becomes dangerously manipulative, making human beings puppets in a cosmological drama which they cannot influence and for which they have no responsibility. Examples of such manipulative (mis-)use of myths abound. Using a 53 Compare the words of the famous Norwegian hymn by Petter Dass: “God is God, though every human being were dead.” “Gud er Gud om alle mann var døde.” 54 See Chapter viii [2].

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mythological language to explain why Jesus was killed, without making the necessary explications and modifications, is thus counterproductive to Sobrino’s own christological project. Human beings – in their complex interweaving in social relationships, power-structures and organised interests – killed Jesus, not gods. That the priorities and actions of these human beings may be interpreted in a theological perspective as expressions of, or effects of, their actual relationship to or even worshipping of “gods” in the relational meaning argued for above, is another issue. This is most likely the intention of Sobrino’s thinking at this point. It is however, not clear enough and – in my opinion – all too open to misinterpretations. So why was Jesus killed? Sobrino, like Moltmann and Ellacuría, sees the cross as a direct consequence of Jesus’ life and mission. There was an intimate relationship between the way Jesus lived and the way he died. His death was no unfortunate coincidence; nor was it only a “mistake.” People in power wanted to get rid of him, so they consciously planned for it, and finally managed to realise their plans. Although the trials against Jesus were as unjust as they were irrational – as the confused and diverging testimonies about them show – Sobrino finds in one sense “nothing mysterious in Jesus’ death, because it is a frequent occurrence.”55 But he does find an immense tragedy in this, though not primarily because it happened to Jesus – who was later recognized as the Son of God – but because it occurs to so many human beings, also sons and daughters of God. The fact that it was the Son of God who was killed adds an incomparable depth to the tragedy, but it is not its first expression.56

Here our primary interest, the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified, clearly moves into focus again. As Jesus was put 55 Sobrino 1994c, 209. / Sobrino 1991d, 332.

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to death, so people are put to death today. Theologically considered it is the same reality of sin, of anti-Kingdom, of idols that revolts against the God of life and produces victims today.57 – This situation cries out for a change – for transformation, liberation, in a word: salvation.

56 Sobrino 1994c, 209-210. / Sobrino 1991d, 332-333: “Por qué matan a Jesús queda muy claro en los evangelios. Lo matan, como a tantos otros antes y después de él, por su tipo de vida, por lo que dijo y lo que hizo. En esto no hay nada de misterioso en la muerte de Jesús, pues ocurre con frecuencia. Pero sí hay en ello una inmensa tragedia, aunque no en primer lugar porque lo ocurriese a Jesús, quién será reconocido como Hijo de Dios, sino porque ocurre a muchos seres humanos, hijos también de Dios. El que sea el Hijo de Dios a quien matan, añade una profundidad sin igual a la tragedia, pero no es su primera expresión.” 57 Is this perhaps where Sobrino parts company with Moltmann? Not completely, as yet. This focus is much more in the foreground in Sobrino’s recent writings than in Moltmann. But Moltmann does also explicitly note: “There are correspondences between the suffering of Jesus and the suffering of the apostles and the martyrs. But the legitimation of these analogies is found only in the identity of the person of Christ in the crucifixion and resurrection, which is determined by theological considerations”. Moltmann 1974, 124. – That Sobrino also sees Jesus’ death as constitutive in relationship to the other deaths, is something to which I have pointed earlier. That Sobrino furthermore holds there to be some kind of discontinuity between these, can be seen from the “incomparable depth” of which he spoke in the citation above. See also Sobrino 1976, 162. The main difference between the interpretations of Sobrino and Moltmann lies, in my view, partly in the degree of elaboration of the theme of this relationship, and partly in the content of these theological considerations to which Moltmann here refers.

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[3] Why Did Jesus Die? Soteriological Interpretation Jon Sobrino maintains that the tragic ending of Jesus’ life was not fortuitous, but the culmination of a historical and – given the status of historical reality – necessary process. Jesus met persistent and progressive persecution from both Jewish and Roman authorities, who saw in his preaching and activity a potential, and even actual, threat. In short, Jesus was killed for what he said and what he did. Such an historical interpretation of Jesus’ death has considerable support in the biblical sources, and is highly recognisable and therefore probable when seen from the viewpoint of contemporary Latin American history. That the ones who challenge the prevailing power relations – whether violently or not – are put to death, is an experience that has been repeated time and time again. Sobrino has lived this experience himself, communally and personally. When seen from this angle, then, Jesus’ death is explained from the antagonistic, negative relationships that he is embedded in. He opposes historically powerful forces and therefore has to pay the price. But what about his constitutive, positive relationships? What about the coming of the Kingdom – when its mediator dies? What about the confident approach to the God of the Kingdom as a loving and trustworthy Father – when God’s Son, God’s faithful servant, is put to death? If God is the God of life, and God’s Kingdom signifies life to the poor always open to a “more” – why is the life of Jesus cut short, so that the Kingdom seemingly turns out to be less than was promised, expected, and hoped for? Why does premature, unjust death continue to reign in history? From the historical fact of Jesus’ death arises, almost automatically, the soteriological question of the significance, the meaning of this death. As we can see, this question is closely related to the question of who Jesus is. Although any premature and unjust death is shocking, this death has an incomparable depth added to its tragedy

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– in Sobrino’s wording – since the one who dies is the one believed to be Son of God. At this point I should like to make three points of a more general character: First, this “almost automatic” move from a historical to a soteriological mode of questioning is Sobrino’s way of coming to terms with one of the main problems in christological reflection since the Enlightenment: the question of how a contingent, particular event in history can be thought of as having universal significance. Here, Sobrino procures to build his bridge over the “ugly great ditch” of G. E. Lessing, the gulf between “accidental truths of history” and “necessary truths of reason.”58 He does so not by harmonising the two, but by rooting them in contemporary, historical experience. It is from within a concrete experience of suffering and struggle for survival and for a better future that the question about the “universal” – through time and space – salvific significance of that which happened to Jesus becomes existential. Thus, the tension between the two is not solved, but it can be dealt with in a coherent manner. Sobrino’s methodology (as that of liberation theology in general), complemented with and corrected by the RicoerianCroattan approach, may thus show a way towards bridging the “ugly great ditch”. The second point has to do with the apparent shift in accentuation in Sobrino’s christology noted above. Sobrino answers the question of Jesus’ identity by reference to his relations. When analysed from the antagonistic relationships then, there is a continuity between Jesus’ life and his death. But when we see his death in the light of the constitutive relationships with the Kingdom and GodFather, there is a complete discontinuity, a rupture. In this sense, the tension and apparent contradiction revealed above seem less prob58 This dilemma formulated by Lessing (d. 1781), can be found in his Theological Writings, A&C Black 1956, p. 83. Cf. Macquarrie 1990, 177-178, and McGrath 1994, 314f.

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lematic, although not solved. The question of how to come to terms with the fundamental discontinuity, remains unanswered. Finally we should note that Sobrino follows a common trend in modern theology going back to Schleiermacher, in refuting the traditional separation between the christological question (who Jesus is) and the soteriological question (what Jesus achieves for us).59 The two questions are ultimately united, and can only be answered in close connection, according to this modern view. The key to this interconnection in Sobrino’s outline is – in my judgement – the category of “constitutive relationality”. Jesus becomes who he is through these relations. We can take part in, receive the blessings that Jesus’ life-and-death brings through our taking part in similar constitutive relationships: with Jesus the Liberator, with the Kingdom of God, with the God of the Kingdom.60 Having made these initial observations, we are ready to approach Sobrino’s soteriological tenets with a closer attention. On the background of what we have called the “crucifying conflict”, the root of the soteriological problem according to Sobrino’s theology, anyone familiar with the history of Christian soteriological frameworks would now expect the so-called “classic” theory to play a major part in Sobrino’s soteriological interpretation of Jesus’ death. This theory, which was rediscovered and rehabilitated by the Swedish theologian Gustaf Aulén in his famous Christus Victor (1931), has as its central theme

59 Cf. also Philipp Melanchthon’s (1497-1560) famous dictum: “Christum cognoscere est beneficia eius cognoscere.” For a criticism, see Lønning 1984, 693. 60 See Sobrino 1976, 7: “Por último creemos que el Jesús histórico es el principio hermeneutico para acercarnos tanto noéticamente como en la praxis real a la totalidad de Cristo, donde se realiza realmente la unidad de cristología y soteriología.”

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[…] the idea of the Atonement as Divine conflict and victory; Christ – Christus victor – fights against and triumphs over the evil powers of the world, the “tyrants” under which mankind is in bondage and suffering, and in Him God reconciles the world to Himself.61

Aulén contended that this “dualistic-dramatic” view was the dominant soteriological idea of the New Testament, and that it continued to have such a fundamental importance during the first millennium of Christian history. Although these contentions were overstated,62 there was no doubt that Aulén had correctly uncovered a major trend of Christian soteriological thought that had largely been forgotten in the centuries of struggle between an “objective” approach dating back to Anselm of Canterbury (1033 – 1109)63 and a “subjective” approach, usually attributed to one of Anselm’s earliest critics, Peter Abelard (1079 – 1142). Strangely enough, Sobrino does not pay any attention to this “classic” soteriological model,64 nor does he elaborate on the basic New Testament themes of this model, such as salvation as “victory”, “struggle”, “ransom”, “redemption”, etc. He mentions it only in a footnote and in a quick rejection in passing.65 Given the fundamental importance of “the theologal-idolatrous structure of reality” in 61 Aulén 1931, 17-22. 62 John McIntyre deems it inaccurate to give the “classic theory” such preeminence as Aulén does. “It is the case of a brilliant idea being over-stated.” McIntyre 1992, 43. Cf. McGrath 1994, 347-348; and a more elaborated critique in Gunton 1988, 54-59. 63 His classic work is Cur Deus Homo (1098). 64 His silence about Aulén’s seminal work is however understandable when one takes into account that that work hardly enjoys the same status as “classic” within Catholic theology as it does in the Protestant field. Furthermore, one should remember that Sobrino does not discuss the historical development of the soteriological dogma through the ages, but chooses to concentrate on its beginnings. 65 Sobrino 1991d, 368. n.4 and Sobrino 1991d, 371 / Sobrino 1994c, 228.

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Sobrino, which I have discussed at length, this is highly surprising. But before we can look for possible reasons for this significant option, we must see what Sobrino positively affirms about the salvific meaning of Jesus’ death on the cross. (1) First of all, Sobrino repeatedly emphasises that the death of Jesus is a scandal: a scandal that cannot be removed even after the resurrection. Yet it soon becomes a necessity for the community of faith – particularly after the resurrection experience – to try to come to terms with this scandalous fact of Jesus’ death on a cross. These attempts start out as tentative explanations and are gradually developed into models and conceptions that intend to grasp not just how this could happen, but also what positive significance this could possibly have for the followers of Jesus, for the people, and ultimately for humanity and the world as a whole. The aporia with which the early members of the community of faith find themselves confronted, is how the ultimate good – salvation – is related to the ultimate tragedy and evil – the death of the Saviour. How do they respond? The New Testament testifies to various approaches, Sobrino points out.66 With respect to the first question – how this could happen – one early way of coping with it is to see Jesus’ death as the death of a prophet. The history and destiny of the great prophets in the traditions of Israel were well known to the people. For the believers, Jesus’ death would fit well into such a scheme. He had lived and acted, denounced and announced like a prophet; so he died like a prophet. But at the same time, the believing community would not hold this to be sufficient. In their eyes, Jesus was like a prophet, but he was also “more” than a prophet. He was the Messiah, he was Son of God. Accordingly, the comparison with other prophets would carry only a part of the way. 66 Sobrino 1991d, 358-377. Cf. Sobrino 1983a, 499-500.

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A next step in the reflection on the traumatic experience of the cross was to see it as predicted in the Scriptures. There are several instances in the New Testament of such apologetic argumentation from a new exegesis of the Holy Scriptures of the Jews. The main challenge for the first Christians vis-à-vis their compatriots was not merely to proclaim Jesus as the Messiah, but to explain how it was possible that the Messiah died on a cross. Accordingly, the Scriptures were re-read on the basis of this new experience and concern, and testimonies and prophecies were found. Nevertheless, not even these arguments from the Scriptures could actually explain why the Messiah had to die in such a shameful manner. Hence the believers find no other resort, no other ground to rely on, than the mystery of God. It was God’s plan and will that Jesus should die on a cross, they affirm, boldly: “In accordance with his own plan God had already decided that Jesus would be handed over to you; and you killed him by letting sinful men crucify him,” Peter preaches to the Israelites at Pentecost (Acts 2:23; cf. 4:28). According to the early Christian kerygma, then, this happened because it was “necessary”: – “Was the Messiah not bound to suffer thus before entering upon his glory? (Luke 24:26). Now, one must listen with great care to what the New Testament actually says when it attributes the death of Jesus ultimately to God. What is implied in this? Primarily, it shows that “in itself, the cross has no meaning directly discoverable by human beings”.67 This, Sobrino holds, is an utterly honest position taken by the New Testament, because exactly at the point where it is about to find explanations for the cross, it refrains from giving any such explanation, and leaves the question open in God. In that way, the cross remains a scandal. But at the same time, this attempt of finding some meaning in the absurd at least in God, shows on the one hand the “despair” of human beings faced with the atrocities of history, 67 Sobrino 1994c, 221/ Sobrino 1991d, 359-360.

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and on the other hand their “obstinacy” in claiming that “there must be some meaning, in other words, that history is not absurd, that hope continues to be a possibility.”68 At root, it is the question of theodicy which is raised: how to reconcile evil and injustice with God? According to Sobrino, the New Testament claims that the answer is only to be found in God. The position taken here reminds us of Ellacuría’s interpretation of the fourth Song of the Servant that I referred to above69 (which was subsequently followed up by Sobrino) where he addresses the “most difficult and scandalous aspect” of these songs, namely that they see in the fate of the servant the hand of God: “God accepts as having been wished by himself, as salutary, the sacrifice of someone who has concretely died for the reason of the sins of human beings.” This is only discoverable in “a difficult act of faith”, says Ellacuría, obviously having difficulties himself in trying to come to terms with this aspect of the text. Likewise, it is with great care that Sobrino treats this issue here. Having pointed out the positive aspects of this resort to the mystery of God, he immediately warns about its possible dangers. The relief that naturally is experienced when “explaining” a scandal, can easily lead to a smoothening of this scandal. It becomes logical and necessary, from a human point of view. The scandal ceases to be scandalous, and becomes “reasonable”. That is the grave error which is revealed in all “Anselmianisms”, Sobrino states.70 If the cross becomes reasonable, it ceases to reveal God: “God understood in advance, is what would make it possible to explain the cross, but then the cross would tell us nothing about God.”71

68 69 70 71

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Sobrino 1994c, 221/ Sobrino 1991d, 360. See Chapter ii [2-3]. Sobrino 1991d, 361. Sobrino 1994c, 221 / Sobrino 1991d, 361.

Here one may recognise a significant current in Sobrino’s christology: the influence of the theology of the cross from Paul and Luther, mediated through Moltmann, and of the great tradition of the mystics, especially in the way it has found expression in Jesuit spirituality. Here there is a theologia negativa, with a profound insistence on discontinuity, on mystery, on revelation sub specie contrarii, on the cross that criticises all human explanation and all natural and human “religion” (in the sense of the early Barth), and on the “ruptura epistemológica”.72 As I have repeatedly noted also the strong emphasis on the continuity between Jesus and his followers, Jesus’ life and his death, etc. in Sobrino, the vital question is how Sobrino actually balances this tension. Will it stretch or break? (2) The second question raised with regard to the meaning of the death of Jesus is the soteriological question in the proper sense. How could something good, even the ultimate good, emerge from such a horrifying event? Here we move from the level of faith – that there is salvation in the cross of Christ – to a more explicitly theological level – how there can be salvation in the cross.73 In order to come to terms with this, different theoretical models were introduced by the early Christians, models that subsequently would grow more sophisticated and speculative. These models have gained a major significance in Christian soteriological thinking, even to such an extent that their provisional, tentative character of being tools to help explain something which – in the end – is believed to 72 This current is – at least in some important aspects – less dominant in Jesucristo liberador than it was in Sobrino’s earlier works, particularly Cristología desde América Latina, as I have pointed out earlier. But here we may appreciate that it is still significant. Sobrino’s understanding of the “epistemological breach” (see Sobrino 1986, 34ff; and Sobrino 1976, 149) is criticised by Moltmann in Moltmann 1990, 244, see n. 43, p. 372. 73 Sobrino 1991d, 362, – a salvation which furthermore now gradually is concentrated in the theme of salvation from sin, Sobrino adds.

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be beyond explanation, often has been forgotten. Again, the imminent danger of this is that the inexplicable scandal and offence which have been part and parcel of the preaching of the cross since its very beginnings may disappear. So it is with due precaution that Sobrino moves to a brief presentation of what he regards as the principal soteriological models which emerged from the reflection of the first Christians. He concentrates on four such models or frameworks. First there is the model of sacrifice. The intrinsic logic of sacrifice according to the Bible is that human beings present what is dearest to them as an offering to God, in order to show their respect for the sovereignty of God and so try to bridge the infinite distance between God and human beings, a distance stemming from human bondage to sin.74 What they present to God they even destroy in order to separate it from the world of human creatures, making it “sacred”, i.e. separated from the sinful world of the profane. But having done this, human beings then symbolically take this offering “back” again, e.g. by eating it, now receiving it from the hand of God in the hope that God has accepted the sacrifice, so that their participation in it now symbolises and/or effectuates a new community between human beings and God. The gap has been bridged. The crucial point here is, in Sobrino’s interpretation, whether God accepts the sacrifice or not. According to this model then, Jesus’ death is seen as the perfect and ultimate sacrifice for the sins of human beings. Sobrino follows its trajectory from the Old Testament to its culmination and ultimate transformation by radical criticism when applied to the death of Jesus in the Letter to the Hebrews (7:25; 9:12 and 24 et passim). Jesus’ sacrifice is superior to all other sacrifices, the New Testament affirms. It is “without defect or blemish” (1 Pet 1:19) and has been accepted by God. Therefore, it is able to bring salvation. Great stress 74 Sobrino 1991d, 223.

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is put on God’s acceptance, in other words. This is the main criticism the Letter to the Hebrews makes of the earlier institution of sacrifices. Only Jesus is an offering acceptable to God, it insists. Then there is the model of the new covenant – a model which also draws its rationale from the Old Testament. The term of a covenant between God and Israel, seen as representative of humanity, is one of the principal ways to describe the reality of salvation in the Old Testament. A covenant was sealed by the shedding of blood (cf. Heb. 9:18). Hence it was natural for the first Christians to see in Jesus’ death the sealing of a new salvific covenant, one already promised in the Old Testament (cf. Jer. 31:31-24). Again, this model is explicitly taken up by the Letter to the Hebrews, which quotes the text from Jeremiah twice, in 8:6-13 and 10:16ff. Furthermore, the new covenant plays a primary role in the accounts of the Last Supper, in the Gospels as well as in 1 Corinthians 11: “In the same way, after the supper he took the cup and said, ‘This cup is the new covenant sealed by my blood. Whenever you drink it, do this as a memorial of me’.” (1 Cor. 11:25). As a third model Sobrino presents the soteriological reflection related to the figure of the Suffering Servant. Although there are many indirect references to the Servant Songs in the New Testament75, it seems that the first Christians only gradually, through an arduous and daring theological effort, came to apply the theological insights of these songs directly to the death of Jesus, in order to explain its salvific significance. It is important to remember the strong and, at the time, well founded obstacles to such an application:

75 Sobrino mentions the following: “Parts of Isaiah 42:1-9 are explicitly quoted in Matthew 12:18-21; 11:10, and implicitly in John 1:32-4 (election), Matthew 3:17 and John 8:12 (to be a light for the Gentiles), and Luke 4:18, 7:23 (to open the eyes of the blind).” Sobrino 1994c, 225.

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These passages are unique in the Old Testament, and were not easily applied to Jesus, because they assert that a human being sheds blood, innocently, in the place of and for the benefit of those who deserved to do so, interceding for them, for their justification and healing. In Israel, before, during and after Jesus’ time, such an idea was unthinkable, because human sacrifices were forbidden.76

This notwithstanding, the early community of faith gradually learnt to see the death of Jesus in light of the vicarious expiation of the Servant,77 an interpretative step of great importance for the further development of soteriological models in Christian thinking. Finally, Sobrino makes reference to the theme of the salvation in the cross in Paul, highlighting the centrality of the theme in the Pauline corpus, its paradoxical characteristic in claiming that “the negative aspects of human experience have become positive” 78, and that the cross means liberation from the law, which initially was good, but became a curse to human beings because of sin.

76 Sobrino 1994c, 225. / Sobrino 1991d, 366-367: “Estos pasajes son únicos en al AT y no fueron aplicados a Jesús con facilidad, pues en ellos se afirma que un ser humano derrama sangre, inocentemente, en lugar y en favor de quienes realmente lo merecían, intercediendo por ellos y en favor de ellos: para su justificación, su sanación. En Israel, tanto antes como durante y después del tiempo de Jesús, esta idea era impensable, pues se prohibían los sacrificios humanos.” 77 “[…] expiación vicaria del siervo […]” Sobrino 1991d, 370. – Sobrino follows Boff in suggesting 4 Maccabees 5:1-17 as a text which shows a parallel interpretative development. In this text the tragic martyrdom of innocent children is interpreted in the context of God’s salvific work. Boff explains: “God always wins in the end. Despite the sinfulness of persecutors, God does not permit the senselessness of their victims’ death to abide. God transforms it into a vehicle of forgiveness – not of persecutors, surely, but of the sinful people (2 Macc. 6:28, 17:20-22, 18:4, 1:11).” Boff 1987b, 76. Cf. Sobrino 1991d, 367. 78 Sobrino 1994c, 227.

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It is not necessary to go deeper into Sobrino’s presentation of these models, since the important point for us is to consider which answer Sobrino himself finally gives to the soteriological question. Besides, these models are well-known, and Sobrino stresses that on this point, he has “nothing to add to what others have said.”79 I would like to bring to attention, however, exactly this dependence on “others.” In this rendering of the development of soteriological reflection from the times of the New Testament and onwards, there is once more an important “reference text” to Sobrino’s, a text from which he borrows the framework and even the main content of his own presentation. This time it is neither Moltmann nor Ellacuría who is present between the lines in Sobrino’s text, but another Latin American colleague, Leonardo Boff, and his Passion of Christ, Passion of the World. If we read these two texts “synoptically”, the curious omission or playing down of the principal concerns of the “classic” theory by Sobrino comes clearly to the fore. While Boff presents this model, “redemption as ransom”, on an equal footing with the other explicative frameworks,80 Sobrino bypasses it quickly. And when Sobrino draws to his own conclusions with regard to the soteriological problem as it is posed on the basis of the New Testament testimonies, then the perspective of the ‘struggle of gods’ seems to have disappeared totally from sight.

79 Sobrino 1991d, 363. Once more, Sobrino shows that he is not hesitant to borrow from the works of other theologians. See Sobrino 1991d, 358, note 1. Sobrino also refers to material from E. Schillebeeckx, X. Léon-Dufour and J. I. González Faus. 80 Boff 1987b, 95-96.

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[4] The Cross as Salvific Manifestation The soteriological models emerging in and from the New Testament “explain nothing, strictly speaking,” Sobrino audaciously states.81 These words seek to maintain on the one hand the tentative and fragmentary character of these explicative “tools”, and on the other hand the offence which is intrinsically related to the salvific message of the cross. Precisely because they do not “explain” anything, however, it is necessary to try to go beyond them in order to lay bare what they actually say. What is Sobrino’s answer to the question of how the cross can bring salvation, then? It is twofold: the death of Jesus on the cross is salvific because it is (1) “the manifestation of what is pleasing to God”82, and because it (2) demonstrates “the credibility of the love of God.”83 (1) By expressing the salvific significance of Jesus’ death by the phrase “the manifestation of what is pleasing to God”, Sobrino highlights the following soteriological aspects: In the first place, salvation is understood as a manifestation. Salvation seems thus to be something that is revealed rather than effectuated. This revelatory character of salvation comes to expression repeatedly in Sobrino’s treatment: “[…] its importance for salvation consists in the fact that what God wants human beings to be has appeared on earth […]”; “The Jesus who is faithful even to the cross is salvation, then, at least in this sense: he is the revelation of the homo verus […]; “The very fact that true humanity has been 81 “Hemos insistido, sin embargo, en que estos modelos nada explican estrictamente hablando, y por eso, hay que precisar, al menos, qué es lo que en definitiva querían decir al afirmar que de la cruz provenía salvación, y qué es lo que hoy nos puede decir.” Sobrino 1991d, 370. 82 “La manifestación de lo que es grato a Dios.” Sobrino 1991d, 370-374. 83 “La credibilidad del amor de Dios.” Sobrino 1991d, 374-377.

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revealed, contrary to all expectations, is in itself good news and therefore is already in itself salvation: we human beings now know what we are […] we can assert that love exists […]”; “[…] human beings have been able to see love on earth, to know what they are, and what they can and should be.” 84 This emphasis on manifestation makes it legitimate to ask whether Sobrino depicts salvation actually as a form of “knowledge”. It is not, in this case, merely a “being informed of ” something but a much more profound knowledge which seems to be at the same time historical and existential, personal and communal. But nonetheless – being saved seems then close to gaining knowledge of something. If this is a correct interpretation of Sobrino, then at least two critical objections must be raised. First, it must be asked if there is enough support in the Bible and the tradition to hold this to be the central aspect of salvation in the cross of Jesus Christ. And second, whether a salvation consisting in revelation or manifestation – and respectively a gaining knowledge of this – really could be seen as having sufficient power to decisively change the state of reality from which human beings need to be saved. Will this manifestation/knowledge in fact be able to bring salvation – in Sobrino’s terms, liberation – to the victims of this world? I shall deal with these objections below. In the second place, it is clear that Sobrino from the repertoire of soteriological models that he reviews chooses to give priority to 84 Sobrino 1994c, 229-230. My emphasis, SJS. / Sobrino 1991d, 373: “[…] lo salvífico consiste en que ha aparecido sobre la tierra lo que Dios quiere que sea el ser humano […]”; “El Jesús fiel hasta la cruz es salvación, entonces, al menos en este sentido: es la revelación del homo verus […]”; “El hecho mismo de que se haya revelado lo humano verdadero, contra toda expectativa, es ya buena noticia, y por ello, es ya en sí mismo salvación: los seres humanos sabemos ahora lo que somos […] podemos afirmar que existe el amor […]”; los seres humanos han podido ver el amor sobre la tierra, saber lo que ellos son y lo que deben y pueden ser.”

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the sacrificial model, although in a distinct version. Starting from the observation that from the Old Testament times and onward it was believed that sacrifices would have to be accepted by God in order to be effective – that is, in order to bring about salvation – Sobrino applies this to the death of Jesus. Its sacrificial character relates to its being accepted by God. Sobrino struggles hard, however, to refute other aspects of the sacrificial metaphor: the death of Jesus is certainly not to be seen as a sacrifice in an instrumental manner, nor in an isolated manner. According to the former, God would actually need the blood of Jesus in order to be able to change from a condemning God of wrath to a forgiving God of love. The idea of God taking delight in the death of Jesus, could open for “doloristic” and even masochistic associations applied to God, which Sobrino sternly rejects.85 According to the latter, the moment of Jesus’ death would be seen in isolation as that which God accepts, as if – again – it is death that God “needs” in order to renew life, to save human beings.86 By contrast, that which is pleasing to God, that which is the true salvific sacrifice, according to Sobrino, is the life of Jesus: a life in service, love and fidelity, a life poured out for others. The death of Jesus is salvific because it confirms that Jesus’ life was of such a character, that it was governed by unselfish love towards God and fellow human beings to such an extent that it did not withdraw even in the face of cruel death. Again, we see the revelatory character in the foreground here. The death of Jesus unveils – unmistaka85 “Es decir, el NT no afirma ni menos se concentra en el hecho de que porque hubo sufrimiento hay salvación, y por eso, ni el dolorismo ni el masoquismo encuentran justificación en él, ni menos la idea de que Dios tuviese que pagar a alguien un rescate oneroso.” Sobrino 1991d, 370-371. 86 “Lo que no hay que hacer es adecuar en el concepto amor y sacrificio, ni menos afirmar que Dios se complace y aun exige el sacrificio de la cruz de Jesús.” Sobrino 1991d, 372.

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bly, says Sobrino – what has been present all his lifetime: steadfast love. Now in the New Testament what was pleasing to God was the whole of Jesus’ life – in words of the Letter to the Hebrews, a life in faithfulness and mercy – and what Jesus’ cross highlights, beyond any doubt, is that this is how Jesus’ life was.87

Seeing the salvific significance of Jesus’ death in line with the sacrificial model, it is important for Sobrino to underline that it is not an isolated understanding that he is advocating, but a “process-oriented” and integral understanding: it is the life-and-death of Jesus as a whole which is pleasing to God. Furthermore, one should note carefully that it is not suffering per se which brings about salvation, but love. It is enduring love in spite of opposition – opposition that causes suffering and even death – that reveals that there is a salvific presence. I stress these two points because they are of the utmost importance when assessing the theological significance of suffering in light of Sobrino’s reflections on “the crucified people”. Note the significance accorded to suffering here: it is not instrumental. Suffering does not bring about salvation, but reveals a salvific presence in history in spite of the obvious and overwhelming opposition and signs of the contrary: “It is a conviction derived from accumulated historical experience that love has to go through suffering.”88 The blood of Christ shows how costly salvation is, and salvation is costly because to save is to recompose what has been torn asunder.89 87 Sobrino 1994c, 228. / Sobrino 1991d, 371: “Pues bien, en el NT lo que ha sido grato a Dios ha sido la totalidad de la vida de Jesús, en palabras de la Carta a los Hebreos, una vida en fidelidad y en misericordia, y lo que la cruz de Jesús pone de relieve, sin ninguna duda, es que así ha sido la vida de Jesús.” 88 Sobrino 1994c, 228. “Que el amor tenga que pasar por el sufrimiento es convicción histórica acumulada.” Sobrino 1991d, 371.

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What then is it that is pleasing to God, according to Sobrino? It is the whole of Jesus’ life until death, yes; but what in this life? We have seen at several stages during this inquiry that according to Sobrino salvation means humanisation.90 God takes such a delight in the life of Jesus because it shows what it really means to be a human being. Jesus is the revelation of “the true and complete human being” – the homo verus, rather than the “vere homo, that is of a human being in whom, as a matter of fact, all the characteristics of true human nature is present.”91 At this point one can see clearly how closely interrelated soteriology and christology are in this outline. Jesus’ salvific significance is related to his being; what he achieves for us – by manifesting that which is pleasing to God – is inseparable from what he is: the true and complete human being. Jesus reveals what a true human life should be like according to the will of God. It is, as we have seen, a life characterised by such qualities as love, mercy, fidelity, service, faith and openness towards the mystery of God, closeness and commitment to the poor and 89 This is the way the classic formulation of the Church fathers (rooted in the Letter to the Hebrews 9:22), “without the shedding of blood, there is no salvation”, should be correctly understood, Sobrino believes. And he continues: “[…] es hasta cierto punto comprensible que los seres humanos hayan asociado la salvación con derramiento de sangre y, así, con sacrificio. Salvación siempre supone recomposición de algo que se ha destruido, y esa recomposición es siempre costosa históricamente. La ‘sangre’ es símbolo de lo oneroso de toda salvación que realmente construye lo destruido.” Sobrino 1991d, 371. 90 So also Boff 1987b, 66, et passim. 91 Sobrino 1994c, 229. / Sobrino 1991d, 373: “El Jesús fiel hasta el cruz es salvación, entonces, al menos en este sentido: es la revelación del homo verus, del hombre verdadero y cabal, y no sólo del vere homo, es decir, de un ser humano en el que resultaría que se cumplen fácticamente las características de una verdadera naturaleza humana.” See also Sobrino’s treatment in Sobrino 1982a, 40-50, under the heading “Jesucristo verdadero hombre. Trascendencia humana.”.

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those excluded, welcome and forgiveness towards the sinners and outcasts. In sum, a human life par excellence is “una vida en el amor hasta el final,”92 – a life like that of Jesus. Paradoxically as it may seem, this process of true humanisation is at the same time conceived as a process of divinisation, or deification, in Sobrino’s christology. Becoming truly human means being shaped in the image of God, because those qualities which are revealed in Jesus’ life in love to the end, are the true properties of God. In order to grasp the internal logic of this argument, it is necessary to keep in mind the link between relationship and transformation in Sobrino’s soteriological thinking. The idea of constitutive relations corresponds closely to the imitatio or sequela -perspective, which is so basic to Sobrino. Jesus becomes what he is – the true and complete human being – through his constitutive relationships to the Kingdom of God and the God of the Kingdom – the true God. To be truly human means to “walk” (caminar) towards God, thus being transformed in God’s likeness. As a human person enters into a similar relationship with Jesus, and into relationships similar to those of Jesus, she or he may become transformed in the same manner: becoming truly human and thereby becoming like God. True humanisation is divinisation. Salvation means both, at one and the same time.93 Jesus’ life-and-death is salvific because it is the manifestation of what is pleasing to God. Heeding this manifestation, human beings 92 Sobrino 1991d, 371. 93 This unity of and/or distinction between humanity and divinity, anthropology and theology, is a key controversy within modern theology. There is obviously a dividing line between Protestant and Catholic soteriology on this point, although there are clear differences of opinion also within Catholic theology, as Milbank has pointed out (see above). Cf. e.g., Jüngel 1983, Lønning 1984, Milbank 1993, 206ff. These different approaches to soteriology goes all the way back to the differences between the Greek and Latin Church Fathers.

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may now know what they are and what they may become. This is the essence which is expressed in the sentence: “[…] human beings have been able to see love on earth, to know what they are, and what they can and should be.” The manifestation is closely followed by an invitation, then. Having been shown what is truly human according to the heart of God, all human beings are invited to realise this true humanity in history, by being shaped in the image of God through the following of Jesus. The salvific significance of Jesus’ life-until-death is, that of a causa ejemplar, according to Sobrino: Jesus leaves us with the legacy of being Servants like him. On this principle, Jesus’ cross as the culmination of his whole life can be understood as bringing salvation. This saving efficacy is shown more in the form of an exemplary cause than that of an efficient cause. But this does not mean that it is not effective: there stands Jesus, faithful and merciful to the end, inviting and inspiring human beings to reproduce in their turn the homo verus, true humanity.94

These soteriological tenets of Sobrino invite further discussion and reflection, and call forth objections. Since we are at the very core of the Christian message of salvation, we see how important presuppositions with regard to a variety of theological questions are implied, as for instance funamantal premises in the fields of anthropology, hamartiology and theo-logy in a strict sense.95 Though I cannot consider all of these implications of Sobrino’s soteriological position, I shall shortly address some principal points, particularly in 94 Sobrino 1994c, 230. / Sobrino 1991d, 373-374: “Jesús nos deja el testamento de ser serviciales como él. Según esto, la cruz de Jesús como culminación de toda su vida puede ser comprendida salvíficamente. Esta eficacia salvífica se muestra más bien a la manera de la causa ejemplar que de la causa eficiente. Pero no quita esto que no sea eficaz: ahí está Jesús, el fiel y misericordioso hasta el final, invitando y animando a los seres humanos a reproducir el homo verus, lo humano verdadero.”

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view of their significance for the understanding of the concept of “crucified people”. But first, let me consider more closely the issue of the credibility of the love of God. (2) The death of Jesus on the cross is salvific because it demonstrates the credibility of the love of God, Sobrino maintains. What is meant by this? First of all, it focuses on the means of salvation par excellence, according to Sobrino: love. It is the love of God that effectuates salvation. When all theoretical attempts at explaining what actually happens in salvation have proved ineffective, there is in fact one ultimate word which expresses the core of Christian salvation, and that is “love”. The cross does not only save as the culminating point confirming a life that is fully pleasing to God, then. It is also, by God’s own choosing, the place where God reveals in what way God is “pleasing” to human beings. It is through the cross that God ultimately makes self-revelation as love. Salvation is the result of God’s love, and the cross expresses the ultimacy and credibility of that love. Therefore, it is salvific. Again there is a stress on salvation as revelation. This time however, it is not the salvation by causa ejemplar, but by causa simbólica: “It is not efficient causality, but symbolic causality. Jesus’ life and cross are that in which God’s love for human beings is expressed and becomes as real as possible.”96 This means that Jesus is God’s initiative. That the life and mission of Jesus come from God, is not surprising. It is good news and 95 To some extent, one can also see how these fundamental premises reveal Sobrino’s preferred “canon” within the canon, which seems to be the synoptics and the Letter to the Hebrews in the New Testament and the Servant Songs (as a whole) and Micah from the Old Testament. 96 Sobrino 1994c, 230. / Sobrino 1991d, 374: “La vida y la cruz de Jesús es aquello en que se expresa y se llega a ser lo más posible el amor de Dios a los hombres.”

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in harmony with the message of Jesus that God is good and that it is good for human beings that there is a God. But that the death of Jesus – the cross on Golgotha – is ultimately the result of God’s initiative, is “scandalous”. However, this scandalous fact must not be interpreted in contrast to the love and goodness of God, Sobrino insists, but in line with it. If the cross of Christ ultimately stems from God, it must be because God “[…] could not find any clearer way of telling us human beings that he really wills our salvation.”97 But is this really such a “clear way”, such a “forma inequívoca”? Can the cross of Jesus really be seen as an unmistakable expression of love? It is the love of God that brings salvation. Jesus’ salvific presence in history is due to God’s own initiative. Here there is continuity: an unbroken movement from God, in and through Jesus’ self-giving life, and back to God. But the cross of Jesus is God’s initiative, too. Here there is discontinuity, rupture, scandal. What it shows, however, according to Sobrino, is that there is no limit to the love of God; no limit to God’s salvific will for human beings. Not even the unbearable ending to the life of Jesus – a life which is the ultimate and definitive expression of that which is pleasing to God – could come between the love of God and sinful human beings: The New Testament’s language is powerful: not even what was dearest to God, his own Son, placed a limit on God’s showing his love for human beings. Not sparing the Son is the way of saying that there is no restraint on God’s love for human beings.98 97 Sobrino 1994c, 231. / Sobrino 1991d, 375: “[…] no ha tenido otra forma más inequívoca de decirnos a los seres humanos que en verdad quiere nuestra salvación.” 98 Sobrino 1994c, 231. / Sobrino 1991d, 375: “El lenguaje de del NT es poderoso: ni lo más querido por Dios, su propio Hijo, ha puesto límite a que Dios muestre su amor a los hombres. No perdonar al Hijo es el modo de expresar que nada impide el amor de Dios a los hombres (sic).”

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So the rupture is bridged, faith discovers in the scandal of the cross the ultimacy and credibility of God’s salvific love. But nothing is really explained, Sobrino is quick to add. “This affirmation ‘explains’ nothing, but says it all.”99 “There can be no logic here, only faith.”100 This point in Sobrino’s soteriology is not clear, though. To the traditional soteriological question of whether or not a change has taken place on God’s side related to the drama on the cross, Sobrino’s answer is confusing. There is both continuity and discontinuity, both change and no change here: “Jesus did not make God change; Jesus is the historical sacrament in which God expresses his irrevocable saving change toward us.”101 It seems that the “change” on God’s side is a continuous one, flowing out of God’s eternal love towards God’s creatures. It is not effectuated by Jesus; it is demonstrated through Jesus. And the peak of that demonstration is that not even the forces of death can extinguish that love. But can a “change” be continuous? The implications are unclear. Sobrino’s solution is confusing in another sense as well. He seems to be arguing a fortiori – the fact that God accepts even the death of Jesus, who is God’s own beloved Son, shows that God’s love for human beings is “even greater”. And yet, he insists that there is no argument here – only confessions of faith. We could hold these points to be paradoxes, and point to the fact that no christology, if it remains true to the biblical witness, will be free from paradoxes. Paradoxes will not automatically undermine christology, because that which its “logos” is about, is believed to be 99 My translation (SJS), cf. Sobrino 1994c, 231. Sobrino 1991d, 375.: “Esta afirmación nada ‘explica’, pero lo dice todo.” 100 Sobrino 1994c, 232. / Sobrino 1991d, 376: “No hay aquí lógica, sino fe.” 101 Sobrino 1994c, 230. / Sobrino 1991d, 374: “No es que Jesús haya hecho cambiar a Dios, sino que Jesús es el sacramento histórico en el que Dios expresa su irrevocable cambio salvífico hacia nosotros.”

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in the end a mystery, which remains mystery even after the “logical” reasoning. Nevertheless, it is not insignificant which paradoxes a given christology contains, and how they function. In Sobrino’s attempt (whether one calls these vague points paradoxical or not) difficult questions still remain unanswered. In my view, the most pressing among them are these two: why should God’s love for Jesus put limits to God’s love for humanity? And does not this make Jesus’ death merely a demonstrative drama? These questions are related to the centrality of the term “credibility” in Sobrino’s approach. Why should the love of God need credibility? The answer to this is not so difficult when one remembers the historical point of departure for Sobrino’s soteriological question. His inquiry into the salvific meaning of the death of Jesus is not guided by purely intellectual nor pious interests. It emerges from the perspective of the depth of contemporary suffering, on contemporary “Golgothas”: what does Jesus’ death mean, when seen from the suffering and death of millions in our time and history? The love of God that comes to expression through the salvific life-and-death of Jesus needs credibility because of, and vis-à-vis, the victims of this world. Seen from their place, their perspective, the world still seems unredeemed. How can one know that this (Jesus’ life-and-death) is what is pleasing to God, and how can one believe in the love of God when Jesus still dies, and Jesus’ followers, God’s children, continue to suffer and die? Sobrino’s answer is that God’s love can be credible to the victims of this world only if not even the Godforsakenness of Golgotha – where the gods of the antiKingdom triumph – is unknown or actually forsaken by God or God’s beloved son. If the love of God had actually drawn back from the darkness of Golgotha, then it would not be trustworthy for those who dwell on the Golgothas of today. Sobrino agrees with Bonhoeffer: only a suffering God can save us. This is why not only the life, but also the death of Jesus is God’s own initiative. If God

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had chosen to save Jesus from Golgotha – then there would be no credible salvation for those who experience Golgotha in their lives today. What does Jesus’ cross really say? It says that God has irrevocably drawn near to this world, that he is a God “with us” and a God “for us.” And to say this with the maximum clarity he lets himself be a God “at our mercy”.102

Yet the crucified Jesus dies – and the crucified people continue to suffer and die. The soteriological enigma is not solved. If the love of God endures even the darkness of Golgotha, it is credible. Yet even if – or especially when – the love of God is credible: why does it seem to have no power? Thus the soteriological question is made even more acute. God’s answer is not ultimately unequivocal. Or, at least, not until the resurrection. Only faith in the resurrection sees that God’s salvific love present in Jesus’ death on Golgotha is not only credible, but also powerful, that is, able to deliver what was promised: viz., salvation.103 At this point, regarding the sense in which it can be held that the cross actually is the result of God’s initiative, I find Sobrino’s texts somewhat indeterminate. Is God actually present or absent on the cross of Jesus? If the cross is a result of God’s initiative, does that make God responsible for Jesus’ death? And what would God’s relation to the crosses of history mean in that case? I shall discuss this in more detail in Chapter vii. Sobrino’s interpretation of Jesus’ salvific death ends with this paradox then: in Jesus’ death God’s salvific action towards humanity 102 Sobrino 1994c, 231-232. / Sobrino 1991d, 376: “Qué dice, en definitiva la cruz de Jesús? Dice que Dios se ha acercado irrevocablemente a este mundo, que es un Dios ‘con nosotros’ y un Dios ‘para nosotros’. Y para decir eso con la máxima claridad se deja ser un Dios ‘a merced de nosotros’.” 103 See Postscript below.

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reaches its culmination in that it is the manifestation of what is pleasing to God, namely a true and fulfilled human life (homo verus), and simultaneously the ultimate expression of what the true God is to human beings, namely unwavering, salvific love. This manifestation is “unequivocal” and credible because of the death of Jesus. Love which is ready to pay the highest price is true love. There can be no doubt about it. But still, this love seems to be without power. Can an impotent, but true love save? The cross is highly ambiguous, in this sense. God’s love is true and credible – but can it save? Is it really salvific love in a world of victims? The question remains open. And still – and this is pivotal – even before this question is fully and definitely answered, Sobrino finds salvation in the cross: There is something in a pure and credible love, even if it is impotent, that – paradoxically – generates hope in the power of love as such. […] In this way God wishes to show us his love on the cross and so save us. 104

What is the link between the historical reasons for Jesus’ death and its soteriological and theological significance, according to Sobrino? What is it that unites the question of why Jesus is killed with the question of why he dies? As I have already noted, Sobrino prefers to answer the two questions with reference to different “explicative” models – a dualistic “battlefield-model” and a monistic sacrificial model. This is surprising, given that Sobrino underscores the intimate link between the two questions so strongly. It will therefore occupy us in the subsections to come. Yet Sobrino maintains that intimate connection. He does so by reference to another key concept in christology, namely “incarna104 Sobrino 1994c, 232. / Sobrino 1991d, 377: “Algo hay en el amor puro y creíble, aunque impotente, que, paradójicamente, genera esperanza en el poder del amor en quanto tal […] De esa manera, Dios quiere mostrarnos su amor en la cruz y, así, salvarnos.”

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tion”. The incarnation is not given any extensive treatment in Sobrino’s texts so far, but it does in fact play an important role as a premise in his thinking.105 He even calls it “the first principle” of christology.106 As can be seen from the quotation with which I opened this chapter, Jesus’ death is seen as caused by his opponents who are mediators for the anti-Kingdom, active in human history. The fact that these forces have power over Jesus, the Son of God, so that he actually dies, is interpreted as God accepting fully the consequences of incarnation. God has drawn near – in love, with a saving purpose – so near as to actually suffer under the sinful and rebellious conditions of human history. Jesus “dies” because he “is killed”. 107 In a sum, this is how I read Sobrino’s interpretation of the salvific meaning of the death of Jesus: the cross of Jesus is the culmination of a life poured out, given freely for the sake of others, in particular for the poor and outcast; a manifestation of authentic love in the midst of the struggles of history. Faith sees in this event the ultimate revelation to human beings of who God is: a God of steadfast love, who has drawn so close that not even the death of God’s own Son can come between God and a lost and bewildered humanity. And faith sees in this event God’s own manifestation of what a true 105 Sobrino 1978a, 124, 207, 268, 215; Sobrino 1982b, 41, 51, 135, 146, 162-163. Sobrino 1994c, 229, 243-244. 106 Sobrino 1978a, 124. But note also the warning that a christology which gives too much prominence to the incarnation may become static and backwardsoriented: “Quizá el punto decisivo en esa falta de fidelidad de la teología cristiana ha sido una cristología que se agota en la encarnación, es decir, una comprensión de Cristo que nos hace mirar al pasado, recobrando así la figura de Cristo unilateralmente la función fundamentante del mito antiguo.” Sobrino 1974. 107 “Jesús ‘muere’ por que ‘lo matan’, porque Dios acepta hasta el final la encarnación como lugar del amor y de su credibilidad.” Sobrino 1983a, 500.

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human life can be like, lived in and from the constitutive relationships with God and God’s Kingdom, expressed in consistent and creative service of the poor of this world, the lost and destitute of God’s world-wide people. In this event, faith sees that God’s love does not draw back, even in the darkest hour of opposition and suffering. And faith heeds in this event God’s invitation to enter into relationship with Jesus, and into the same relationships as Jesus: to the God of the Kingdom and the Kingdom of God. So, faith finds salvation in this event, even when it cannot know if the salvific love of God come close on Golgotha actually is powerful enough to claim victory over the anti-Kingdom, the gods of evil who crucify the Son of God and continue to crucify children of God.

[5] Jesus the Liberator – An Exemplary Martyr? “In this way God wishes to show us his love on the cross and so save us.” Such was Sobrino’s concluding statement. Clearly, he lays great stress on the revelational aspect of salvation. Key concepts in his soteriology are manifestation, symbol, and example. It should be noted that this manifestation awaits an answer; it is not a unilateral statement about the actual state of affairs but rather an invitaciónexigencia, a calling into community, into life-giving and life-transforming relationships. This unity of manifestation and invitation is the kernel of Sobrino’s answer to the question of how the cross may bring salvation. My main critical objections to Sobrino’s considerations in this difficult matter have already been signalled. Now is the time to spell them out more clearly, and discuss them. The first relates directly to this “exemplarist” emphasis of Sobrino’s approach. The second deals with the choice of (historical-)soteriological models, and the rather

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surprising shift that we have witnessed in Sobrino’s use of such models. There is no doubt that one may find considerable support for seeing the cross of Jesus as a demonstration of God’s love for humanity, both in the New Testament and throughout the history of theology. Indeed some very important and central New Testament references, such as for instance John 3:16, highlight this aspect in particular: “God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son, that everyone who has faith in him may not die but have eternal life.” And “exemplarist” approaches have been frequent in soteriology, particularly since the Enlightenment.108 Common to these have been, first, an underscoring of the humanity of Jesus; second, a stress on the impact of the cross on human beings (as distinct from its potential impact on God), an impact that “takes the form of inspiration and encouragement to model ourselves upon the moral example set us in Jesus himself ”; and third, that the principal aspect of the cross is that it demonstrates the love of God.109 Sobrino’s preferred solution to the soteriological question shares these traits. It is clear that these aspects of the “exemplarist approach” are legitimate and even vital concerns to the New Testament witness and to the Christian tradition. Both God and Jesus are presented in the Bible as examples for human imitation.110 The difficulty arises, however, when these aspects are stressed too onesidedly; when they are made exclusive, to the detriment and even oblivion of other, central concerns. This objection echoes to a certain extent the “dissenting voice” of Eberhard Jüngel which I brought in Chapter ii. As we remember, Jüngel claims to be in line with Augustine and Luther when he sternly warns against an “exclusively ethical exemplum christology”. The crucial point for Jüngel is 108 See McGrath 1993, 622-624; Macquarrie 1990, 175-234. Cf. Moltmann 1974, 201. 109 McGrath 1993, 622.

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whether “the story of Jesus Christ is conceived only ethically, as an example of right human behaviour, only as exemplum, or beyond and behind that, as a history which effectively changes the being of humanity, as sacrament.” 111 My principal dissatisfaction with Sobrino’s seemingly unilateral promotion of the revelational character of salvation – perhaps we may call it the “manifestation-invitation” model – is that it is in one sense too weak, too modest, and in another sense too moralistic. Is it really sufficient, or even adequate at all, to say that Jesus dies so that God may convince human beings of God’s love? No, it is not, in my view, neither when one takes into account the full weight of the biblical witness and the Christian tradition, nor when one contemplates the gravity of the situation or condition from which human beings, and particularly the victims of history, need to be saved. It seems to me to be too modest a statement on the salvific significance of Jesus’ life-and-death, if it does not more directly address the question whether God does in fact bring about a determinative change, a transformation through Jesus. And it is certainly not helpful if it actually rules out a more direct salvific effectiveness of the cross than the possible changes which may (or 110 In the Old Testament, Israel’s calling is to be holy as God is holy, Lev. 11:44; cf. Matt 5:48. Similarly, the Synoptic Gospels present the cross as something to be ‘taken up’ in imitation of Jesus’ example. In the writings of Paul, the notion of following an example appears frequently. See particularly Rom.12:1, where Paul admonishes the believers to “present your bodies as a living sacrifice”, in clear echo of the sacrifice of Jesus. Similarly in the Johannine writings. Having noted this, Colin Gunton writes: “If, therefore, we are to establish a case for an objective, past atonement, it cannot be at the cost of denying the subjective and exemplary implications. The story of Jesus, whatever else it tells, is presented as an example, a supreme pattern to follow (Heb. 12.2), the one example of a genuine human life in the midst of a fallen world.” Gunton 1988, 57. 111 Jüngel 1995, 169.

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may not) occur when human beings see the manifestation and accept the invitation. Such an understanding seems to imply a too limited explication of the bold and unexpected New Testament confessions of what has actually happened on Golgotha. And it is, in my view, a too “low key”, too cautious, interpretation compared with the expectations and hopes expressed by suffering and struggling Christian communities today when they turn to the cross in faith, and claim to find in it a source of liberation and hope for the future. In another sense, a unilateral exemplarist approach tends to be too moralistic. When too much weight is laid on the human responsibility and possibility of actually accomplishing salvation – for oneself, for each other, for humanity – the imminent danger is that the gravity and strength of that which hinders salvation from becoming a present reality in full force is reduced or underestimated, at the same time as the power and ability – and even the good will – of human beings are overstated. This objection actualises traditional differences between Catholic and Protestant soteriologies. The idea of a cooperatio in some sense present in the process of salvation is central in Catholic teaching in general, and in liberation theology in particular. Nevertheless, I deem it relevant to raise this critique with regards to Sobrino’s outline, because it is not insignificant even within Catholic thinking, actually how this cooperatio is conceived of, and because exactly when one takes into account the main thrust of Sobrino’s christology – his point of departure and liberating interest – it becomes crucial not to advocate a too harmonious world view, expressed in a overly optimistic anthropology and a too weak, and perhaps abstract, hamartiology. The issue at stake here may be formulated in the following critical question: Is Jesus the Liberator in the end depicted as “an exemplary martyr” by Sobrino? Interpreted as a variant of the exemplarist

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approach, this could seem to be an adequate characterisation. The question is, however, whether it would reflect a fair evaluation of Sobrino’s thinking. Is “examplarist approach” really all there is to be said about his outline? Do the critical objections that I have raised above, with reference to the stern warnings voiced by Jüngel,112 really do justice to the complexity and carefulness of Sobrino’s reasoning on this point? In spite of resemblances, it is not correct to present Sobrino as a spokesman for a “crude” exemplarist model, of a rationalist, Enlightenment kind. His approach is not as one-sided in this respect as it may seem. The primary reason for this, is the centrality of relationships in his outline, and their constitutive and transformational character. Sobrino’s emphasis on relationships may rescue his soteriology from the pitfalls of exemplarist and purely subjective solutions. However, this important corrective to a merely exemplarist model linked to the status and role of relationships is present in Sobrino’s texts more as potential, than as fully developed arguments. Salvation is effected by way of relations and consists in new relationships, according to Sobrino. Since these relations are constitutive, they do in fact cause and effectuate a transformation. Since they are relations, they transcend the isolationism and individualism – which in turn leads to moralism – of a purely subjective approach. At the same time, since they are relations, they affirm that salvation is not something which only happens “in heaven” so to speak – in a cosmological, purely transcendental and abstract sphere, but something which happens between God and humanity/world within concrete history. It is a restored relationship between them. Thus, what one from Sobrino’s position probably would see as shortcomings of a purely “objectivist” approach are also avoided. The emphasis on relationships may open up for a kind of cooperatio which does respond to liberation theology’s concerns to maintain the unity of 112 Cf. also Bedford 1993, 290f.

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salvation and history, without becoming purely immanent, activist, or in dogmatic terms, Pelagian. Salvation does therefore imply change in Sobrino’s approach. It is not a change in God or an “objective” change of the status of the world or of human beings. It is a change in relationships, effectuated through relationships. They are “transformational” relations. Once again, it must be asked, however: What is the role of Jesus’ death on a cross in this change? Is it merely an example of what a saving relationship is like, an illustration of how saving relation to God and God’s Kingdom actually works, a proof that such salvific relationships take place, and are possible, in history? If so, then the accusation that Sobrino depicts Jesus as little more than “an exemplary martyr” may seem justified. The crucial question here is what it is that constitutes the relationships. Is the possibility of entering into such saving relationships decisively opened up through Jesus’ life-and-death? Sobrino’s answer to this seems ambivalent, as we see in his diffuse statement of God’s continuous change towards us,113 and in the unresolved tension between continuity and discontinuity in his christology, which I have repeatedly pointed out. In some aspects, it seems that Jesus is only realising an ever present possibility inherent in the human and historical condition, responding to an uninterrupted presence of God in history. Jesus dies, just like so many (prophets) before and after him. Because he realises this human possibility, and responds to the divine presence, he is considered a witness. Since his testimony is sealed with his own blood, Jesus is a martyr – one among many. Since he is the first one who does this fully, he is more than just “any” martyr; he is the exemplary martyr. Jesus is depicted in continuity with his sisters and brothers, although “first” among them. He is the “firstborn”, in the words of the Heb 1:6.114 113 Sobrino 1991d, 374.

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In other aspects however, it is clear in Sobrino’s account that something decisively new and unique has occurred in and through the life-and-death of Jesus. Through the ministry and destiny of Jesus it has, contrary to all expectations, come definitely clear who God is: that God is good, that God’s Kingdom signifies life and justice to the poor, that God’s actively searching love endures even through the seemingly unbearable hardships of human history. And through Jesus’ ministry and destiny it has become absolutely clear, contrary to all expectations, how one corresponds in history to the coming of the Kingdom of God and God of the Kingdom: not by the seeking of earthly power but by an active service, not by demanding but by giving, not by judging but by forgiving. Contrary to all expectations, through Jesus we are shown a God who conquers sin, injustice, hatred and other works of the evil forces through a total identification with those who have fallen victim to these forces. It is a victory won by a victim. This is good news to the victims of the world!115 In this way, new and unexpected possibilities have in fact emerged in human history in and through the life-and-death of Jesus. We may now “know what we are, and what we can and should be”116 – not in mere continuity with human ability, experience and knowledge,117 I want to add, but as a result of something surprisingly new and previously unseen. But how may these possibilities become realities? Merely through the gaining of knowledge, merely through the “inspiration” and “invitation” that emerges from the story of Jesus? Certainly, 114 Heb. 1:6 “Again, when he presents the first-born to the world, he says, ‘Let all the angels of God pay him homage.’” Cf. Rom. 8:29. 115 See below, Chapter viii [4] and Postscript [2]. 116 Sobrino 1991d, 373. 117 In other words, not ‘facere quod in se est’, as it was formulated in Scholasticism.

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according to the christology of Sobrino, these possibilities become realities through the life-transforming relationships. We become more truly human and hence more like God by living and growing in these relationships, in and through the following of Jesus. This is not a result of our own efforts, but because through them we gain access to, or rather, we receive the salvific love of God.118 In order then to preclude a reductive, unilaterally exemplarist interpretation of Jesus’ life-and-death, I think this should be strengthened, more explicitly underlined, and even further developed in Sobrino’s thinking: the cross of Jesus is not only salvific as the culminating point in a manifestation of what is pleasing to God and proof of the credibility of God’s love, but furthermore because it is an actualisation, an unleashing of this love in concrete history. Salvation is not just knowledge of God’s love, but actual reception of that love. The good news is not just an invitation to a salvific relationship with God and with fellow human beings through Jesus, but actual facilitation of this relationship. Jesus liberates not only as a motivating example, but by actually making present the pure love of God in human history.

118 It is through these relationships that God, according to Sobrino, is preparing us to being introduced into God’s own historical process. “Desde aquí se puede entender también el significado profundo de un pensamiento tradicional: por la cruz hemos sido salvados. Normalmente esto suele explicarse según modelos que presuponen ya quién es Dios y qué es salvación, como si ésta fuese algo añadido al hombre ya constituido. Creemos más bien que al afirmar que la cruz es salvadora se dicen dos cosas: 1) que en ella se revela un amor incondicional de Dios, expresión de la gratuidad y de la posibilidad de salvación en la existencia histórica. Si Dios nos ha amado primero (1 Jn 4, 10; Rom 5, 8) hay un sentido último para la historia. Que la culminación de seramados por Dios consiste en la capacitación para introducirnos en el proceso histórico de Dios mismo, es decir en pasar del amor pasivo al amor activo.” Sobrino 1976, 169-170. English text in Sobrino 1978a, 227.

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In other words, I find it necessary and possible to balance the strong illustrative tendency of Sobrino with some key insights from more constitutive approaches. The justification and potential for doing so are already present in Sobrino’s outline.

[6] The Shifting of Models: From Struggle to Sacrifice Now I shall turn to the second problematic area I see in Sobrino’s interpretation of the death of Jesus: viz., the solution he offers somehow does not quite answer the problem he has raised. In short, whereas the problem basically is stated in dualistic terms, the solution operates with a monistic frame of reference. Whereas Jesus is killed because of the struggle of the gods, the explanation for his actually dying is sought with reference to God alone. The choice of soteriological, (non-)explicative models, the status they are given and how they function, and – once again – the role and character of relationships are the crucial issues here. Sobrino is right in stressing the tentative and preliminary character of soteriological models. The fruitfulness and necessity of the use of models in all scientific reasoning, as well as in theology in particular, has recently been called to attention by several scholars. Once again, Paul Ricoeur has been a forerunner. Ricoeur defines a model as “essentially a heuristic instrument that seeks, by means of fiction, to break down an inadequate interpretation and to lay the way for a new, more adequate interpretation.”119 Building on Ricoeur and others, Sallie McFague has made the use and renewal of models the determinative feature of her “metaphorical theology.”120 She defines a model as a metaphor with “staying power”, 119 Ricoeur 1978, 240.

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i.e. “a metaphor that has gained sufficient stability and scope so as to present a pattern for relatively comprehensive and coherent explanation.”121 Much in the same vein, but with a more refined and profound analysis on the use and meaning of soteriological models, is Colin Gunton, The Actuality of Atonement.122 In line with what we have seen above, the role of models is not primarily explanation in a strict sense, bur rather exploration. If we underscore the “heuristic instrument” and “means of fiction” in Ricoeur’s definition and the emphasis on relative adequacy (Tracy) obvious in both Ricoeur and McFague, we get a grasp of the risk and incompleteness always present in the use of models. Sobrino thus agrees with this approach when holding that these models ‘do not explain anything, but say it all’. This means that models should not be absolutised – or, in McFague’s wording – they should not be “idolatrized.”123 A variety of models are necessary. “An endless number of metaphors and models […] is ‘no death by a thousand qualifications.’ Rather, it is life by a thousand enrichments.”124 Models are complementary rather than mutually exclusive, although they may also be so contradictory that the option for one will effectively bar the use of others. There are always advantages and dangers with the use of models. Their intrinsic logic should not always be strictly followed. But the theologian is lost without them; she does not have “the luxury of deciding between models and no models: the question is, which models?”125 120 McFague 1982, particularly chapters 3 and 4, and McFague 1987. – “In a sense, it could be said that religious language consists of nothing but metaphors and models, and theological langauge is rife with them.” McFague 1982, 105. 121 McFague 1987, 34. 122 Gunton 1988. Compare McFague’s too superficial treatment of soteriological models in McFague 1987, 53ff. 123 McFague 1982, 4-7. 124 Ian Ramsey, quoted by McFague in McFague 1982, 106.

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In this chapter we have seen a remarkable shift in Sobrino’s choice of models. Moving from the historical question to the soteriological, he changes from the battlefield to the cult – from the “struggle of gods” to a sacrificial model. Why is this? And is it justified? We saw that the answer to the historical question of why Jesus was killed, was drawn from antagonistic relationships: Jesus faces opposition and persecution. Metaphors from the battlefield lay thus close at hand. There is a “war” going on; there are “victors” and “victims”, etc. The whole framework of this interpretation is dualistic: two forces are in direct and continuous contradiction; reality is “theologal-idolatrous.” When Sobrino subsequently moves from this battlefield-model as illuminating the “deep logic” of historical developments leading to Jesus’ death, to his explicitly soteriological interpretation, relying primarily on the sacrificial model with distinct elements from the Suffering Servant-christology, I see at least two difficulties. First, while Sobrino correctly underscores the tentative and explorative character of the models in the latter – soteriological – perspective (“they do not explain anything”), he seems much more confident about the adequacy of the battlefield-model as a historical explanation of the turn of events. This critique was already voiced above. Sobrino should rather treat his heuristic tools with the same caution, whether they be used to answer historical or soteriological concerns. In other words, Sobrino should give the same status to the models, regardless of the perspective from which he has recourse. Second, Sobrino does not show how these preferred models actually relate to each other in his approach. In Sobrino’s interpretation of the soteriological meaning of the cross what happened to the gods, to the anti-Kingdom powers? If the fundamental problem is the dualistic and antagonistic structure of historical reality – and it 125 McFague 1982, 105.

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is a basic pre-understanding and requirement that salvation is something which happens in history and to history – then why is his answer to the soteriological question framed in an exclusively monistic framework? How do the dualistic/antagonistic and the monistic/constitutive relationships relate to each other here? It should be remembered that this difficult integration of dualism/monism is at the heart of practically all Christian theology. Some form of dualism – whether moderate or more extreme – will always be present. The whole need for such a concept and reality as “salvation” itself depends upon it. Something is wrong; there is something opposing or obstructing the good will of God from being realised in history. There must be, in one form or another, some forces contrary to God. They may be found inside or outside of human beings; they may be under the control or outside the control of God. At the same time it is pivotal for Christian theology to maintain that the last word remains with God alone. Christians do not believe in an Anti-God; they are not di-theists. How can one integrate the dualistic perspective in a monistic one? In the end, it is really the theodicy-problem we are facing, once again: how can we reconcile the existence of God with the existence of evil? There is thus no cause for surprise that Sobrino too is struggling in order to come to terms with this aporia of dualism-monism in his thinking. Theologians through the ages have sought a variety of different solutions to this problem. Much painstaking effort has been dedicated to avoiding the idea of God being directly responsible for the evil forces, and on the opposite end, of taking evil as seriously as it merits: facing the reality of seemingly meaningless and absurd human suffering, without thereby postulating forces that actually threaten God, the Creator of Heaven and Earth. And it is noteworthy that there is not one canonically or dogmatically sanctioned answer to this dilemma.126

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But still, is Sobrino’s attempt helpful? Is it a good suggestion to deal with dualism by way of antagonistic relationships which configure historical reality on the one hand, and monism as constitutive, transformational, i.e. salvific, relationships, on the other? In order to respond to this we need to see how Sobrino moves from one to the other, and how he integrates them. And this is where we uncover the remarkable blank spot. Jon Sobrino moves from the battlefield-model to the sacrificial model, without mediating between them. They are simply left side by side. In spite of his strong insistence on the inter-connectedness of history and salvation, he uses totally distinct frameworks of interpretation depending on whether he looks at the cross from the former or the latter perspective. This is all the more strange as there is, as mentioned above, both in the New Testament and in the early Christian tradition a model which makes use of the imagery of struggle and victory in order to explain how the cross brings salvation.127 I refer to what Gustaf Aulén has called the “classic” model. It may also be called the dramatic-cosmological model, which may include – although this is debated – the ransom or redemption model. Central in Aulén’s “classic” model is the idea of the salvation of mankind as a divine conflict and victory in which Jesus Christ on the cross triumphs over the evil powers of this world and of this age, “tyrants” under which mankind has been kept in perpetual bondage and suffering ever since the fall.128 The context of this view is clearly dualistic. Aulén calls it “dualistic-dramatic”129, and claims that it is the dominant idea in the New Testament, which forms the basis of ransom theories, and gov126 This observation is the point of departure for McIntyre in McIntyre 1992. Cf. the discussion in Chapter vii below. 127 See, for instance, Heb. 2:14ff, which one would suppose had much in store for a liberation soteriology along Sobrino’s lines.

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erns the dominant soteriology of the first thousand years of the Church’s history. In spite of this solid basis, and its centrality in influential Christian thinkers such as Irenaeus and Luther, it almost disappeared, primarily as a result of the scepticism towards dualism after the Enlightenment, Aulén believes.130 Even if the critics of Aulén are right in deeming this an overstatement, there is still sufficient support in biblical sources and from the history of dogma to sustain the claim that this is at least one of the more important soteriological motifs in the Christian tradition.131 There are several reasons why one would expect this model to play a central role in a soteriology of liberation such as that of Sobrino. First, and most obviously, because Sobrino describes historical reality in similar terms. Second, because its imagery and vocabulary are closely linked up to natural associations of the key term “liberation”: conflict, struggle, power, oppression, captivity, freedom, victim-victor, etc. A soteriology which makes historical 128 I quote from the original Swedish version, Aulén 1930, 10: “Den försoningstyp jag har i sikte kan preliminärt beskrivas som den dramatiska. Huvudtemat är tanken på försoningen såsom en gudomlig kamp- och segergärning, på Kristus såsom den der kämpar med och segrar över tillvarons fördärvsmakter, de ‘tyranner’, under vilka mänskligheten träler och lider, på Gud såsom den vilken härigenom ‘försonar världen med sig själv’.” 129 Aulén 1930, 21. 130 Aulén 1930, 21: “Elimineras dualismen, försvinner tanken på förfintligheten av ‘makter’, som stå fientliga i förhållande till gudsviljan, så har därmed också förutsättningen för det klassiske försoningsmotivet försvunnit. Nu er emellertid den ledande teologien från upplysningstiden och sedan 1800-talet igenom – under innflytande av idealistisk metafysik – utpräglat monistisk och evolutionistisk inställd.” Cf. McIntyre 1992, 43. 131 Aulén supports his view with particular references to Pauline soteriology, Revelation and the Gospel of John. These texts are not as frequently referred to by Sobrino. But also in the synoptics, this perspective is clearly present, as Sobrino himself is very much aware. See Sobrino 1991d, 166ff.

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liberation an integral aspect of salvation would certainly be expected to draw more on this model. Third, because Sobrino himself has shown that this dualistic perspective is decisive in order to understand the life-and-death of Jesus, and that it most probably was an important feature of Jesus’ own world-view and self-consciousness. So why then does Sobrino finally omit it when it comes to soteriology? One must presume that he knows this model well, and therefore tacitly, but consciously avoids it. This may be because he fears the possible triumphalist consequences of such a model. Applied directly to the historical and political struggles, a liberation christology profoundly marked by this model might become another kind of conquest “christology” – although with the opposite orientation to those described in Chapter iii. It might also be that Sobrino wishes to make clear that in the end, the God of life and the idols of death are not on the same level at all. God, Creator and Redeemer constitutes relations; the idols pervert relations, make them antagonistic, destructive. Following this train of thought, it is not just that their modes and levels of action are contradictory and incompatible; more than this, God and idols do also have completely different ontological status. In this way he can avoid the undesirable consequence of emphasising the relational ontological status of the idols, which may threaten to make even the existence of God something dependent on God’s being believed in. On the other hand, it is clear that the classic model not only highlights the dualistic and antagonistic structure of reality; it also unifies the dualistic and monistic perspectives, by subordinating the former to the latter: God controls the evil powers. In fact, in the end these powers actually exercise their influence in some sense with God’s permission, or even on behalf of God.132 Such an understanding, which has found expression in the history of theology in

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terms like “the hidden God” and “God’s opus alienum”, might seem a consequence of the classic model which Sobrino wishes to evade. All in all, I suspect that Sobrino’s main reason for not following this dualistic model all the way through, is due to his reluctance to advocate an excessively combative, ‘aggressive’ christology. It is vital for him to speak with utter honesty and seriousness of the tangible and terrible consequences of evil forces in history; he must speak of, from and faced with the constant suffering of the poor. Therefore, a conflictual dualistic framework of interpretation suits him well in addressing this historical situation. At the same time, however, he is reluctant to state the salvation brought forward by God in Jesus, manifested in the cross, in similar terms. It is obviously important to Sobrino that Jesus the Liberator should not be visualised as a “Jesus warrior”; and that the God of the Kingdom not be seen as some kind of “Supreme Warlord”. Although such consequences are by no means necessary consequences of using the ‘classic’ model, as I shall try to show, they may lie close at hand. So these precautions are intelligible and justifiable to a certain extent. Nevertheless, I hold that it would be possible for Sobrino to 132 Aulén 1930, 10-11: “Försoningsdramat avtecknar sig mot en dualistisk bakgrund. Det gäller ett övervinnande av de fördärvsmakter, som på samma gång äro gentemot gudsviljan fientliga makter. Gud tänkas vara i eminent mening engagerad i den kamp- och segersgärning, som Kristus utför. Den er strängt taget den gudomliga viljans eget verk. Om en försoning är det fråga redan därigenom att, i och genom segern över de fientliga makterna, en förvandlad och av försoning präglad situation kommer til stånd mellan Gud och världen. Men försoningsmotivet framträder i ännu skarpare belysning, om man ger tillbörligt akt derpå, att de fientliga makterna – eller åtminstone vissa av dem – på samma gång, från viss synspunkt sett, tänkas såsom stående i den gudomliga domsviljans tjänst och utföra dess uppdrag. Från denne utgångspunkt kommer segergärningen, makternas övervinnande, tillika att te sig såsom ett Guds försonande: Han försonas i och med det att han själv försonar världen med sig.”

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include in his outline decisive elements of the ‘classic’ model. This would even make his outline more coherent, and in a way fill the blank spot that I discovered in relation to the unexpected shift from one model to another.133 How could it enrich Sobrino’s approach? How could it help build the bridge, so to speak, to the sacrificial model, or to the Suffering Servant motif?

[7] Jesus – The Victorious Victim The main problems with the “classic model” as one can find it in Aulén, building particularly on Irenaeus and Luther, are, when seen from Sobrino’s position, firstly, a possible premature triumphalism, which at worst might end up as a converted “conquest” christology.134 Its dualism is taken too far. Secondly, although dramatically dualist, it sees the evil powers incorporated in the ultimate will of God. They are at the service of God’s judgement. Paradoxically, its monism is also taken too far. I shall now propose how this dilemma could be overcome in a manner which is congruous to Sobrino’s overall framework.

133 Once again, there is nothing wrong in using two or several different models as Sobrino does. They do not even need to be integrated or coherent. Different approaches are necessary in order to grasp the complexity of the theme which is under consideration. Nevertheless, the more the relation between the models can be explained, the clearer the whole picture will be. 134 As will have become clear to the reader, Sobrino’s rendering of the story of Jesus builds to a large extent – athough not exclusively – on the version found in the Gospel of Mark. This gospel gives particular reasons to be critical of all triumphalist frameworks. Sobrino agrees with X. Alegre in that Mark is “anti-triumphalist”. Sobrino 1991d, 397.

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The question is whether Jesus’ death on the cross can be conceived as a victory. Sobrino prefers to postpone the perspective of victory to the resurrection. It is the evil forces who triumph at Golgotha.135 Yet, Sobrino speaks of an “overcoming” of the evil forces “from within”, which takes place on the cross. […] on the cross we see God submerged within the negative. The possibility of overcoming the negative is realised by submersion within the mechanisms and processes of the negative.” 136

Thus one can see the cross as victory, even within the confines of Sobrino’s christology, when it is seen as a victory won by a victim. We have seen that Sobrino attaches the utmost importance in his christology to Jesus’ relationality to the Kingdom of God and to the God of the Kingdom. Jesus, as mediator and inaugurator of the Kingdom, proclaims the good news about its coming in words and deeds, directed particularly to those considered less dignified and fortunate in social, economic and religious terms. Jesus makes a preferential option for the poor, since the Kingdom is – in the end – “just life for the poor”, always open to a “more”. This is all a reflection of and a response to the reality and nearness of God the loving father, in whom Jesus trusts and rests, and with whom he experiences an intimate communion, yet also by whom he sees himself questioned, called, and sent to a consistent service for those whom God especially loves: the weak, the forgotten, the victims in history. Jesus has to proclaim the good news to the poor against the bad news of their exclusion, marginalisation, and finally their condemnation. The salvific service of Jesus’ life is realised within a dualistic 135 Sobrino 1994c, 248. 136 Sobrino 1978a, 221. Sobrino 1976,165: “Dios no aparece como quien tiene poder sobre lo negativo desde fuera; en la cruz se le ve sumergiendo dentro de lo negativo. La posíble superación de lo negativo, se efectúa sumergiéndose en los mecanismos de lo negativo.”

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perspective; there are forces that hold people down, and there is the saving force of God, which restores, liberates, redeems. We recognise clearly the traits of the “classic” soteriological model. Because of his many acts of restitution, of forgiveness, of healing, Jesus is confessed as messiah: liberator. But does the liberator triumph in the final struggle against these deadly forces? Does the liberator become victor? Because of this surprising and even scandalously partisan service, Jesus faces opposition and persecution. In the midst of these conflicts, the biblical witnesses report that Jesus experiences profound temptations. The temptations deal primarily with questions of power. Jesus is engaged in a struggle against the powers of evil, actively present in human history. This struggle is real and serious – so serious that it in the end leads to Golgotha. Now the question is: with which power, with what means is Jesus’ struggle to be fought? With the power of effective, retributive justice or with the power of suffering love? What is really at stake here is whether the option for the poor, the scandalous partisanship of the Kingdom, will be consequently maintained. – A Jesus “warrior”, a messiah according to traditional theocratic expectations: would he actually be a true liberator of the poor, of the victims of history? Are they not the ones who always fall outside or in between; the ones who never can expect to gain anything from the directly confrontational – and violent – competition for power in history?137 If Jesus responded to the attack from the anti-Kingdom forces by following their own deadly logic, by using their own means, would he not then be caught in their perverted logic of power?

137 See to this the criticism that liberation theology has failed to appreciate poor peoples’ actual strategies for survival and resistance, raised i.a. by David Stoll (Stoll 1990, 313ff et passim) and David Martin (Martin 1990, 290f.) I have commented on this criticism in Stålsett 1995d, 231-234.

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Jesus chooses differently; he chooses the way of suffering love. Thus the liberator falls victim to the idols of death. Nevertheless, this is not tantamount to resignation or defeat; this is his victory. The forces of death could not make him retreat from his loyalty to the God who has chosen to identify with victims, not even when they make Jesus himself become a victim. Thus the victim becomes victor. It is a victory from within, and a victory from below. It is won from within the concrete and deadly conflicts of history. The cross on Golgotha was not primarily a cosmological drama; it was an historical happening – and as such, it has universal significance. It is a victory from below, won by a true human being in loving response to the true God, to such an extent that human being and God is totally unified in this love. It is a victory from below, won by sharing the lot of victims, thus avoiding to become merely another action of rescue on their behalf and over their heads, something that in the end would not be capable of grasping the depth of their destiny and would therefore not be authentically salvific. There is then salvation understood as victory in the cross.138 The forces of evil – whose origin and existence are in the end inexplicable, a true mysterium inequitatis, but whose dreadful works can be clearly detected in human history, in Jesus’ times as well as today – are definitively defeated by Jesus, the victorious victim. That the victim is actually a victor,139 and that the victory is definitive in spite of the continuing presence of destruction and suffering, can be discovered only from a perspective of faith.

138 This perspective of a victory, an “overthrow” of the “ruler of this world”, i.e. the Devil, etc. is clearly more Johannine than Synoptic. See John 6:70; 13:2 and 27; 12:31; 16:11. See Ladd 1974, 192, however. 139 As Sobrino’s christology rightly underlines, Jesus is an “active” victim. Jesus is the one who gives his life, faithful to the end. Jesus is not a “passive” victim; he does not resign.

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Here we reach the leap of faith which is required in order to see Jesus in discontinuity with all other human beings, prophets, martyrs, liberators. He is the one who realised the victim’s victory – and therefore made possible all victims’ victory; he is the one who made present, “real”, the power of suffering love to the end in our human history. And though there may have been other martyrs who preferred the way of suffering love to resignation or violent resistance, Jesus is the one who in an incomparable manner has experienced, brought near and mediated the reality of God’s salvific presence in human history through God’s Kingdom. And even having lived all this, he willingly shares the fate of the world’s victims to the end: execution, annihilation, crucifixion. This shows that he is unique; he is Jesus the Liberator, the true Messiah of God. From this perspective, and bearing in mind the central features of the “classic” soteriological model, we can make this leap of faith from within the world of the victims. It is not a leap of faith “over” the victims, so to speak. Their suffering is taken utterly – indeed, deadly – seriously. This is the salvific significance of Jesus’ death: the death of a victim. This interpretation draws on the “classic” model, while at the same time criticising it. In a similar vein to my proposal here, Colin Gunton faults Aulén for not seeing that the victory won is not only God’s victory but a human victory (cf. Sobrino: Jesus, homo verus)140, and for not seeing that the victory belongs not only to the past, but is a victory to be won by Jesus’ friends and followers in a continuing struggle until the end of this age.141 As one can see, 140 “[…] Aulén is right to speak of a victory, but […] it is not merely a divine victory. The victory is at once human and divine – a divine victory only because it is a human one – and although the Synoptic Gospels do not explicitly describe the ministry of Jesus as a victory, they clearly see it as in part a conflict between the authority of God represented by Jesus and that which would deny it.” Gunton 1988, 59.

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these points echo vital concerns in Sobrino’s thinking, and open up the possibility for also seeing victory – sub specie contrarii – in the many crosses in history. This may seem a contradiction. Above, I criticised Sobrino for a tendency towards making a “short-cut”, i.e. a too unmediated or unmodified application of mythical language to historical events. Here, I propose that he should be more consistent in his use of a model which is heavily dependent on the same language, by taking it all the way to the ultimate soteriological question. As I have shown above with reference to Ricoeur and Croatto however, mythical language (like other kinds of metaphorical and symbolic language) is wholly legitimate and fruitful, even necessary, in religious and theological discourse. The danger occurs when one does not take due notice of the metaphorical character of this language, and how it is used in a given situation. And yet it is true that “metaphorical” is not “unreal”; metaphors are not mere ornaments, they are capable of unveiling profound truths about the reality in which we exist. It is an exploratory, rather than explanatory language, but not thereby less real or truthful. If one takes the mythical language too literally, then the war of gods becomes a cosmological struggle of which human history is 141 “The victory is both a continuing and an earthly one. Both sides must be stressed if we are to see the matter as more than a myth, a ‘story of the gods’. In the first place, the victory of Christ is seen to continue in the life of the Christian, so that Paul can say that ‘in all things we are conquerors through him who loved us’ (Rom. 8.37), while the Johannine authors conceive the victory as continuing in the life of the Christian community: ‘For whatever is born of God overcomes the world; and this is the victory that overcomes the world, our faith’ (1 John 5.4). Similarly, Rev. 15.2 echoes the language we recently met in speaking of those, possibly the martyrs but perhaps more generally all Christian believers, who have conquered ‘the beast’.” Gunton 1988, 57.

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only a stage, and in which human beings are only helpless spectators, incapable of affecting the outcome of the struggle, and thus bearing no responsibility for it. But if this language is used in order to express the seriousness and mystery of the presence of evil in the midst of human history, without ontologising it, then it may prove to be de facto revelational and thus appropriate in theological reasoning. Perhaps this could be described as a way of using mythical language in a non-mythological way.142 Sobrino could well have used the soteriological model that highlights struggle, victory and redemption in interpreting the salvific meaning of Jesus’ death on the cross. That would bring his argument to a more consistent conclusion. Instead, as I have shown, Sobrino chooses the sacrificial model as his primary tool for such interpretation. This is certainly not wrong. The sacrificial model has solid support, both in the Bible and in the tradition. In doing so, Sobrino succeeds in avoiding some of the common misinterpretations and misuses of this model which have had such unfortunate consequences for the perception of God in much theological reasoning. One may ask, however, if Sobrino’s rather one-sided emphasis on “acceptance” as the inner meaning of sacrifice actually does justice to the New Testament use of “sacrifice” in understanding the 142 Gunton (op. cit., 65) claims that this is what Paul does when speaking of “principalities and powers”. To undergird this view, Gunton quotes the following interesting passage from Caird, G.B.: The Language and Imagery of the Bible Duckworth, London 1980, 242: “They [i.e. the principalities and powers] stand, as their names imply, for the political, social, economic and religious structures of power […] of the old world order which Paul believed to be obsolescent. When therefore he claims that on the cross Christ has disarmed the powers and triumphed over them, he is talking about earthly realities, about the impact of the crucifixion on the corporate life of men and nations. He is using mythical language of great antiquity and continuing vitality to interpret the historic event of the cross.”

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death of Jesus. It seems that Sobrino is eager to cleanse the concept of God of antagonistic, excluding features. God is love; God’s love is compassionate, and therefore partisan, but precisely by being partisan vis-à-vis the lowly and despised, it is all-encompassing love. 143 This is a fully legitimate concern. Yet one could ask: although there is no exclusion or antagonism in God, could there not still be an element of conflict between humanity and God? Or put more directly: Do the strong and deep concerns of traditional Christian soteriology expressed in terms of humanity’s sin, rebellion against God, and guilt on the one hand, and God’s justice, holiness and even wrath on other, disappear in Sobrino’s outline? In a certain sense, they are certainly toned down.144 In the history of theology, this cluster of concerns and motifs have also had their “model”, according to which the cross is seen primarily as judgement and penalty, and Jesus’ death as vicarious penal death, expiation and satisfaction for the sins of humanity.145 In fact, the sacrificial aspect is decisive in this model, but it draws on other features of the sacrificial tradition, aspects that Sobrino – with his aversion to all “Anselmianisms” – tries to avoid. Perhaps further development of the Suffering Servant-theme as key to the salvific meaning of Jesus’ death could fruitfully make room for the legitimate concerns of this model too. Given that the 143 Hugo Assmann highlights this effort of Sobrino: “[…] é preciso eliminar da imagem de Deus tudo o que possibilite anexar à própria idéa de Deus, que é amor, um princípio ou elemento que reinstaure e legitime qualquer lógica de exclusão, inclusive em Deus mesmo. Amor é, em sua expreçaõ máxima, a plena- auto- e hetero-aceitação. Jon Sobrino tem trabalhado intensamente nesse esforço de total purificação do conceito de Deus de qualquer resquício de ausência de amor, com-paixão e misericórdia.” Assmann 1994b, 6. 144 Cf. what I have said above regarding the threat of a too optimistic anthropology, and a too shallow hamartiology in his approach, also coming to expression i .a. in a tendency to “naturalise the supernatural.” 145 Cf. Whale 1960, 61ff; Gunton 1988, 83ff; Boff 1987b, 95ff.

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Servant Songs play a fundamental role in Sobrino’s soteriology – especially as this concerns “the crucified people” – it is rather surprising that Sobrino does not exploit it more in his interpretation of the cross. He might find a potential bridge here between the models of battlefield and sacrifice, as well as an opportunity to reflect more deeply on the gravity and character of the critical interruption of the relationship between humanity and God (the moment of discontinuity), which I see as the main intention expressed in more “objective” and “Anselmian” soteriological models. The Suffering Servant is clearly described in the fourth song as a victorious victim. In this connection, it is interesting to note the centrality of the theme of the struggle between Yahweh and the gods of the nations in the book of Deutero-Isaiah. This is especially reflected in the so-called trial-speeches, Is. 41:1-5, 21-29; 43: 8-15; 44:6ff.; 45:20-25, and, possibly, 45:11ff. But this struggle takes place in court, so to speak, and no longer on the battlefield. In this, Old Testament scholar Claus Westermann sees “a complete innovation on the prophet’s part”, which in his view “represents the first move in human history towards the dissolution of the link between ‘religion’ and politics.”146 It does not, however, in any way imply a severance of the link between God’s action and history; it only means that the hitherto accepted proof of a god’s divinity, his power to win military victory for his people, was replaced by another, the dependable and unremitting continuity between what a god says and what he does.147

The beginning of the process from depicting salvation as the victory of a God-warrior, to seeing God’s salvific work in a victorious victim, is thus to be found already at this point. And in the book of Isaiah, this process culminates in the fourth Servant Song: 146 Westermann 1969, 15. 147 Westermann 1969, 15.

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Yet Yahweh took pleasure in him [who was crushed] and [healed] the one who made his life an offering for sin. He will see his seed, he shall prolong his days and the purpose of Yahweh shall prosper in his hand.148

Here the victim wins victory, in the context of a struggle of gods, by becoming an offering, a sacrifice. This fits Sobrino’s interpretation perfectly, since it is the life of the Servant which is made an offering, and since weight is put on God’s accepting this offering. But furthermore, it is an offering for sin, we are told. In context, this sin is closely related to God’s people’s failure to resist the temptation to idolatry: an idolatry which causes human victims – like the servant. God’s judgement over God’s people is thus clearly linked to the sin of idolatry, which has human victims. Thus it would be possible for Sobrino, following the lines already drawn up in his soteriology, to incorporate in a much more comprehensive manner the concern of the community which is behind this Song of the Servant. By singing the song, the members of the community are confessing their sins against the Servant and against God – their sin against the Servant as a sin against God. And they are rejoicing in the gift of salvation which comes totally unexpectedly from God by way of the victorious victim against whom they sinned.149 While Sobrino has addressed the Crucified from the perspective of the crucified the question of how this looks from the perspective of the crucifiers remains unanswered. I think Sobrino’s soteriology needs to be complemented by this perspective, in order to address the full complexity of the reality of continuous crucifixions in human history. Again, there are elements already present in 148 Is. 53:10, translated by Westermann in op. cit. 149 In this matter, one could draw on interesting insights from René Girard’s works on the relationship between violence, communal unity and the sacred, particularly his “scapegoat mechanism-theory”. See particularly Girard 1986, and Girard 1987. See below, Chapter viii [4], thesis 6.6.

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Sobrino’s texts that would be helpful in such an undertaking.150 But they would need further elaboration.151

[8] Conclusions The following findings will sum up this lengthy chapter. In line with basic presuppositions in liberation theology soteriology and the corresponding view of history, Jon Sobrino sees the theological significance of Jesus’ death as closely related to the historical reasons for the crucifixion. On the historical surface, so to speak, Jesus is killed because of his critical attitude and symbolic actions against the Jewish Temple, and because the Roman authorities fear that he might become dangerous, having gained a considerable following amongst the impoverished and subjugated populace of Palestine. The “deeper logic” of the killing of Jesus, however, is found in the struggle of the gods. Jesus’ passion and death mark the culmination of a confrontation between the mediators of the god of the institutionalised and self-protective religious establishment of Israel and the mediators of the political gods of the Romans – in particular the Emperor Caesar – on the one hand, and Jesus as mediator of the God of the Kingdom, who has drawn graciously near in and through his life and mission, on the other. Evaluating this interpretation, I have argued that although there does not seem to be any strong evidence against Sobrino’s interpretation on a strictly historical basis, it comes clear that Sobrino’s application of “historicity” should be understood in a RicoeurianCroattan sense, according to which “explanatory” and “exploratory” 150 See particularly Sobrino 1992b, 97-158. 151 See below, Chapter viii [4], thesis 9.

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moves come together in one, comprehensive process of interpretation. When it is so understood (and only then), it is defensible and legitimate to speak of historicity as normative in the way Sobrino does. Sobrino, however, does not make it explicitly clear that we are to understand it in this way: we see this from the ambiguity that follows his reference to the struggle of the gods as a historical explanation for Jesus’ death. Ricoeur’s distinction between explanatory and exploratory moves would allow Sobrino to overcome this ambiguity. Moving to the strictly soteriological question, I discovered a shift in Sobrino’s perspective, from a dualistic to a monistic framework. This is clearly reflected in the soteriological model to which he gives preference. Having made the battlefield-model central in his outline so far, he suddenly leaves this model aside, and proceeds to a sacrificial model, with strong emphasis on God’s manifestation, God’s acceptance and the credibility of God’s love. On the cross, seen in continuity with and as the culmination of Jesus’ life and misson, faith discovers God’s manifestation of what a true human being (homo verus) is, at the same time as God’s love for fallen humanity is made unequivocally clear and credible in the eyes of those experiencing “Golgothas” in their own lives, according to Sobrino. This manifestation is in itself salvific. Noting this strong illustrative emphasis I discussed whether this approach should be criticised for being reductively “exemplarist”. Pointing out the difficulties and risks with Sobrino’s interpretation – that it might be too “modest” and too “moralistic” – I sought elements in Sobrino that might balance these exemplarist features with what I see as legitimate traits of a more “constitutive” or “objective” soteriological approach. I found this in the centrality that Sobrino gives to constitutive relationality in his theology. Salvation is brought about through these relationships, and it consists in new and healed relationships. These relationships are constitutive, as

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well as transformational. Salvation is something that is effectuated, then – and not merely manifested. Nevertheless, the question of how the cross effectuates salvation in concrete terms, is still not clear in Sobrino’s account. The crucial issue is whether this event is something which decisively brought about a change that made possible and opened up – constituted – these salvific relationships. Concluding my consideration of Sobrino’s interpretation on this point, I wrote: In order then to preclude a reductive, unilaterally exemplarist interpretation of Jesus’ life-and-death, I think this should be strengthened, more explicitly underlined, and even further developed in Sobrino’s thinking: the cross of Jesus is not only salvific as the culminating point in a manifestation of what is pleasing to God and proof of the credibility of God’s love, but furthermore because it is an actualisation, an unleashing of this love in concrete history. Salvation is not just knowledge of God’s love, but actual reception of that love. The good news is not just an invitation to a salvific relationship with God and with fellow human beings through Jesus, but actual facilitation of this relationship. Jesus liberates not only as a motivating example, but by actually making present in human history the pure love of God.

Moving then to consider the surprising shift in models as Sobrino moves from a “historical” to a “soteriological” discourse, I first held that Sobrino should treat his models with the same degree of precariousness and tentativeness, regardless of whether they are employed to “explain” historical or soteriological issues. Again, I pointed to the fruitfulness of a Ricoeurian approach which gives full legitimacy to the use of myths, metaphors and models in different scientific discourses, as long as they are applied with an explicit linguistic-hermeneutical awareness and included in a wider process of interpretation. I suggested that what Sobrino does when interpreting historical events with reference to myth(s), is in fact to “use mythical language in a non-mythological way.”

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Then I showed that Sobrino overlooks – or rather avoids – a soteriological model which has solid basis both in the New Testament witness and in tradition, and would seemingly correspond to the concerns that have guided his interpretation so far. I refer to the so-called “classic” model, which stresses the event of the cross as God’s victory over the devil(s). Asking why Sobrino pays little attention to this model, I suggested that it might be due to an antitriumphalist strand in his thought, and a fear that such a model might lead to an overly combative soteriology. Although seeing the reasonableness of this, I proposed an interpretation answering to the concerns of the classic model and consonant with Sobrino’s earlier tenets, which could also take into account these legitimate objections. This interpretation sees Jesus as the Victorious Victim, who wins victory over the forces of death exactly when he falls victim to them. By not giving in to the temptation of following the destructive and violent logic of power and anti-power, Jesus shows that the only way to victory, the only way to the life-restoring community with God and human beings – goes through a loving and faithful commitment which does not resign even in the face of suffering and death. In line with Colin Gunton’s well-argued critique of Aulén’s model, I stressed that the victory of Jesus must be seen also as a human victory, and as a victory that is still to be won by Jesus’ followers. To see Jesus’ apparent defeat at the hands of the anti-Kingdom’s forces as the ultimate victory, however, requires faith. Thus, there is a discontinuity which requires a “leap” of faith, but this “leap” can now be taken with due account of the reality of the victims in history. Jesus the Victorious Victim is the one who opens up the possibility of a future victory for all victims in history. Finally, I raised the critical question whether Sobrino’s interpretation and use of a sacrificial salvific model fail to take into account

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the full gravity of the conflict between sinful humanity and the holy God which has been fundamental to this model throughout the history of Jewish and Christian faith. Holding that this is partly so, I suggested that Sobrino should develop further the interpretation of Jesus’ sacrifice in the light of the fourth Song of the Servant, where he can, in fact, find useful elements for building the bridge between the battlefield- and sacrificial models, and for widening his use of the sacrificial model. Jesus the Victorious Victim is Jesus the Suffering Servant. This would also allow for a consideration of a perspective which is almost absent in Sobrino’s treatment, so far, namely the perspective of the crucifiers. These issues are of great importance in considering the viability of Sobrino’s introducing “the crucified people(s)” into his christology as an expression of the theological significance of contemporary suffering. But still there is one important step to be taken, before I can undertake that final assessment. It deals with the issue of what the cross says of God. Is God crucified?

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vii. The Crucified God Historical Theodicy and the Mystery of God

Si no olvidamos a los crucificados actuales más difícil será olvidar al crucificado Jesús. Pero si se lo mantiene presente, hay que preguntarse por Dios necesariamente.1

What Cicero once said of crucifixion is true of the cross of Jesus as well as of all the other crosses throughout history: that it is a crudelissimum taeterrimumque supplicium, an exceedingly cruel and terrible torture.2 Crucifixion is a scandal; just as innocent suffering and premature, unjust death are. The Christian preaching of the cross introduces this scandal with full force into the mystery of God. Faith holds Jesus to be God’s chosen One; he is the mediator and inaugurator of the Kingdom of God, he is the anointed Messiah, he is Son of God. Seen from the vantage-point of oppressed communities in Latin America, he is the Liberator. Yet, he dies on a cross – seemingly not in calm and confident assurance of God’s ultimate triumph, but rather in deep distress and a feeling of abandonment: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Mk.15:34). Jesus’ death cry raises sharply the question of the strictly theological significance of the cross. Where is God when Jesus dies? What does the cross say about God? Does Jesus’ suffering affect God? Given that the one who suffers on the cross is confessed to be one with God: does God suffer on the cross? If so, in what sense? And given that Jesus actually dies on that cross: does God die on the

1 2

Sobrino 1991d, 394 Against Verres, book 2, chapter 5, no. 165. Quoted from Boff 1987b, 84.

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cross? In what sense is it possible and even legitimate and necessary to speak of the death of God? Jon Sobrino and liberation theology in general emphasise that Jesus’ death cry echoes in the cries of suffering and oppressed people and communities today.3 Theology takes thus the shape of theodicy: the question of how it is possible to believe in God – even “justify God” – in the face of so much suffering. For the poor, Christian communities in El Salvador which inspire, inform and nurture the theological reflection of Sobrino, the issue is not abstract nor purely theoretical. Since suffering is a daily reality, their theodicy needs to be historical and practical. It arises from concrete historical experiences. Where was God in those horrible moments of the Rio Sumpul massacre?4 Where was God in El Mozote?5 Where is God when the newly born in San Jorge die because of lack of nutrition and adequate sanitary conditions? And the main aim of these communities in struggling with the issue is not primarily to find an explanation for suffering, but to remove it. Their theodicy is practical.6 In the previous chapter, we saw that Sobrino affirmed Bonhoeffer’s lapidary statement: “Only the suffering God can help.”7 But what help can those who suffer possibly find in a God who also suffers? What help can a crucified people find in a crucified God? These are the questions that we now must deal with. They are at the cutting edge of contemporary Christian theology. Hence it will be impossible to give an extensive treatment of all the issues 3 4 5 6

7

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See e.g., Comblin 1988. Compare bibliography in Chapter ii [1] above. United Nations 1993, 121-126. United Nations 1993, 114-121; Danner 1994. In Surin 1986 the author distinguishes between theodicies with ‘theoretical’ (A. Platinga, R. Swinburne, N. Whitehead) and ‘practical’ (D. Sölle, J. Moltmann, P. T. Forsyth) emphases. Bonhoeffer 1971, 360f. Cf. Moltmann 1974, 47, n.2.

involved and positions taken. I shall, however, make a brief survey of some main trends and developments in this area, to serve as a background against which the profile of Sobrino’s own contribution will become clear. We shall find that Sobrino has both modified and developed his views in this matter. Exposing his tenets to a critical assessment will provide us with insights that will be central to our final evaluation of the theological significance of contemporary suffering and the viability of seeing the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified as an expression of this.

[1] The Possibility of God’s Passibility It has been widely studied how and to what extent Greek patterns of thought influenced and even transformed central Christian tenets and conceptions during the first centuries.8 The influence was decisive, even on key doctrines such as the very understanding of God. From Greek philosophy, the early Christians inherited the idea of God as the most perfect being, ens perfectissimum. That was taken to imply at least two things. First, because God is perfect, God cannot change. If someone who is perfect changes, s/he will either become less perfect, or else it will be proved that s/he was not perfect in the original state, after all.9 Hence the immutability of God.10 Secondly, that God is perfect, means that God rests only in God-self. God cannot be affected. And therefore, it is held, God cannot suffer. 8

This was perhaps the most important leitmotif in Adolf von Harnack’s groundbreaking Dogmengeschichte [History of Dogma (1886-1889)]. See also Boman 1981 (an English version is found in Hebrew Thought Compared with Greek, New York: Norton, 1970.)

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This is the main content of the doctrine of classical theism on the “impassibility” of God. Impassibility is derived from the Latin impassibilitas, in its turn derived from the Greek apathès. Its original meaning is “incapable of being acted upon by an outside force,” which in its use in early Christian theology is extended to including “incapable of experiencing emotions” and “incapable of suffering.”11 This central doctrine built on Greek suppositions would clearly seem to run counter to the essential point in Christian faith: viz., that Jesus is true God and true human being, at the same time as Jesus actually – not just seemingly (vs. docetism) – suffers and dies on a cross. How could the early Christian writers come to terms with this contradiction? Their solution was found in the doctrine of the two natures of Christ, according to which Jesus was held to suffer only as a human being, i.e. only according to his human nature, and not as God. There was a wide consensus on this doctrine on the impassibility of God all the way through patristic and medieval periods and up until the beginnings of the Enlightenment.12 The drift of the argumentation was often linked to the safeguarding of 9

The strength of this seemingly irrefutable logic made it a persuasive argument even as late as in the eighteenth century, when Benedict Spinoza drew the conclusion that “God is without passions (deus expers est passionum)” from it: “Again, God cannot pass to a higher or a lower perfection: and therefore he is affected with no emotion or sadness. Q.E.D.” Ethics V, 17; in Opera: Lateinisch und Deutsch, vol. 2, ed. Konrad Blumenstock, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Darmstadt 1980: 526.31-528.6. Quoted from McGrath 1995, 115. 10 Cf. Philo of Alexandria’s (c. 30 BC – c. 45. AD) influential treatise Quod Deus immutabilis sit (“That God is unchangeable”). 11 Sarot 1992, 26. 12 One indicator of how uncontroversial the doctrine of impassibility was is the absence of any serious treatment of the matter as such between Gregory the Wonderworker’s Ad Theopompum and Marshall Randles’ The Blessed God from 1900. Sarot 1992, 1.

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God’s absolute freedom. It was held that God could be thought of as totally free only if God was dependent on no one, linked to no one, affected by no one. But still, there was always another strand, a theological undertow so to speak, which would not accept the isolation of God from suffering and vulnerability. Dissenting voices were heard. Already Ignatius of Antioch spoke of the “sufferings of my God” (Rom.6:3). In a seldom-quoted and noteworthy passage from the third century, Origen writes that “the Father himself is not impassible,” ipse Pater non est impassibilis. The quotation is somewhat uncertain however, since the original Greek text is lost, and since the affirmation seems to be in direct contradiction with what Origen himself says in other texts.13 Jüngel traces the idea of a crucified God, deus crucifixus, back to Tertullian,14 thus refuting Moltmann’s claim that it it is “in the theology of the mysticism of the cross in the late Middle ages, that we first hear the monstrous phrase ‘the crucified God’ which Luther then took up.” 15 Martin Luther’s daring thesis of a theologia crucis presented at the disputation in Heidelberg on the 26th of April 1518 is a decisive step towards overcoming the doctrine of impassibility. Of particular significance are the theses 19, 20 and 21, in which Luther addresses the question of how one may gain a true knowledge of God. His interest is primarily an epistemological one, in other words. But the consequence has profound theological and christological impact. Luther’s radical contention is that God may only be known through 13 Quoted from McGrath 1995, 96-97. 14 See Tertullian: Tertullianus against Marcion (Anti-Nicene Christian Library, vol. VII), tr. P. Holmes, eds. Rev. A. Roberts and J. Donaldson, T&T Clark, Edinburgh 1868, book II, chapter 16: 113: “God was found little, that man might become very great. You who disdain such a God, I hardly know whether you ex fide believe that God was crucified.” Quoted by Jüngel in Jüngel 1983, 65, n.26. 15 Moltmann 1974, 47.

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God’s visible being, by God’s “back-side” (“posteriora dei”), which is humanity, weakness and suffering; in a word: Jesus’ death on the cross. So it is not enough and no use for anyone to know God in his glory and his majesty if at the same time he does not know him in the lowliness and the shame of the cross […] Thus true theology and true knowledge of God lie in Christ the crucified one.16

This statement makes a decisive breach in the theistic concept built on Greek presuppositions which upholds the doctrine of impassibility. Following the drift of Paul’s argument in 1 Cor. 1, Luther rejects – not the possibility, but the actuality of – a “natural knowledge” of God through God’s wonderful works in nature and history. Because of God’s unity with the crucified Christ, God is “hidden in suffering”17, and it is consequently only by approaching God in the crucified one, that a true, Christian knowledge of God may occur. This strong emphasis of Luther’s on the unity of God with Christ – to such an extent that God for us, the only God whom we may know and in whom we may trust and believe, is the God revealed in Christ – makes it possible for Luther to overcome the strict restrictions which scholastic theology prescribed to the use of the communicatio idiomatum doctrine, in order to prevent that God be understood as affected by suffering.18 For Luther, the person of Christ is determined by the divine person. So Luther may speak directly of the suffering, crucifixion, and even death of God: “Vere dicitur: Iste homo creavit mundum et Deus iste est passus, mortuus, 16 From the probationes to Thesis 20. Luther 1966 WA. 1, 362: “Ita ut nulli iam satis sit ac prosit, qui cognoscit Deum in gloria et maiestate, nisi cognoscat eundem in humilitate et ignominia crucis […] Ergo in Christo crucifixo est vera Theologia et cognitio Dei.” 17 “Deum absconditus in passionibus”. Thesis 21, ibid. 18 Moltmann 1974, 227-235.

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sepultus, etc.”19 He does so, however, with an explicit awareness of the difficulties such a formulation creates for the traditional understanding of God: In his nature God cannot die. But now that God and man are united in one person, when the man dies, that is rightly called the death of God, for he is one thing or one person with God.20

Luther’s rediscovery and revitalisation of Paul’s theologia crucis was certainly a breakthrough with far-reaching consequences for theological reasoning in the Reformation era and thereafter. However, the full depth of its devastating implications for a traditional theistic concept of God, linked as the latter is to traditional metaphysics, has perhaps not been appreciated until quite recently. In our day it may seem that the doctrine of God’s impassibility has lost credibility to such an extent that the opposite stance, claiming God’s passibility, almost has become a new “orthodoxy” – or at least, a theological commonplace.21 Throughout the 20th Century, and particularly during its last decades, the issue of the vulnerability, suffering and even death of God, has been among the central concerns in both philosophy and systematic theology. Why is this? Several plausible causes for this noteworthy change in the Christian conception of God have been suggested. Concerning the suffering of God, one main reason for this development is to be found in an increased, existential awareness of and experience with the presence of suffering in the world. From the World War I, through the Holocaust and Hiroshima of the mid-century, and on to the gravity of world poverty, the horrors of former Yugoslavia and of 19 WA 39, II, 93ff, quoted from Moltmann 1974, 233. 20 WA 50, 590, 19, quoted from Moltmann 1974, 234. 21 Sarot 1992, 2.

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Rwanda, and the ecological crisis towards the end of the millennium, this cumulative experience has created a cultural and intellectual climate in which the idea of an impassible God seems unacceptable, on moral and intellectual, as well as on strictly theological grounds. Furthermore, this development has been forged by a deepened understanding of the nature of love. It is a central New Testament affirmation that God is love (1 John 4,8; 16.). But can God really be conceived as love and simultaneously as devoid of passion, totally unrelated and self-sufficient? Human experience, showing that the inner core of love means vulnerability, relatedness and affection makes many theologians respond with a clear refusal. This has become particularly obvious as traditionally marginalised voices have been making themselves increasingly heard in theological issues, through feminist and liberation theologies of distinct kinds. A loving God cannot be devoid of passion, they say – that would contradict fundamental human experiences of the essence of love. Furthermore, these theologians support their case with an abundance of both Old and New Testament references describing God’s passion, and thus severely questioning the early Christian conception of God’s perfection stated in Greek terms.22 This new tendency to see God as – in some way – participating in the suffering of the world, is also motivated by the emergence of a new awareness with regards to the world as a living organism. On the basis of this awareness, process theology sees God as being in 22 See i. a. Gen.6:5-7; Exod.32:12-14; Dt.32:36; Jg.2:18; 10:16; 1 Sam 15:11; Ps.78:40, 90:13, 95:10, 106:45, 135:14; Isa.42:14, 63:9-10.15; Jer.4:19, 31:20, 42:10, 48:35-36; Hos.11:1-11; Jon.3:9-10, 4:2-3.10; Lk.6:36, 10:21; Jn.3:16, 5:19, 10:30.38, 14:7-10, 15:13, 17:4; Acts 20:28; Rom.5:8; 8:32; 2 Cor.4:4; Eph.4:30; Phil.2:6-8; Heb.11:5, 13:16. On the other hand, there are biblical references used to support the impassibilist stance, such as Num.23:19; 1 Sam.15:29; Ps.102:25-28; Isa.40:18.25, 41:4, 43:10; Ezek.5:11; Hos.13:14; Mal.3:6; Acts 14:15; 1 Tim.6:15-16; Heb.1:10-11, 6:17 and James 1:17. Sarot 1992, 13, n.34.

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development in and through the historical and cosmic evolution of nature. This framework of interpretation allows its most influential thinker, A. N. Whitehead, to speak of God as a “fellow-sufferer who understands.”23 Last, but not least, the advancement of christological reflection in the 20th Century has in itself contributed to this surprising shift in the conception of God. Among Protestant theologians, the principal renewal in this field has come through a rediscovery and further development of the potential in Luther’s theologia crucis – most notably as we have already seen in the fragmentary, but enormously influential statements of Bonhoeffer in his letters from prison: And we cannot be honest unless we recognize that we have to live in the world etsi deus non daretur. And this is just what we do recognize – before God! […] Before God and with God we live without God. God lets himself be pushed out of the world on to the cross. He is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us. Matt. 8.17 makes it quite clear that Christ helps us, not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering. […] The Bible directs man to God’s powerlessness and suffering; only the suffering God can help.24

Contemporary Catholic theologians have in general been more inclined to make the doctrine of incarnation their point of departure for a critique of the doctrine of impassibility. Sobrino is however without doubt deeply influenced by this train of thought from 23 Whitehead, Alfred N.: Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology Macmillan, New York 1929: 532. “What is done in the world is transformed into a reality in heaven, and the reality in heaven passes back into the world. By reason of this reciprocal relation, the love in the world passes into the love in heaven, and floods back again into the world. In this sense, God is the great companion – the fellow-sufferer who understands.” Quoted from Johnson 1992, 251. 24 From 16 and 18 July 1944, Letters and Papers from Prison, 360f, reprinted in Dudzus 1986, 122-123.

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Luther’s theologia crucis via Bonhoeffer to Moltmann – even to the point of having to defend himself against accusations of being “too Lutheran”.25 Closely linked to these developments though not totally identical, the lively discussion on the “death of God” has – in broad terms – two sources. One is philosophical and cultural, the other strictly theological. Both have to do with the shortcomings and ultimate downfall of traditional theism. Since the Enlightenment, the concept of God has suffered the misfortune of having to be anchored in or secured by something which is not God, namely – first and foremost – the human subject. The rooting of all possible human knowledge in the Cartesian cogito meant that God in Godself – God as the ens perfectissimum, the Supreme Ruler, the Reality greater than which nothing could be conceived of, etc. – would no longer seem to be accessible in the way that had been taken for granted throughout the centuries. In different ways, the thinking of Descartes, Kant, Schleiermacher and Hegel indirectly shows just how difficult this actual sphere and presence of God had become. Their ways of relegating to God the spheres of morality, human self-consciousness as a dependent being, or world history as totality, all reveal the problematic status of a theistic concept of God in the Modern Age. Accordingly, this situation led many to the conclusion that there was no longer room for such a God. Such a God could only be seen as a projection of desires and aspirations of the very same experiencing subject in which they occur. Theology is thus “dis25 “Tampoco nos mueve la fidelidad a una determinada tradición cristiana; algunos preguntan si no estamos muy influenciados por la tradición luterana, bajo el presupuesto, que a veces se convierte en una auténtica manía, de que nada se puede pensar si no es relacionándolo con algo ya pensado anteriormente. Indudablemente, en ésta, como en cualquier otra cristología unas tradiciones influyen más que otras, pero el influjo fundamental proviene de la misma realidad crucificada.” Sobrino 1991d, 394.

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closed” as (a deceptive) anthropology.26 This is the common core and main sting in the critique of religion voiced by Feuerbach, Fichte, Marx, Nietzsche and – later – Freud. This atheist stance emerges most radically and provocatively in the thinking of Friedrich Nietzsche. He held the “death of God” to be an historical fact – although still in the process of becoming – and in The Happy Science (1882) he puts the announcement of this fact into the mouth of a madman: “God is dead! He remains dead! And we have killed him!” Nietzsche announces this as good news to humanity, because it could finally pave the way for humanity’s advancement towards its true destination, which is to become superhuman(s) through the “revalorization of all values.” Partly dependent on these philosophical developments, partly causing them, the historical and social progress of modernity – at least in the Western hemisphere, it should be noted – led to a cultural mode according to which the thought of God as a necessary foundation for all existence became ever less plausible. There just seemed to be no use of the “working hypothesis God” in order to explain the universe or to make progress as human beings and societies. The process of secularisation was rapid and seemed irreversible. For all practical purposes, God was “dead.” The autonomous human being, the “modern man” – which for the most part meant the European, white, middle-class male, we should again recall – had taken over all of the world stage. What theological response should be given to this cultural situation? Was it to be deemed legitimate or illegitimate? It is in this context Bonhoeffer formulates the monumental statements quoted above: “And we cannot be honest unless we recognize that we have to live in the world etsi deus non daretur. And this is just what we do recognize – before God!” To live in the world as if there were no 26 E. Jüngel gives this development a thorough treatment in Jüngel 1983,cf. especially pp. 127-152.

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God, that is what Christians are called to do! For Bonhoeffer then, the human autonomy of the Modern Age is no accident, but rather the world finally “come of age”. His call for a “religionless interpretation” of the Gospel is a theological recognition of the legitimacy of the process of secularisation. How can such an interpretation be possible? It is possible by way of a theologia crucis, according to which God is revealed not as the one ruling the world in power and glory, but rather as the one letting Godself “be pushed out of the world” in the event of the cross on Golgotha. Only in this way can God be a God for human beings, Bonhoeffer says, echoing Luther. And so, from the Nazi prison cell in 1944, awaiting a forthcoming execution, the profound and pointed maxim takes form: “Only the suffering God can help.” The radical and yet preliminary and fragmentary character of Bonhoeffer’s statements has made them particularly open to a variety of interpretations. Different aspects of Bonhoeffer’s thinking have been weighted. Those who have continued on the project of a theology of secularisation, such as William Hamilton (Death of God: The Culture of Our Post-Christian Era, 1961), Paul van Buren (Secular Meaning of the Gospel, 1963), and Thomas J. J. Altizer (Gospel of Christian Atheism, 1966), developed something which came to be called a “God-Is-Dead-theology.” This theology, which attained world-wide attention after the magazine Time had made it the main story of an edition in 1965, took its lead from the general perception of the cultural mode just referred to. They concentrated on the task of reformulating the gospel in secular terms, and thus giving the freedom and autonomy of modern ‘man’ full theological legitimacy.27 To others, like Moltmann and Jüngel, it has been Bonhoeffer’s christological solution to the deadlock of theism and atheism by way of a theologia crucis that has been the main impetus. God’s unification with Christ signifies that suffering, vulnerability, perishability and death do affect God. This being so, the theistic concept of

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God has come to its end. The Modern Age’s atheistic critique of religion may in fact be affirmed from a Christian point of view, to the extent that it rejects this conception of God and its metaphysical premises. Yet this affirmation does not lead to a complete doing away with either metaphysics or Christian faith in God, but rather to a different, specifically Christian – i.e. rooted in faith in God’s identification with the crucified Christ – conception of God, which, although not simply free of metaphysics, still is free in relationship to metaphysics.28 It leads “beyond theism and atheism”(Moltmann29), to a theology “after the death of God” (Jüngel30). Liberation theology and Third World theologians in general have taken up the heritage from Bonhoeffer in a distinct manner. From the perspective of the poor peoples and nations, it has become increasingly clear what an ambiguous project modernity is.31 It is ambiguous because, in spite of having the liberation of humankind as its aspiration, it creates victims. From the perspective of these victims then, the “autonomy” of “modern (European) man” is not just 27 Inge Lønning has rightly observed a critical weakness inherent to theological attempts of this sort, namely that they easily lend themselves to making the death of God bluntly into a “[…] Legitimation der restlosen Übertragung traditioneller Gottesattribute auf den Menschen […] Interessant ist die Feststellung [des Todes Gottes] dann höchstens als Symptom des gesellschaftlichen Herrschaftsanspruches einer eindimensionalen, säkularistischen Daseinsdeutung. Eine Theologie, die sich auf solche Prämissen als eine Theologie des Todes Gottes etablieren wollte, wäre ein verfängliches, im bestem Falle ein überflüssiges Unternehmen kulturpolitischer Art.” Lønning 1984, 701. 28 Jüngel 1983, 48. 29 Moltmann 1974, 249-252. 30 Jüngel 1983, 43-105; 43. 31 Nor has the process of secularisation advanced as much in the poorer areas of the world. Its “irreversibility” even in the “First World” – as a social phenomenon at least – is now widely called into question.

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a blessing. It has rather become a damnation. The liberation of some individuals and nations has – perhaps not necessarily, but certainly as a matter of fact – led to the oppression or exclusion of masses of other people. For this reason it becomes pivotal to a theology from the “underside of history” (Gutiérrez) that the heritage from Bonhoeffer not be used primarily to support the liberty of the strong in world history, but rather to point out God’s partisanship and presence with the powerless and poor. God’s suffering on the cross of Christ is taken as an ultimate testimony to God’s solidarity with all those who suffer. Bonhoeffer’s words again: “[God] is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us.” Sobrino’s reception and use of Bonhoeffer clearly belongs to this category.

[2] How Does God Suffer? The classical theistic concept of an impassible God has largely been given up in contemporary theology.32 But how is God vulnerable; how does God suffer? And in what sense is it correct to speak of the death of God? Responding to these questions, theologians differ widely. The debate is at times extremely polemical and heated. It is thus easily noticeable that much is at stake in these discussions. Let us review some main positions, in order to get a better grasp on where Sobrino stands. In order to be able to speak correctly of God’s suffering and of a deus crucifixus, it is not only necessary to recover Luther’s theology of the cross, according to Jürgen Moltmann. One must also restore 32 Although there still are defenders of the classical impassibilism. See analysis in Sarot 1992, 67-102.

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the trinitarian character of Christian faith in God. God is a trinitarian process at the centre of which stands the cross.33 On the cross God is dead, and yet not dead. This can only be maintained by the help of trinitarian thinking.34 On the cross, both the Father and the Son suffer, but in distinct manners. The Son suffers the death of the cross. The Father does not suffer death (which would be to adhere to the patripassianist heresy, he holds), but suffers his own abandonment, his own “giving up” (Gr.: paradidonai)35 of the Son on the cross. The abandonment of Jesus (derelictio Jesu) becomes a central point in Moltmann’s argument. The Father actually abandons the Son on the cross.36 That is – ultimately – why Jesus dies, and that is also what distinguishes Jesus’ death from all other deaths in history. Jesus dies forsaken by God; his death cry should be taken in its utterly radical meaning, as recorded in Mark. Thus the event of the cross actually becomes not primarily an event between humanity and God, according to Moltmann, but an event in God. On the cross there is a confrontation between God and God; nemo contra Deum nisi Deus ipse. Through this event all suffering, sin and godforsakenness is taken into God’s very being, Moltmann boldly goes on. In that case, what is salvation? Only if all disaster, forsakenness by God, absolute death, the infinite curse of damnation and sinking into nothingness is in God himself, is community with this God eternal salvation, infinite joy, indestructible election and divine life.37

33 Drawing on the Greek theology of the Cappodocians and Luther’s theology of the cross, one main thesis in Moltmann’s book is that the materiality of Trinitarian thinking is the cross; the formality of the cross is Trinitarian thinking, Moltmann 1974, 240-241. 34 Moltmann 1974, 200-290. 35 Moltmann 1974, 241ff.

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The suffering of the world thus becomes God’s suffering. “There is no suffering which in this history of God is not God’s suffering; no death which has not been God’s death in the history on Golgotha.”38 This conception of the suffering of God as a “suffering in God” cannot be thought of within the framework of the traditional, theistic image of God, according to Moltmann. It requires no less than “a revolution in the concept of God.” 36 Although John Macquarrie holds that The Crucified God “would have a good claim to be regarded as possibly the most important theological book to be published in the second half of the twentieth century” (321), he joins in what seems to have become a quite general critique of Moltmann, faulting him for a certain “conceptual vagueness”. With regard to this central point of the Father’s abandonment of the Son on the cross, Macquarrie finds Moltmann to contradict himself: “[…] Moltmann wants to say that [Jesus] really was abandoned, and this is in plain contradiction to his claim that the Father was suffering in and with Jesus.” Macquarrie 1990, 323; cf. also note 86 on page 440: “The language is ambiguous or even unintelligible: ‘In the forsakenness of the Son, the Father forsakes himself.’” The quotation (which actually lacks an ‘also’ between ‘Father’ and ‘forsakes’) here is from Moltmann 1974, 243. – Although Moltmann’s paradoxical thinking here is not ultimately convincing, I think it is fair to point out that Macquarrie’s critique seems to forget the basic point Moltmann is making about the different modes of suffering of the Father and the Son. Suffering with need not necessarily be suffering in the same way as. Having said this, I do agree with Macquarrie in that this is a “problematic area” in The Crucified God. The crucial issue is whether God in this outline is seen not only as crucified, but also in some sense as “crucifier”. This seems to be the implication in Moltmann 1974, 235 and Moltmann 1981, 83, where the author quotes the following sentence of Patriarch Philaret of Moscow with approval: “The Father is crucifying love, the Son is crucified love, and the Spirit is the unvanquishable power on the cross.” And yet, defending his view against his critics in Moltmann 1990, Moltmann maintains that “[…] God does not cause Christ’s suffering […] It is pure lack of comprehension to maintain that ‘one of the Trinity suffered, but the other caused the suffering.’” See my further discussion below. 37 Moltmann 1974, 246. 38 Ibid.

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For this radical and audacious approach, Moltmann soon attained a world-wide attention. There were both enthusiastic appraisals and harsh criticisms. Dorothee Sölle’s response certainly belonged to the latter category. She has “great difficulties” in accepting and even understanding Moltmann’s reasoning, she says.39 And the worst point for her seems to be that Moltmann holds Jesus’ death ultimately to be caused by the Father. God is not only crucified; God is also crucifier.40 Thus, with reference to the Lutheran thought model of “God against God”, Moltmann is in fact portraying God as an executioner, a killer. The trinitarian “solution” of this dilemma is not of any help, according to Sölle. It rather worsens it, by dissolving the difference between victim and perpetrator – crucified and crucifier – making God indifferent to this fundamental distinction by being, so to speak, “beyond” it, and simultaneously making us human beings merely “puppets on a string” in the trinitarian process which is the drama of salvation.41 Sölle’s polemic is very sharp, to the point of clear and offensive exaggeration: “The author is fascinated by the brutality of his God,” she writes.42 39 Sölle 1979, 112. This chapter is a shortened version of a text originally published in Wissenschaft und Praxis in Kirche und Gesellschaft 7, 1973: 358-372. Sölle gives a more complete development of her views on this theme in her book Sölle 1978. 40 “Welches Interesse hat nun Moltmann an der exklusiven Einzigkartigkeit des Leidens Jesu? Es ist ein Interesse an Gott, der nicht vollständig der in Christus Leidende ist, der nicht ‘nur’ der gekreuzigte Gott ist, sondern zugleich auch der, der kreuzigt, der Leiden macht, der aktiv das opfer Abrahams vollzieht.” Sölle 1979, 112. 41 “Das trinitarische Modell scheint mir allerdings die Schwierigkeiten eher zu vergrössern als zu lösen.” Sölle 1979, 114. “Der entscheidende Punkt, den ich nicht verstehe, ist ein Denken über das Leiden, das die Unterscheidung zwischen Opfern und Henkern merkwürdig verschleiert […] Das Unfruchtbare des trinitarischen Schemas, das auch dort geschlossen bleibt, wo es sich heilsökonomisch formuliert, ist, dass wir in ihm nicht erscheinen oder nur als Marionetten fungieren.”

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In the same vein as Sölle, Leonardo Boff too launches severe accusations against Moltmann’s argument on this particular issue.43 The problem is not, according to Boff, the move from an a-pathetic to a “pathetic” God, i.e. a God with pathos, who can suffer. On the contrary, he shares the conviction that such a move is absolutely appropriate and necessary. The problem, however, occurs when God at the same time is seen as “agent in the process of suffering”, one who actually “causes pain in the world”. This is the consequence of Moltmann’s thinking, with its adherence to the “Deus contra deum” – maxim, Boff believes. This kind of language, which Boff renders as a “revolt of God against God”, a “disunion in God”, or an “enmity between God and God” – without making it clear whether these are actually direct quotations of Moltmann or not – he sternly rejects. “Moltmann’s language betrays a profound lack of theological rigor”, Boff claims. His propositions “[…] are no longer uttered in an awareness of the ambiguity and analogical nature of our discourse upon God.” It is, however, not only Moltmann who is making such a fatal mistake, according to Boff: “All the most celebrated theologians of the moment are guilty of this naive error.”44 Boff ’s critique seems to me – like that of Sölle – to go much too far. He even reaches the extreme of drawing “[…] a surprising parallelism between this theology, which unloads all the burden of violence on God, and the baleful vision of Nazism.”45 Such a “parallelism” must of course be taken as extremely offensive by any 42 “Der Autor ist fasziniert von der Brutalität seines Gottes.” Op. cit., 115. 43 Boff 1987b, 102-116;111. It seems to me that Boff ’s criticism of Moltmann takes much colour from that of Sölle. For instance, he repeats with his own words her insult that Moltmann is “fascinated with” a God Father who does what Abraham did not do, namely kill his own Son (p.112). 44 Ibid. 45 Op. cit:, 113.

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serious theologian. The fact that Moltmann himself was a prisoner of war during World War II, does not make the insult less severe. Why does Boff go to such extremes? Obviously, because he feels that some extremely vital theological distinctions are at stake.46 Boff ’s strong language could be taken as an important reminder of the extreme delicacy and seriousness of the issues discussed. It is as if Boff wants to underline as strongly as at all possible that everything stands or falls with our being able to conceive God as participating in human suffering, being affected by human suffering, without either making God responsible for that suffering, or making suffering a reality in God. Because if God is responsible for suffering or it is a part of God’s very being, then suffering is in fact eternalised and “divinised”. There will then never be no salvation from suffering. Boff ’s very critical reading of Moltmann is neither totally adequate nor fair. It is also dubious whether the thought of a suffering in God, which is indeed something Moltmann does maintain47, must necessarily lead to the fatal consequences held by Sölle and Boff.48 This notwithstanding, seeing the Father in the last resort as causing the death of the Son is a very problematic contention indeed. I have already raised questions with regards to such an approach in the previous chapter. At the end, it is once again the problem of choosing between, or seeking to integrate, dualistic and monistic frameworks. Having in mind my own critique of Sobrino’s 46 It should also be noted that, although Moltmann has been an important source of influence, the relationship between Moltmann and Latin American liberation theologians was quite strained at one stage, culminating with Moltmann’s “Open Letter” to the Argentinean liberation theologian José Míguez Bonino in 1976, Moltmann 1990 (1976). Moltmann’s letter was a sharp response to some criticisms made by Bonino in Bonino 1975, 144-150. This controversy may have added to the critical tone of Boff ’s argument here. 47 See also Moltmann 1981, 21-60 and Moltmann 1990, 170-181.

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unwarranted shift of soteriological models (from dualistic to monistic, cf. above), it is interesting to see the following similar objection made to Moltmann by Boff : In Moltmann’s vision the passion is reduced to a single basic causality; that of God the Father. The causality of Jesus’ adversaries, who produced the historical death of Jesus Christ with their moral introversion and self-centeredness goes by the board.49

Particularly when we see – in general – how close the christologies of Boff and Sobrino seem to be to one another, it is significant to note at this point their totally conflicting appraisals of Moltmann’s contribution. I shall return to this disagreement – which never to my knowledge has led to any direct confrontation between the two – in my treatment of Sobrino’s views below. Boff ’s own attempt at solving the dilemma is to say that suffering is not something in God, but something other-than-God, which God out of love takes on in the event of the cross.50 This is 48 A. González suggests a third alternative: “Si bien hay que afirmar con Moltmann (y Bonhoeffer) que un Dios que no sufre no puede salvar, también hay que decir con Boff que un Dios que es causa del propio dolor ni es un Dios verdaderamente encarnado ni es un Dios que puede salvar del dolor, como tampoco puede salvar un Dios eternamente sufriente. La teología de la liberación ha de afirmar, dado su interés soteriológico y su opción por la perspectiva de las víctimas de la historia, la solidaridad real de Dios con esas víctimas, de modo que la pasión no puede ser algo que sólo concierne ‘a su humanidad’. Por otra parte, el dolor es una realidad temporal que no puede ser eternizado.” González 1994, 106. 49 Boff 1987b, 113. 50 “God assumes the cross in order to be-in-solidarity with those who suffer – not to sublimate and eternalise the cross, but to enter into solidarity with those who suffer on the cross and thus transform the cross into a sign of blessing, a sign of suffering love. Love, then, is the motive for this assumption of the cross by God.” Op. cit., 115.

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something new, even to God. It opens up the possibility of a suffering for the sake of others, a suffering which does not nullify human dignity, a suffering which may still uphold hope. This is a “suffering born of the struggle against suffering,” Boff explains, a definition which he subsequently develops with regard to the Latin American experience.51 In her book SHE WHO IS,52 the Catholic feminist theologian Elizabeth A. Johnson takes up the issue of the suffering God from the vantage point of women’s experience. In a much less polemical style than that of Sölle and Boff – even when speaking of “anger” and “wrath” as female metaphors for suffering53 – she too cautions against predicating suffering of God “in such a way that suffering becomes a value in itself, or that God becomes essentially weak or powerless […]”54 With a critical reference to some of Moltmann’s most radical and paradoxical statements55, Johnson holds that the depiction of a helpless God, powerless in suffering, is particularly dangerous when directed to women and oppressed people, since in her view, one of the key ingredients in the maintenance of systems of oppression is inculcating a feeling of helplessness in those oppressed.56

51 Op. cit., 117-128. 52 Johnson 1992, 246-273. 53 In a creative and suggestive analysis, Johnson elaborates on these and three other “metaphors” or “symbols generated by experience of pain to evoke the mystery of God” (op. cit., 254-264; 254). The other ones are “birth”, “grief ” and “degradation”. 54 Op. cit., 253. 55 “God is not greater than he is in this humiliation. God is not more glorious than he is in this self-surrender. God is not more powerful than he is in this helplessness. God is not more divine than he is in this humanity.” Moltmann 1974, 205. 56 Op. cit., 253.

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Johnson also asks the justified question whether the “symbol”57 of the suffering God is helpful to the sufferer at all. Having fallen into a deep, dark pit, would one not rather cry for a God “with a bright light and a long ladder”, a Rescuer, than for a God to come and sit in the pit and share the suffering and darkness?58 Johnson admits the element of truth in such an objection, and summing up all the risks, she considers seriously the option that feminist theology should “forego any speaking of God’s suffering.”59 Still, she holds that it should not take this option. The symbol of a suffering, compassionate God is actually of benefit to women “who know in their own experience a full cup of anguish.”60 It must be held up against the “pathological tendency in the present culture of the First World to deny suffering and death in human experience, which leads to banality in thought and superficiality in values.”61 Although the sufferer longs for someone to free her from the suffering, there are also strong testimonies from persons and communities saying that the experience and faith that God had not left them alone in their misery was the only thing that could make them uphold some sense of hope and dignity. “This communion with the sufferer in her pain, as she experiences it, is the presence of love that is a balm to the wounded spirit,” Johnson quotes Wendy Farley.62 This emphasis on God’s communion with the sufferer corresponds to the fact that Jesus was not ultimately abandoned, according to Johnson. It is this communion of God with the victim Jesus, 57 Elizabeth Johnson uses “symbol” with reference to Ricoeur’s axiom: “Symbol gives rise to thought.” Op. cit., 47 58 Op. cit., 267. 59 Op. cit., 254. 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid. 62 Op. cit.,267. The quotation is from Farley 1990, 81.

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as with all the other victims in history, that opens up the future through even the most negative of experiences. The victory is won through a “living communion of love, which overcomes evil from within.”63 Johnson seems to take a via media between Moltmann and Boff, when she states that “suffering can be conceived of ontologically as an expression of divine being insofar as it is an act freely engaged as a consequence of care for others.”64 As in Sobrino’s outline, Johnson’s ontology here seems to be founded on the category of constitutive relationality. God is love. God’s essence as love is relational; faced with a suffering world, God’s love relates to this suffering. In this way, through the loving relation to those who suffer, suffering affects God’s own being, and Johnson may speak of a suffering in God: “In the light of the feminist prizing of mutuality as moral excellence, love does entail suffering in God.”65 From the perspective of women’s interpreted experience then, Bonhoeffer’s powerful statement may be affirmed, according to Johnson: Only a suffering God can help. And from that particular experience, new elements are brought forward to the reflection on the question of how the suffering God helps. In developing these elements, it is interesting to see the degree to which Johnson’s reflection resembles that of Sobrino in many aspects. Key words for both of them are, as we have seen, relationality, community, and the power of love expressed in solidarity and praxis. They share the belief that speaking of God’s suffering may help in strengthening human responsibility in the face of (other people’s) suffering. Johnson too, takes up Archbishop Romero’s profound pastoral intuition when he spoke of “the corpses piled up, here in our land and throughout the world” as the presence of the body and blood of 63 Op. cit., 268-269. 64 Op. cit., 265. My emphasis, SJS. 65 Op. cit., 266.

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Christ. In an impressive manner, Johnson applies this to the holocaust of women, particularly all those women who have been marginalised and mistreated in and by the Christian tradition and history itself – from the violated and tortured Bethlehem woman told of in that “text of terror” (Phyllis Trible) in Jgs. 19:25, to the perhaps more than a million women annihilated in the name of God by the Inquisition. Johnson holds these women to be “images of the crucified” in an “unspeakable” way. 66 It is important for Johnson to stress that her choice to maintain the symbol of the suffering God, in spite of being well aware of its possible dangers, is far from a conceptual solution to the problem of suffering. Like Boff, she insists that it is crucial not to forget the analogical character of our language on the mystery of God, and the mystery of suffering. But perhaps more strongly than Boff, she keeps in mind that one must speak of, and is confronted with, a suffering that is and remains totally absurd; a suffering which is not freely taken on in the struggle against suffering; a suffering which totally destroys faith, hope and human dignity. That is what Wendy Farley calls radical suffering.67 When speaking of such suffering, and of God’s suffering in connection with it, Elizabeth Johnson insists, we may only do so “under the rule of darkness and broken words.”68 “The most astute theodicies pale before the torment in the history of the world.”69 66 Op. cit., 263. 67 Johnson quotes Wendy Farley’s definition of “radical suffering”: “Radical suffering is present when the negativity of a situation is experienced as an assault on one’s personhood as such […] This assault reduces the capacity of the sufferer to exercise freedom, to feel affection, to hope, to love God […] In radical suffering the soul itself has been so crippled that it can no longer defy evil. The destruction of the human being is so complete that even the shred of dignity that might demand vindication is extinguished.” Johnson 1992, 249, quotation taken from Farley 1990, 53-55. 68 Johnson 1992, 272.

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Is there a conflict in God? Is Jesus actually abandoned on the cross, i.e., is God absent or present when Jesus dies? Are suffering and death to be thought of as phenomena external or internal to God’s own being? These are the among the most debated questions among theologians who all accept that a contemporary conception of God must leave the traditional impassibilist stance in favour of some form of passibilism. Eberhard Jüngel’s contribution to this debate is original and thorough.70 He deals with these issues not primarily in terms of suffering but rather focuses on Vergänglichkeit – a term which in the English translation reads “perishability”, though it could also (and more accurately, perhaps) have been rendered as “transience” or “transitoriness.”71 Jüngel holds that there is no conflict, no contradiction in God.72 God corresponds to God. And when it comes to God as revealed in Christ, the alternatives of absence and presence are actually false: “God is in fact to be thought of as a being which explodes the alternative of presence and absence.”73 God – freely, out of love – involves God-self with perishability in such a manner that this becomes a phenomenon internal to God’s own being. – But does this not lead to eternal suffering, or to making God (co-)responsible for the destructive forces in reality? No, the opposite is true, Jüngel claims – and this is where the originality of his contribution can be seen – since perishability is not totally destructive per se.74 It also has 69 Op. cit., 271. 70 Jüngel 1983, particularly Chapter iii, 13: “God’s unity with perishability as the basis for thinking God”, 184-225. See also his essay from 1968, Jüngel 1968, reprinted in Jüngel 1972, 80ff. 71 Alister McGrath prefers the latter alternatives: McGrath 1994, 222. 72 Jüngel 1983, 346: “Briefly, the differentiation between God and God can never be understood as a contradiction in God.” cf. 225, n.73: “[…] God’s own being is subject to nothingness in such a way that the confrontation is made possible, without God contradicting himself in the process […]” 73 Op. cit., 62.

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a constructive, affirmative side, which is the possibility.75 In the process of perishing new possibilities emerge. By involving God’s self in perishability through the self-identification with the dead man Jesus, God participates in the struggle within perishability between its destructive aspect – the tendency to absolute nothingness76 – and its constructive aspect – the possibility. This struggle pertains to God’s own being. God is in this struggle,77 which ultimately means that “God’s being is in becoming”, as Jüngel audaciously formulates it, reversing thus Aristotles’ priorities of actuality and potentiality.78 Contrary to what Aristotle held, Jüngel gives ontological priority to potentiality, that which is in the process of becoming, the possibility. In bearing annihilation in himself, God proves himself to be the victor over nothingness, and he ends the negative attraction of “hell, death and the devil.” By proving himself to be this victor, God reveals what he truly and ultimately is. God is the one who can bear and does bear, can suffer and does suffer, in his being the annihilating power of nothingness, even the negation of death, without being annihilated by it.79 74 “What is revealed to be the actual premise of the ultimate thought of that metaphysics which understands itself as theo-onto-logic is the negative metaphysical evaluation of perishability. Its basic ontological structure is fixed as that of annihilation. That which perishes is destroyed. The word of the cross speaks in opposition to that. Its objection does not imply that perishing is a harmless affair. Rather, in the word of the cross, the seriousness of death is expressed in an unsurpassable way. The objection is directed toward the ontological discrediting of that which is perishable.” Op. cit., 203-204. 75 “That which is ontologically positive about perishability is the possibility.” Op. cit., 213. 76 “A tendency towards nothingness certainly appears to be an aspect of that which is actually negative in perishability. For the tendency not to be is a threat to everything perishable!” Op. cit., 211 . 77 Op. cit., 217. 78 Op. cit., 214. 79 Op. cit., 219.

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Jüngel concentrates on the (natural) process of perishing and dying. Though this is most often a painful and existentially threatening experience for human beings, it seems not automatically to cover what Johnson with Wendy Farley called radical suffering. “Radical suffering is […] distinct from the general consciousness of pain and death.”80 While the process of perishing may be accepted as a process in or from which new possibilities actually emerge, it is difficult to say the same of radical suffering. Jüngel does not (in this context at least) contemplate this difference – nor if there really is one, in his view. However, in spite of the fact that his statements seem to deal with perishability as a general phenomenon, it should not be forgotten that he examines this phenomenon in view of the totally unexpected and unprecedented event of God’s self-identification with the dead Jesus on the cross. Hence, there is an opening to approach even radical suffering with hope that it will ultimately be overcome: viz., resurrection. In fact, it is Christian faith in God as one with the crucified one, which makes it possible for Jüngel to reverse the priorities of traditional ontology, giving priority to potentiality and possibility even beyond and contrary to what can be observed in the “natural” processes of perishing. These dense statements and sophisticated trains of thought do without doubt – in spite of their extreme degree of abstraction and corresponding lack of concrete and practical rooting in a particular context – contribute to the advancement of theological reflection on the subject under consideration. And in the midst of his sytematical and rigid reasoning, Jüngel preserves a profound sense of Geheimnis, of mystery and secrecy, as the title of his book shows. However, the lack of any consideration of human praxis as a potentially adequate, Christian response to the phenomenon of perishing makes one wonder if Jüngel’s outline does not turn out to be an 80 Farley, Wendy: Op. cit., 55.

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overly theoretical and conceptual solution to the theodicy question after all?81 Johann Baptist Metz seems to think so. Although this influential Catholic theologian has been the most insistent reminder of the fact that contemporary theology is profoundly determined by its postAuschwitz context – as we saw at the very outset of our study82 – he himself cannot follow the tendency in recent theology “from Karl Barth to Eberhard Jüngel, from Dietrich Bonhoeffer to Jürgen Moltmann.”83 Metz cannot and will not speak of a suffering in God or a suffering between God and God. He fears that in the end this is a way for theology “to ally itself with God behind the backs of those who suffer namelessly, innocently,” as he so strongly formulates it. Is not a reconciliation with God at work here that is too speculative, too proximate to Gnosis, achieved to much behind the back of the human history of suffering? Is there not and especially for theologians that negative mystery of suffering which will not allow itself to be made sense of in anyone’s name?84

81 It is difficult to avoid the perception that “to think” is the central category to Jüngel. Although Jüngel’s own background and life experience could have much relevance to the themes discussed, he chooses not to draw explicitly on them (or on the experience of others), but remains within a “universal” and abstract framework. When Jüngel on p.202 defines the root of the problem in that “[…] both God and perishability have been thought inadequately until now”, the sense of an academic remoteness from the real suffering of people is close at hand. 82 Cf. p.1 above. 83 Metz 1994, 619. This quite recent article represents a pointed and polemical reflection on the issues we are discussing. Hence I find it helpful for our purposes. It should not be taken as an indication that Metz is only reactive in these issues, attacking other positions. Quite to the contrary, Metz has rigorously developed his own position, which has been highly influential in recent European theology. Cf. particularly Metz 1980, 119-135;132. 84 Metz 1994, 619.

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Metz finds too much of Hegel, i.e. too much sublation of the negative in this language of suffering in God; a language which he also deems to violate the classical doctrine of analogy concerning the maior dissimilitudo that holds between God and the world. He fears that a “secret aestheticization”, a “quasi-mythical universalization” and, in the end, an eternalisation of suffering are the results of such theology. Not even christology necessitates nor legitimates theology speaking of a suffering God or of suffering in God, in Metz’ opinion. These powerful and noteworthy objections do not lead Metz to defend the classical impassibilist stance, however. Instead, he advocates a “mysticism of suffering unto God.”85 Suffering, which makes us cry out or finally fall wretchedly silent, knows no majesty. It is nothing great, nothing sublime; at root it is something entirely different from a powerful, solidaristic suffering-with [Mitleiden]. It is not simply a sign of love; rather it is much more a horrifying sign of no longer being able to love. It is that suffering which leads into nothingness if it is not a suffering unto God.86

Such a mysticism of suffering unto God is a mysticism “with open eyes”.87 Its orientation is profoundly eschatological, since it holds that all the biblical predicates of God – from the self-definition of God in Exodus to the Johannine word “God is love” – bear the 85 Op. cit., 620, (my emphasis, SJS). The German expression used by Metz is Leiden an Gott, which could also come close to “suffering from God” or “suffering by God.” The translator of the essay, J. Matthew Ashley, notes that while he is conscious of the fact that a play of words in the German – Metz’ correlation of Leiden an Gott with Rückfragen an Gott – is lost in the English version, he has chosen “suffering unto God” in order to express “(a) that this is a form of relationship to God, and (b) that it is an active, dynamic state and not just a passive enduring.” Op. cit., note on p.611. 86 Op. cit., 619. 87 Op. cit., 622.

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mark of a promise. Its language is not consoling88, but “a language of passionate requestioning that arises out of suffering, a requestioning of God, full of highly charged expectation.”89 It is a mysticism with a practical and political90 character; a mysticism marked by the poverty of spirit of the first beatitude; a mysticism like that of Jesus. The radicality of Metz’ refusal to answer the question of how God relates to (radical) suffering is impressive. Taking into account his common point of departure with Moltmann in the 1960’s, which eventually led to their being considered “founding fathers” of European political theology, the distance to Moltmann’s position on this particular – and crucial! – matter is all the more remarkable. Metz’ reasoning here is a powerful “No!” to any theology that knowingly or not gives in to the ever lurking temptation of explaining away or easing the pain of – most often – other people’s suffering by way of interpretative frameworks or theoretical conceptions, be they trinitarian, christological or other. This “No!” must always be heeded. Any theological labour on these ultimate issues of evil and suffering in the world must be done under a constant consciousness of the limits, fragility and – theologically considered – sinfulness of its own efforts. The attempts at answering these ultimate questions must never silence them or make them disappear. Having said this, I do think it is proper to ask Metz if it is not possible, and even necessary given the Christian rootedness in the 88 Op. cit., 621: “But is this sort of mysticism at all consoling? […] Was Israel, for example, happy with its God? Was Jesus happy with his father? Does religion make one happy? Does it make one ‘mature’? Does it give one an identity? Homeland, security, peace with ourselves? Does it soothe anxiety? Does it answer questions? Does it fulfill desires, at least our most burning ones? I doubt it.” 89 Op. cit., 621. 90 Political in the sense of being preoccupied with those who suffer unjustly, “the victims and vanquished in our history”, op. cit., 620, cf. Metz 1980.

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event of the cross, to reflect further on the relationship of human suffering and God on Golgotha. Is there not a danger here that the theologian, from fear of stepping over the line, might in fact fail to see the crucified Jesus as actually a revelation of God? Might not Metz’ approach imply an overstating of the distance between Jesus and God, and eventually lead to their separation? As will have become clear, the issue of the suffering and death of God is a live and pressing controversy in contemporary theology. What conclusions can be drawn from this survey so far? At least this: even though sharing – to a large extent I would say – (1) the main presupposition that the (theistic) doctrine of divine impassibility is no longer tenable, (2) the central New Testament affirmation that God is love and that (3) this must imply relatedness and vulnerability, and (4) the principal intention of reflecting and acting responsibly on the Gospel message in our contemporary world, these theologians differ considerably when they try to be more precise about the relationship between God as revealed in Christ, and suffering. One can detect at least three significant dividing lines here, it seems to me: one concerning the language which is appropriate to God-talk, another having to do with human responsibility and praxis face to face with suffering and evil, and the third regarding the issue whether the event of the cross may also be seen as in some sense reflecting a conflict in God. Yet reading these texts carefully, it is not at all easy to draw these lines very sharply. Neither do they run parallel to each other, so the pattern emerging is a rather confusing one. I would also note that the temperature of the debate and the harshness of the polemics used by some of the participants do not quite correspond to the actual difference between the positions taken. To mention only the most obvious example, I cannot find

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Boff ’s position to be so far from that of Moltmann as to justify the strong indignation colouring every word of Boff ’s rendering of Moltmann’s views. The explanation for this high temperature, I think, must be the very character of the issue under consideration. Being aware of the dreadful consequences of all the manipulative and oppressive attempts at speaking authoritatively and confidently about God and suffering through the history of theology, none of these contemporary theologians wishes to go wrong. They balance a very sharp edge by, in a way, speaking although knowing that in these matters, perhaps silence – and praxis – is the more appropriate response. But then again, given exactly this tragic history, one should not forget that there might be crucial distinctions at stake in their seemingly small divergences. I see such crucial distinctions particularly related to the questions of whether or not God actually abandons the Jesus on the cross; and whether – and if so, in what sense – suffering in some sense must be deemed “necessary” according to the Christian interpretation of the cross. Before considering Sobrino’s own explication of the crucified God in view of this debate, I should like to draw attention to what the Dutch theologian Marcel Sarot deems a “widely neglected problem” implied in opting for some sort of passibilism. It has to do with corporeality. One of the classic arguments against divine passibility was in fact that it would necessarily imply corporeality.91 Very few of the present defenders of the shift to divine passibility, do in fact pay any attention to this traditional objection, however. Having opted for a “qualified form of passibilism” himself, Sarot points out this lacuna, and then moves on to a consideration of whether it really is true that the passibilist stance must imply that God is 91 Thomas Aquinas, for instance, considered the case thoroughly, and found a close connection between emotion and corporeality. Therefore he concluded that since God must be thought of as incorporeal, God is also without emotions. Passibility is incompatible with incorporeality. Sarot 1992, 103-118.

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thought of as having some form of embodiment. His finding is affirmative. Passibilism requires that God be able to have emotions. The ability to have emotions requires corporeality. If God can suffer, then God must have a body.92 What kind of body can God have? Now, Sarot argues that there are various degrees and forms of embodiment. He thinks it fruitful only to examine whether a limited form of embodiment may be prescribed to God, namely in the sense that “[…] when something is my body, my feelings and sensations will be located in it.”93 Analysing three recent theories of divine embodiment – those of Charles Hartshorne, Grace Jantzen and Luco van den Broom – with particular attention to the requirements of a passibilitist stance, Sarot concludes that it is in fact possible to move towards a theory of divine corporeality which could support the notion of a suffering God. In particular, he thinks Jantzen’s contributions are helpful in that respect.94 In his suggestive thesis, however, Sarot does not fully present such a theory. Much remains to be worked out in this directon. But whether one accepts his argument or not, it is Sarot’s merit to have raised this issue. His focus on corporeality is a particularly timely reminder, as we are in many aspects witnessing a “return of the body” in theology as well as in ethics, theory of law and other traditionally theoretical sciences. In this connection I find Hugo Assmann’s recent proposal of seeing “corporeality” as a source of criteria for an ethics of solidarity in a Latin American context particular noteworthy.95 Feminist theory has been one important contributing 92 Op. cit., 206-208. 93 Op. cit., 208. Sarot is here building on Jonathan Harrison’s theories concering embodiment, see: “The Embodiment of Mind or What Use is Having a Body?” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 74 (1973-4), 35-55. 94 Sarot 1992, 209-243. 95 Assmann 1996, 387-390.

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factor to this development, as shown above. A representative example from the theological scene is Sallie McFague’s book The Body of God and the interest it has aroused.96 Jon Sobrino’s christology has been criticised for being too “disembodied.”97 This criticism is not fair, particularly when one considers the emphasis on the concrete materiality of the Kingdom of God in his understanding. The “phenomenology of bread”98 has much to do with corporeality. It is true however, that these aspects could be further developed by Sobrino, particularly with respect to what the “corporeality” of the Kingdom as mediation might mean for the reality of God. If one takes the cue from Sarot and asks what kind of embodiment could be thought of as God’s from the viewpoint of Sobrino’s christology, then the suggestion that the crucified people represent – in some form – God’s suffering body in history is close at hand.

96 McFague 1993. 97 Referring to Sobrino’s discussion in Sobrino 1994c, 189-191, Anne Primavesi raises the following critique against Sobrino in Primavesi 1995, 108-109: “Christian descriptions of God tend to reinforce this image of God as disembodied male voice. One of the clearest advocates for it is the liberation theologian Jon Sobrino, who invokes it, in Jesus’ name, on behalf of the poor and oppressed of Latin America […] An ‘antagonistic,’ conflict-laden FatherGod without appearance, without body, but with a voice that ‘challenges’, is offered as the image on which to build a liberating praxis. Yet this image of the ‘God who spoke’ as disembodied, all-conquering voice in conflict with ‘other’ gods contributed in no small measure to the kind of colonizing, militarist Christianity which, against all that Sobrino would wish for, brought devastation to so many indigenous peoples and to their lands.” 98 See Chapter iv [2] (4), above.

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[3] God Crucified in the Suffering and Death of the Poor For Jon Sobrino, stating God’s real participation in the passion of this world has been a basic point in his theological production since the mid-1970s.99 And it continues to be so.100 Even though he is perfectly aware that the formulation is limited and open to questions, he finds “no substitute” for calling God “the crucified God.”101 In his recent writings, the historical, existential and personal character of Sobrino’s reflections on this issue – as opposed to a purely theoretical and conceptual approach – is increasingly 99 If we go back to an article from 1967, Sobrino 1967, we do not find this concern in Sobrino’s reflections on the mystery of God (pp.654f.). But since his return to El Salvador in 1974 (cf. his autobiographical reflections in Sobrino 1992b, 11-28, referred to above), the theme has become central and consistent in his writings: Sobrino 1976, 166: “[…] la mediación priveligiada de Dios sigue siendo la cruz real del oprimido.” Sobrino 1986, 160ff, on “el Dios menor” and “el Dios crucificado”; Sobrino 1982a, 178: “[…] si Dios estuvo en la cruz de Jesús, si compartió de ese modo los horrores de la historia, entonces su acción en la resurrección es creíble, al menos para los crucificados.” And furthermore: Sobrino 1987b,.78: “En la vida amenazada de los pobres nos encontramos con nuestros hermanos, nos encontramos con Dios y nos encontramos con nosotros mismos”; Sobrino 1989c, 367: “[…] en un mundo de pobres y de víctimas aparece también, agigantado, el misterio insondable e inmanipulable de ese Dios, como un Dios en la cruz”; Sobrino 1991c, 475, where the author quotes a phrase by Porfirio Miranda to which he often returns: “no se trata de buscar a Dios, sino de encontrarlo allí donde él dijo que está, en los pobres de este mundo”; and finally, Sobrino 1992b, 260-261, where Sobrino describes the faith of his martyred colleagues with the following words: “En las palabras con que los jesuitas hemos definido nuestra misión para el mundo de hoy – palabras que están sobre sus tumbas –, unificaron fe y justicia, Dios y víctimas de este mundo.” 100 See for instance Sobrino 1994d and Sobrino 1995a. 101 “Y, aunque la formulación sea, como todas, limitada, y esté abierta a cuestionamientos, creemos insustituible llamar a ese Dios ‘el Dios crucificado’.” Sobrino 1991d, 394-395.

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underlined. Contemplating the connection between God and suffering is necessary since history “goes on producing crosses” – even after the resurrection of Jesus.102 It is a “horror” that history is like this and that not even God changes things. This horror can never be removed by theological reflection. However, the scandal that sin does appear to have power in history – even power to kill God’s own Son, as well as God’s children – is an aporia that prompts theological reflection, now in the shape of historical and practical theodicy. Sternly rejecting the idea that his concentration on suffering and cross should have anything to do with “proposing a cult of suffering or masochism”, with providing “a basis for some conceptual Platonic or Hegelian dialectic,” or with wanting to “diminish the resurrection”, Sobrino once again recurs to his fundamental theological programme of “honesty to reality”.103 It is reality itself that forces theology to place itself at the foot of the cross. Jon Sobrino’s personal, experiential basis for his dwelling on the theme of the cross could hardly be more forcefully stated than this: Allow me to say this with a very personal experience. On 16 November 1989, when the Jesuits of the Central American University were murdered outside their house, the body of Juán Ramón Moreno was dragged inside the residence into one of the rooms, mine. In the movement one book from the bookcase in the room fell on to the floor and became soaked in Juan Ramón’s blood. That book was The crucified God. It is a symbol of course, but it expresses [what I intend to develop in] this chapter, God’s real participation in the passion of the world.104

Nevertheless, it began “conceptually,” also for Sobrino. During his doctoral studies in Germany, he became profoundly influenced by Moltmann, and particularly by Der gekreuzigte Gott, as we have 102 Sobrino 1991d, 391-395. 103 Ibid. Cf. “Honradez con lo real”, Chapter i [2] (a) above.

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seen. As Sobrino biographically recalls, it was not until returning to El Salvador in 1974 that he discovered “true reality”, the world of the poor.105 He then began to see his task as that of “salvadorising” what he had learnt from Moltmann, as well as from Rahner and others.106 In his Cristología desde América Latina Sobrino consequently develops his own theologia crucis in close conversation with Moltmann’s. He intends to reflect on suffering as a possible “mode of being” for God, giving concrete reality to the New Testament intuition that God is love.107 The “very heart” of his reflections is expressed in his “13th thesis” on the death of Jesus: On the cross of Jesus God himself is crucified. The Father suffers the death of the Son and takes upon himself all the pain and suffering of history. In 104 Sobrino 1994c, 235. The words in brackets represent my own translation of the original text, differing slightly from the translation in Jesus the Liberator, which reads “the themes of ”. Sobrino 1991d, 395: “Cuando el 16 de noviembre de 1989 fueron asesinados, fuera de la casa, los Jesuitas de la UCA, el cuerpo del P. Juan Ramón Romero fue arrastrado hacia el interior de la residencia a uno de los cuartos – el mío. En el trajín se cayó un único libro del estante de la habitación y quedó empapado con la sangre de Juan Ramón. Ese libro es El Dios crucificado. Un símbolo, por supuesto, pero que expresa lo que se quiere decir en este capítulo: la participación real de Dios en la pasión del mundo.” 105 Sobrino 1992b, 11-28. 106 “Por decirlo en palabras concretas: no es que Rahner o Moltmann, a quienes estudié a fondo, ya no tuvieran nada que decir, pero comprendí que era una insensatez tener como ideal rahnerizar o moltmanizar a los salvadoreños. Si algo podía ayudar yo con mis estudios, la tarea tenía que ser la inversa: salvadoreñizar, si era posible, a Rahner y a Moltmann.” Sobrino 1992b, 15. 107 Sobrino 1976, 162: “Si en la teología actual se va incorporando la intuición de que el futuro es el modo de ser de Dios (W. Pannenberg), lo que ahora intentamos reflexionar es el sufrimiento como modo de ser de Dios, para hacer concreta y real la más profunda intuición del NT sobre Dios: Dios es amor.”

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this ultimate solidarity with humanity he reveals himself as the God of love, who opens up a hope and a future through the most negative side of history. Thus Christian existence is nothing else but a process of participating in this same process whereby God loves the world and hence in the very life of God.108

In this dense thesis, which in fact entails much of Sobrino’s christology in nuce, we see first of all that Sobrino clearly joins the current “change to passibilism”. Suffering and death do affect God on the cross; “God himself is crucified”. This is explained in trinitarian terms: “The Father suffers the death of the Son.” But what does this “suffering the death of the Son” mean? Does Sobrino say that Jesus is actually forsaken by God on the cross? Sobrino’s language is ambiguous; it is as if he is hesitating. In the sub-chapter “The Presence of God on Jesus’ Cross” – note the title! – he speaks of Jesus “feeling that he had been abandoned by God”109, and of “God’s seeming absence on the cross.”110 Yet he argues – following Moltmann – that Jesus died in “theological abandonment”111, and that this is actually the ultimate reason for his death, making it a complete scandal even after the resurrection. In order to hold this

108 Sobrino 1978a, 224. / Sobrino 1976, 168: “En la cruz de Jesús el mismo Dios está crucificado. El Padre sufre la muerte del Hijo y asume en sí todo el dolor de la historia. En esa última solidaridad con el hombre se revela como el Dios de amor, que desde lo más negativo de la historia abre un futuro y una esperanza. La existencia cristiana no es entonces otra cosa que participar en ese mismo proceso de amor de Dios al mundo y de esa forma participar de la misma vida de Dios.” 109 Sobrino 1978a, 218 (quotation from Moltmann), my emphasis, SJS. / Sobrino 1976, “‘[…] el abandono experimentado de Dios.’” 110 Ibid.: my emphasis, SJS. / Sobrino 1976,163: “Esta discontinuidad entre la expectación de Dios y su (aparente) ausencia en la cruz es lo típico de la muerte de Jesús”; note the parenthesis. 111 Sobrino 1978a, 219. / Sobrino 1976, 163.

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together conceptually, Sobrino turns to dialectics: God was both absent (cf. Mk 15:34) and present (cf. 2 Cor 5:19f ) on the cross.112 In what way? Sobrino reasons along the following lines: the absurd and scandalous presence of suffering and evil in the world is experienced as the absence of the God of life and justice, which leads to a legitimate protest against God. In some sense, God can be justified, God is trustworthy in the eyes of the victims, only if Godself participates in this protest against the absent God. This is actually what happens on the cross, and therefore Sobrino accepts the maxim nemo contra Deum nisi Deus ipse. Correspondingly, God’s love and solidarity can be experienced as credible by forsaken and suffering humanity only if God-self actually shares this situation of abandonment, of having been given over to the evil forces in history, suffering under their power. This too, happens on the cross; Jesus falls victim to the powers of sin, and thus participates fully in the condition of fallen humanity. On the cross, Jesus the Son experiences abandonment by the loving Father in whom he had trusted. “The Father surrenders the Son, abandoning him to the power of sin.”113 Paradoxically then, this surrendering of the Son is interpreted as the ultimate demonstration that God’s love is truly incarnate, truly historical. God’s absence from Jesus on the cross, is therefore at the same time God’s presence among human beings, according to Sobrino. This presence of God among humans is salvific. When God completely shares the conditions of humanity under the reign of forces of sin and evil, then God overcomes these powers. Therefore this presence brings salvation. One may recognise at this point once 112 Cf. Jüngel’s position, presented above. 113 Sobrino 1978a, 225. Sobrino 1976, 168: “La pasividad consiste en dejarse afectar por lo negativo, la injusticia y la muerte. En la cruz de Jesús Dios estaba presente (2 Cor 5, 19ss) estando al mismo tiempo ausente (Mc 15, 34). Estando ausente para el Hijo estaba presente para los hombres (sic).”

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again the fundamental soteriological tenet of Sobrino: redemption of sin is brought about through suffering its consequences to the end. By taking on all suffering and evil in the event of the cross, God is in fact overcoming these negative, destructive realities from “within”.114 Suffering has become a “mode of God’s being”, because that is the way love by necessity expresses itself when encountering the evils of history. Is this a suffering in God? Yes, although theoretically it could also be described as “God in suffering.” Incarnation means God entering into human history, which, because of the reign of sin, is a history where suffering is prevalent. “The Father suffers the death of the Son and takes upon himself all the pain and suffering of history.”115 It is not easy to follow the logic in Sobrino’s reasoning here. Note, for instance, the centrality of “experience” in these statements. Is the experience of having been abandoned by God equivalent to actual God-forsakenness? And does the credibility of God’s love actually depend on God’s absence? Is it not, on the contrary, God’s faithful presence even under the dreadful works of sin and evil that would make God’s love credible to victims? And why should God’s presence among humanity necessarily correspond to God’s absence from Jesus?The soteriological tenet that sin and evil can only be redeemed by suffering under them, is also a tenet that I have questioned earlier. Does it not lead thought in the direction of necessary suffering? And if so, is that not a potentially dangerous thought if applied also to contemporary suffering? I shall soon deal thoroughly with these objections. But first, we must examine the more general question whether Sobrino, in adopting so much of Moltmann’s thinking on these matters, makes 114 Sobrino 1978a, 221. / Sobrino 1976 165. 115 Sobrino 1978a, 224. My emphasis, SJS. / Sobrino 1976, 168: “El Padre sufre la muerte del Hijo y asume en sí todo el dolor de la historia.”

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himself vulnerable to the same criticisms as those Sölle, Boff, Metz and others so harshly raised against Moltmann? In other words: (a) Does Sobrino’s position (unintentionally, but nevertheless) imply an “eternalising” of suffering? (b) Is this a purely conceptual solution, obtained “behind the back” of the victims? (c) Does this make the difference between victim and perpetrator disappear? (d) Does this in the end make God responsible for suffering? Basically, Sobrino may defend himself against such charges with reference to the clearly historical, practical, partisan and contextual character of his theology. Yet there remains a weakness in his position, which he seems to inherit from Moltmann. (a) Though speaking of suffering as a mode of God’s being, Sobrino’s argument does not imply an “eternalisation” of suffering, since God is viewed as a trinitarian process which still awaits its consummation. God is not yet all-in-all.116 Suffering, death, negativity are not ultimately overcome – yet. Not only does incarnation mean that God takes on suffering; even more so, it means that there is made room for history in God. But this means that history in itself is opened up. Suffering is not eternalised since God, opening up history by entering into it, prevents history from being an eternal “more of the same.” History is now definitely marked by the promise of future, a promise that gives reason for hope. God “[…] 116 In a way, it can be said that it is implied in this line of thought that neither history nor God have arrived at their completion. Cf. Batstone 1991, 113, who concludes his treatment of Sobrino’s interpretations of the death of Jesus with the following comment: “(M)ost liberationists would want to affirm with the Apostle Paul that God will only be ‘all in all’ once the redemption of humanity and all of creation has taken place. As strange as it may sound to those of us inculcated with classical categories of theological thought, God’s ‘completion’ is integrally related to our redemption. In that, sense, the destiny of God’s future is connected with the unfolding of human history itself.”

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opens up a hope and a future through the most negative side of history.”117 The mystery of God, thus spelled out in terms of trinitarian process, into which the history of suffering has been given room by God’s assuming the suffering of Jesus on the cross, makes theology profoundly historical. God is present in history; history is present in God. But this is not seen merely as a passive being in history, but rather an active transformation of history towards its ultimate goal: God all-in-all. Every human being is invited to take part in this process, Sobrino points out: “Thus Christian existence is nothing else but a process of participating in this same process whereby God loves the world and hence in the very life of God.”118 This active transformation of history – the process whereby God loves the world – is revealed to us through the Son. The life and mission of Jesus is the ultimate revelation of how God’s transforming love is concretised in human history. It is a life and a mission to be continued. Jesus, the Son of God, sets in motion a chain of following; he is the revelation of the Way to the Father. It is a Way to be “travelled”, not merely worshipped. Hence the profoundly practical character of this theological interpretation. It gives no impetus to passive resignation, but summons all God’s children, all human beings, to an active participation in the transforming of history from within. Thus, salvation history may become salvation in history. (b) Does Sobrino present a merely “conceptual solution”, behind the backs of the victims, as Metz warns? I cannot see that. Sobrino’s insistence on seeing God in unity with the dead Jesus on the cross, 117 Sobrino 1978a, 224. / Sobrino 1976, 168. 118 Sobrino 1978a, 224. My emphasis, SJS. / Sobrino 1976, 168: “La existencia cristiana no es entonces otra cosa que participar en ese mismo proceso de amor de Dios al mundo y de esa forma participar de la misma vida de Dios.”

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and on seeing the cross not as God’s arbitrary design but rather as the ultimate consequence of a life in correspondence to God’s love – a praxis in concrete solidarity with victims – within the constraints of human history, prevents it from becoming such a “conceptual solution”. The death of Jesus shows that the way to be travelled may lead to suffering. Through this event of the cross, it is revealed that God is so immersed in history that not even the depths of human tragedy remain untouched by God’s love. Christian life consists in the following of Jesus in merciful service to the victims of this world, at the risk and cost of becoming a victim oneself.119 Christian reflection on the mystery of God and how it relates to the presence of suffering – theodicy – must therefore become partisan, committed and practical.120 In this, Sobrino’s mysticism of following actually seems to parallel to a large extent Metz’ mysticism of “suffering unto God with open eyes”. (c) What about the powerful objection voiced by Sölle and Boff – and after them by several other feminist and liberation theologians?121 Is the difference between victim and executioner implicitly made irrelevant in Sobrino’s approach? Sobrino himself would of course vehemently defend himself against such charges. Nonetheless this is where some difficulties related to his argument begin to show. Sobrino rightly affirms that God identifies on the cross with the victim Jesus. Jesus as Way shows how this identification is expressed 119 Cf Sobrino 1976, 150 “6a tesis: La teología de la cruz debe ser histórica, es decir, ha de ver la cruz no como un arbitrario designio de Dios, sino como la consecuencia de la opción primigenia de Dios: la encarnación. La cruz es consecuencia de una encarnación situada en un mundo de pecado que se revela como poder contra el Dios de Jesús.” 120 Cf. Sobrino 1986, 15-47 and Sobrino 1988c, reprinted in Sobrino 1992b, 4780.

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in historical terms, becoming an identification with all victims through the victim Jesus. At this point Sobrino goes further than Moltmann already in Cristología desde América latina, as far as I can see, thus making his approach less vulnerable than Moltmann’s to this particular objection. It is the “real cross of the oppressed” that is the “privileged mediation of God,” Sobrino claims.122 In this way the theology of a crucified God leads to a theology of the crucified people, which Sobrino develops later, rooting it more firmly in the “reality” – that is, the contextual and historical character – of these crosses. Yet if the victim Jesus is actually made a victim due to his abandonment by God the Father, then this identification with the victims of this world becomes – in my view dangerously – ambiguous. Is it in fact the perpetrator’s “identification” with the victim, the crucifier’s “solidarity” with the crucified, that we have here? (d) This leads to the last and most serious objection to be considered, viz. whether God in Sobrino’s interpretation is made ultimately responsible for suffering in the world. For Sobrino, there is no doubt about the human responsibility for oppression, suffering and evil. After all, liberation theology grows out of a profound real121 At its most radical, this criticism can lead to the rejection of Christianity altogether, as in this extreme statement: “Christianity is an abusive theology that glorifies suffering. Is it any wonder that there is so much abuse in modern society when the predominant image or theology of the culture is of ‘divine child abuse’ – God the father, demanding and carrying out the suffering and death of his own son […] This bloodthirsty God is the God of the patriarchy who at the moment controls the whole Judeo-Christian tradition.” Joanne Carlson Brown, Rebecca Parker, & Carol R. Bohn (eds.): Christianity, Patriarchy and Abuse: A Feminist Critique Pilgrim Press, New York 1989:2, quoted from Schüssler Fiorenza 1994, 99. – See also Chapter iv [7], above. 122 Sobrino 1978a, 222-223. Sobrino 1976, 166.

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isation and awareness of this responsibility. In Latin America, theodicy is concretised as anthropodicy.123 And yet, there is more to be said. The crucial point here is again how one should understand the derelictio Jesu, Jesus’ real abandonment by God on the cross.124 As we have seen, this abandonment is perhaps the most controversial tenet in a theologia crucis of this sort. Sobrino maintains it, well aware of the criticisms it has evoked. – How can he defend this without undermining or even contradicting all that he has said about God’s solidarity, sympathy with the victims and revelation/ mediation through them? In other words: does God’s abandonment directly cause Jesus’ death? Is God not only crucified but also crucifier?

[4] God’s Abandonment of Jesus? It is enlightening to see how Sobrino deals with this in Jesucristo liberador, fifteen years after the publication of Cristología desde América latina. Here we find both modification, confirmation and further developments of his thinking. He takes a careful step away from Moltmann, and presents an even more contextual reflection, introducing, above all, with much emphasis, the crucified people. He now deems the “Deus contra Deum” a Lutheran “exaggeration”, although still defending its element of truth. Furthermore, Sobrino develops an Ignatian perspective: to the traditional definition of the mystery and transcendence of God as a God who is always greater, 123 Sobrino 1976, 167. “[…] en América Latina la teodicea es concretizada en la antropo-dicea.” The English translation is not satisfactory here: “Latin American theology turns theodicy in to anthropocity (sic.)”. Sobrino 1978a, 224. 124 Cf. Ladd 1974, 191.

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he adds the experience of a God always lesser. “God is also in what is small, in suffering, in negativity; all this also affects God and reveals him.”125 Reflecting on the event of the cross, we must move from Dios mayor to Dios mayor y menor, Sobrino holds. And this redefinition, far from diminishing the mystery of God, only makes God become “more transcendent, more unencompassable, more indescribable, more a mystery.”126 Sobrino’s thinking has been developing with regards to these matters then. But these modifications and further developments do not change the core of Sobrino’s reflections on this issue: He still speaks of the crucified God. He maintains that on the cross there is an aspect of God questioning God; God against God. And he maintains that God actually abandons Jesus on the cross. Against this background, it is interesting to see how he avoids entering into an open conflict with Leonardo Boff, who – as we recall – sternly rejected Moltmann’s formulation of the same concerns. Although explicitly “following and commenting on Boff ’s discussion”,127 he does not argue polemically against Boff ’s treatment of Moltmann. He simply notes that in his opinion, Moltmann’s approach (together with that of Urs von Balthasar) “has not always been correctly understood.”128 And summing up his treatment of the issue, Sobrino even quotes Boff at length – exactly on the significance of God’s silence on the cross.129 Is Sobrino covering up a profound disagreement here – or is it Boff who exaggerates the 125 Sobrino 1994c, 248. / Sobrino 1991d, 414-415. “Dios está también en lo pequeño, en el sufrimiento, en la negatividad; todo ello le afecta también a Dios y lo revela.” 126 Sobrino 1994c, 248. / Sobrino 1991d, 415. “[…] al mencionar conjuntamente ambas cosas, ese Dios se hace más transcendente, más inabarcable, más inefable, más misterio.” 127 Sobrino 1994c, 240. / Sobrino 1991d, 404. 128 Sobrino 1994c, 241. / Sobrino 1991d, 405. 129 Sobrino 1994c, 246. / Sobrino 1991d, 412.

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differences with respect to the issue of a possible abandonment of Jesus by God? In my opinion, the answer to this depends on whether Sobrino actually manages to explicate the derelictio Jesu and the “necessity” of God’s suffering without betraying God’s ultimate solidarity with history’s victims. The abandonment of Jesus by God on the cross is a scandal, Sobrino holds. As with the other scandals inherent to the gospel (e.g. that the Kingdom is for the poor, that the Risen One is the one who was crucified, etc.), Sobrino detects a tendency to smoothen it out. A clear example is the disagreement between the evangelists on Jesus’ death cry. Although assuming that historically, Jesus uttered no words when dying, only a scream130, Sobrino holds the most radical and scandalous formulation of this cry, i.e. Mark’s version, to represent the primordial theological reflection on Jesus’ death.131 The subsequent theological development reflected in the other Gospels and the Church Fathers only proves to show “[…] how difficult it is to maintain a (possible) abandonment by God on Jesus’ cross.” 132

It is decisive not to “domesticate” this scandal, Sobrino continues: Jesus is abandoned on the cross. God is silent. God does not intervene to save Jesus from the powers of death. There is a radical discontinuity between what Jesus experienced in his life and what he experiences on the cross. God the intimate Father is no longer near, no longer accessible.

130 Sobrino 1991d, 396. 131 Sobrino 1991d, 396-397. 132 Sobrino 1994c, 238. / Sobrino 1991d, 398: “Lo único que queremos mostrar es cuán difícil es mantener el (posible) abandono de Dios en la cruz de Jesús.” (Note the parenthesis.) – The author of the Gospel of John, for instance, “does not allow himself even to suggest that Jesus was deserted by God.” Barrett 1978, 547.

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Whereas for Jesus, the ‘infinite distance’ of God as mystery was always accompanied by the ‘absolute closeness’ of God as Father, this vanishes on the cross: there is no closeness of God, there is no experience of God as a kind Father.133

What does this radical discontinuity say about God then? In trinitarian terms, God the Son suffers and dies, abandoned by God the Father. But this, in Sobrino’s outline, is not taken as far as saying that God actually is directly causing the death of Jesus. God is not an executioner, not a crucifier, according to Sobrino.134 On the contrary, what we have here is the silence, the non-intervention, the non-action of God. It is the forces of evil, the idols of death that actually kill God’s Son. The scandal is that God does not prevent it from happening. “(T)he fundamental objective fact is death inflicted unjustly on the just man Jesus – and the countless unjust deaths throughout history – which God did nothing to prevent.”135 This distinction, I think, is vital. But is it sufficient?136 If this non-intervention is not to be taken as cruelty on God’s behalf, it must be interpreted paradoxically as God’s real participation in the passion of the world, Sobrino continues. God suffers “[…] on Jesus’ cross and on those of this world’s victims by being their non-active and silent witness.”137

133 Sobrino 1994c, 239. / Sobrino 1991d, 401: “Si para Jesús, ‘la distancia infinita’ de Dios como misterio iba acompañada de la ‘absoluta cercanía’ de Dios como Padre, eso desaparece en la cruz: no hay cercanía de Dios, no hay experiancia de Dios como Padre bondadoso.” 134 Sobrino’s strongest formulation in Jesucristo liberador is “[…] Dios deja morir a Jesús […]” Sobrino 1991d, 409. 135 Sobrino 1994c, 240. / Sobrino 1991d, 403: “[…] el hecho fundamental es la muerte infligida injustamente al justo Jesús, y las innumerables muertes injustas a lo largo de la historia, ante las cuales Dios no interviene.” 136 This raises again the question of how to relate God and the idols to each other; how to relate a dualistic to a monistic framework.

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The abandonment of Jesus is not in contradiction with God’s solidarity with the crucified in history, in Sobrino’s own view, then. On the contrary, his argument must be taken to mean that it actually is God’s non-intervention on Jesus’ cross which makes possible and credible God’s salvific presence on all crosses. On Jesus’ cross God is present in absence; God is revealed sub contrario. Clearly Sobrino’s thinking here is dialectical. God is absent, and yet present. God is passive, and yet active. God’s absence from the dying Jesus permits God to be fully present also outside God’s “sphere of influence”, so to speak, where the forces of the anti-Kingdom still triumph. The crux of Sobrino’s argument seems to be that God’s passivity on Golgatha actually makes possible God’s active solidarity with those who dwell on the contemporary Golgothas. But this dialectical approach is not ultimately convincing. Again: set within the framework of Sobrino’s emphasis on the mystery of God as trinitarian process and Christian existence as a following of Jesus, this dialectics is not dissolved or overcome in some conceptual synthesis. That is not the main problem. As a matter of fact, Sobrino does not think that there are suitable words at all with which one could describe the reality of God on the cross.138 Rather the “radical discontinuity” can only be bridged in a praxis. “The crucified God is not a phenomenon that can be approached through theoretical concepts, but through practical concepts,” Sobrino writes, “it is not a case for theo-logy, but for theopraxis.”139 This notwithstanding, Sobrino does also find a certain continuity, a certain logic, in speaking of God’s suffering: 137 Sobrino 1994c, 244. / Sobrino 1991d, 409: “Para ello, de manera antropomórfica, por supuesto, creemos que basta decir que Dios sufre en la cruz de Jesús y en la de las víctimas de este mundo al ser testigo in-activo y silencioso de ellas.” 138 Sobrino 1991d, 408, passim.

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God’s suffering is, then, very ‘likely’, if it is true that God wanted to reveal his solidarity with this world’s victims. If from the beginning of the gospel God appears in Jesus as a God with us, if throughout the gospel God shows himself as a God for us, on the cross he appears as a God at our mercy and, above all, as a God like us.140

Yes, but not a God absent from us, nor from Jesus. This is where I have difficulties with Sobrino’s argument. It is the point where he tries to explain more precisely why God “must” remain inactive visà-vis Jesus’ death, why Jesus “must” suffer. He argues both with “credibility” and “efficacy” here, as these quotations show: “God is inactive on the cross so that we human beings can rely on his love.”141And further: “What this crucified God reminds us of constantly is that there can be no liberation from sin without bearing of sin, that injustice cannot be eradicated unless it is borne.”142 But these formulations may easily lend themselves also to clearly untenable interpretations, in stark opposition to Sobrino’s explicit intentions, because, faced with the innocent suffering of an Other, non-intervention can and must be seen as cruelty – that is, 139 Sobrino 1994c, 246. / Sobrino 1991d, 412: “El Dios crucificado no es una realidad que pueda abordarse con un concepto teórico, sino con un concepto práxico; no se trata pues de teo-logía, sino de teo-praxis; qué es lo que desencadena el Dios crucificado.” 140 Sobrino 1994c, 245. / Sobrino 1991d, 410: “El sufrimiento de Dios es, pues, bien ‘verosímil’, si es que Dios ha querido revelar su solidaridad con las víctimas de este mundo. Si desde el principio del evangelio, Dios aparece en Jesús como un Dios con nosotros, si a lo largo de él se va mostrando como un Dios para nosotros, en la cruz aparece como un Dios a merced de nosotros y, sobre todo, como un Dios como nosotros.” 141 Sobrino 1994c, 244 / Sobrino 1991d, 409: “Dios está inactivo en la cruz para que los hombres (sic) podamos fiarnos de su amor […]” 142 Sobrino 1994c, 246 / Sobrino 1991d, 412: “Lo que ese Dios crucificado recuerda siempre es que no hay liberación del pecado sin cargar con el pecado, que no hay erradicación de la injusticia sin cargar con ella.”

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given that intervention is a possible option. The question is therefore, whether suffering on the cross of Golgotha and on the crosses on our planet is due to God’s deliberate abstention from salvific intervention. Put in another way, the question may be formulated thus: Which God is absent from Jesus’ cross – the God of Jesus or the (Greek) almighty and impassible “God?” In line with my deliberations and proposals in the previous chapter – which I hold to be consonant with the explicit intentions of a liberation christology – I submit that deliberate non-intervention in the face of suffering is not an option for the God who is revealed in and through the life, ministry and death of Jesus. The principal point, which is truly scandalous in the eyes of the world, is not that God is absent, but rather that God’s salvific presence on the cross is not as expected. God saves through a love so strong that it even endures the radical suffering of the cross. God saves through (co-)suffering love. This love is – as Sobrino himself rightly argues – both credible and efficacious. It shows that there is no pain so great, no burden so heavy, no evil so vicious as to actually separate human beings from God’s salvific love.143 In order to overcome the ambiguity of God being portrayed as both crucified and crucifier, it is therefore preferable in my view to refrain from speaking of God’s absence from Jesus on the cross, or of the Father’s abandonment of the Son as the cause for the death of the Son. It seems that the patterns of thought that Sobrino inherited from Moltmann is an obstacle rather than a help for Sobrino’s liberation christology at this particular point.144 But if this conclusion is justified, what then about Jesus’ cry recorded by Mark? And what about all those who experience God’s abandonment in their lives? The crucial point here is to distinguish between the experience of God’s abandonment, and its possible actuality. The Crucified’s (as well as the crucified’s) experience of 143 Cf. Rom. 8:17-19.

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abandonment is real, and should be taken with utter seriousness. Yet the principal tenet of Christian faith concerns God’s unity with the crucified human person Jesus, even into the darkness of death. God’s apparent absence is actually presence.145 This tenet should be consequently maintained. On this relies the confession of God’s healing communion with the sufferers: the crucified God’s solidarity with the crucified people.146 Sobrino’s more recent publications indicate that he is in fact moving away from the doctrine of the abandonment by God, in spite of his earlier statements, including those in Jesucristo liberador. What then about the “necessity” of suffering? I have several times questioned the soteriological presupposition that sin must be “carried”, i.e. suffered under, in order to be “carried away”, i.e. redeemed. This becomes particularly sensitive when the concept of a crucified God is followed up in a theology of crucified peoples: What does it mean in the context of crucified peoples to say that

144 In a careful analysis of this debate, with references to Moltmann’s, Boff ’s and Sobrino’s positions, Sobrino’s younger colleague Antonio González reaches a conclusion which comes close to my own: “Es el pecado del mundo y no el Padre quien crucifica al Hijo. Si solamente Dios puede estar contra Dios, éste no se ha hecho verdaderamente hombre (sic) y estamos ante una forma de docetismo o de monofisismo.” González 1994, 105. 145 This point should be elaborated pneumatologically as well; God is present with the sufferers – the C/crucified – in the Holy Spirit. Cf. González 1994, 124: “Para que el Padre de Jesús sea verdaderamente el ‘Dios de los pobres’ es menester que en la ruptura radical que se da en la cruz con toda imagen tradicional de Dios, el Padre siga misteriosamente presente y unido al Hijo. La garantía de esta unidad es el Espíritu (Heb 9, 14), el cual será quien resucite al hijo (Rm 1, 4; Tim 3, 16)”; compare pp. 125ff. 146 “Por el Espíritu sigue el Padre unido al Hijo y así se nos muestra como verdadero Padre bueno y se nos descubre lo inaudito: Dios estaba al lado de todos los aparentemente ‘abandonados de Dios’ y no al lado de todos los aparentemente por El benditos con el poder y la gloria.” González 1994, 125.

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crucifixion is “a necessity” for salvation; that injustice and suffering “must be borne” in order to reach liberation from suffering? If one is to defend this point, at least this much must be thoroughly underlined, in my assessment: Firstly, that such “necessity” originates with sin and evil – the origin of which is an inexplicable and tragic mystery, a true mysterium iniquitatis – and not with God. And secondly, that any idea of the “necessity” of other people’s suffering must be shunned. Apart from the ambiguity intrinsic to his defence of the derelictio Jesu, does Sobrino comply with these two conditions?

[5] The Crucified God and The Crucified People – The ‘Necessity’ of Suffering? In an article from 1994 entitled “La fe en el Dios crucificado. Reflexiones desde El Salvador,”147 Jon Sobrino takes as his point of departure the question of how a crucified God can be good news to a crucified people. In this fine piece of contemporary contextual theology Sobrino brings his reflections one step further. It is a step in a promising direction with respect to the criticisms I have just made, since it involves a shift from “absence” – “presence” to the much more fruitful binary categories of alteridad (“alterity”) and afinidad (“affinity”). In which God do the victims of the Salvadoran civil war believe? Approaching his theme “historically” first, Sobrino points out four characteristics of the faith in God which is prevalent among the popular majorities in his country: (1) God continues to have absolute priority as ultimate reality to them; (2) in the midst of 147 Sobrino 1994d.

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oppression they have discovered the liberating dimension of this God; (3) sometimes, though, they have doubts, which may even lead them to protest against this God; and (4) they find liberation in the crucified God, too. In general, it is Sobrino’s experience that the victims do not question or blame God. Their attitude is rather one of gratitude and defence, even in the moments of trial and hardships. “If it weren’t for God, we would have been even worse off,” says the civil population of a war zone, having lived through terrible bombardments and atrocities of war.148 God, for them, is the God of life, a God who gives them strength in all their daily struggles. But there come times, when the crudeness of evil and the vastness of suffering cause even these people to ask: “What has happened to God?”149 In these moments God appears to them as a crucified God – seemingly unable to help, unable to resist the forces of death – Sobrino thinks, even though he is perfectly aware that they, poor campesinos and slum-dwellers, would not normally formulate it in this way. This God, like themselves, is made a victim. Can they see any good in such a God? In fact, sometimes – in a “difficult synthesis”, and in reality more than in concept, again – they find liberation even in this crucified God, Sobrino believes. When the God of life suddenly appears powerless like themselves, they experience this as God’s presence with them in their sufferings. And they rejoice in this God.

148 Op. cit., 54: “’Ayer tuvimos un bombardeo y nos salvamos por Dios […] Dios actúa, Padre […] Dios está con nosotros, Padre, porque si no hubiera estado Dios, hubiera sido aún peor.’” 149 Op. cit., 55: “Cuántas veces no decimos que Dios actúa en nuestra historia […] Pero, Padre, y si actúa, cuándo acaba esto? Y tantos años de guerra y tantos miles de muertos? Qué pasa con Dios?” Quotation from Vigil 1987b, 119.

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Which God do the victims prefer then? The God of Life, a liberator God of the Exodus – or the suffering God, the God of the cross? We may recall here the lone sufferer in the deep, dark pit mentioned by Elizabeth Johnson. A liberator God would be the God with “the bright light and long ladder.” This God saves out of God’s difference with the poor. God has power to redeem, they do not. A crucified God is the God who simply shares the situation of suffering; a God who comes near, is in communion with those who suffers; a God who is bearing the consequences of evil, just like them. This God saves also, but now out of God’s similarity with the poor. Only such a complete sharing can actually understand, heal and thus save. In his discussion of these two opposites, Sobrino now makes use of the categories “affinity” and “alterity”. The poor know and expect that alterity can be liberating. When people enter into their world who have what they don’t – economic resources, political power, education – they hope that this difference will be used in a way that will benefit them. (And besides – the poor are numerous enough; they don’t need or wish more people to become poor like them!) Again, Sobrino takes Archbishop Romero as the prime example. His alterity was received by the poor as something positive. Nevertheless, when Romero refused to receive particular protection from the Government, and subsequently was killed for his brave stance for justice and the rights of the poor, then Romero became like them. He shared the destiny of many among the poor, who suffer unprotected at the hands of oppressors. In spite of the immense tragedy that this was for the poor – who lost their most prominent defender – it was simultaneously to them an expression of love and solidarity which awoke new hope and inspired new struggle to overcome evil and suffering. In this sense, the tragic event became “salvific”, in Sobrino’s interpretation.150

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“When some sort of affinity appears together with the alterity, the poor of this world feel that something good has happened to them.”151 Therefore, there is no simple answer to the question of which God the victims prefer, the God of affinity or alterity, the Crucified or the Liberator. “The answer is complex and dialectical”152, Sobrino claims. The total liberation which comes from God is experienced [by the victims] dialectically, then, in two different and complementary manners. One which is made possible by the alterity of God, and another which is made possible by God’s affinity. Logically, the former precedes the latter, but the latter may also be real, and become unified with the former.153

Moving now to a “theoretical approach”, Sobrino develops further the notion of affinity as it relates to salvation. It is a basic theological intuition that without affinity, there is no salvation. This intuition, which has its primary roots in the writings of Mark and Paul, echoes all the way through history of theology from the Council of Nicea and up to the contemporary theologies of Bonhoeffer and 150 Sobrino 1994d, 56: “Así cuando no-pobres con prestigio y poder han participado hasta el martirio en los sufrimientos de los pobres, éstos han sido – en medio de lágrimas y protestas – algo positivo, algo salvífico.” 151 Ibid.: “Es un hecho también que cuando las personas que se les acercan con su alteridad participan de alguna manera en su destino (hostigamiento, difamación, persecución, indefensión, asesinato […]) es decir, cuando junto a la alteridad se da algún tipo de afinidad, los pobres de este mundo sienten que algo bueno les ha ocurrido.” 152 Ibid.: “Y por eso, si tratamos de responder a la pregunta qué Dios prefieren las víctimas, si el del Exodo o el de la cruz, la respuesta es compleja y dialéctica.” 153 Op. cit., 56-57. “La liberación total que proviene de Dios la experimentan, entonces, dialécticamente, de dos formas diferentes y complementarias. Una, que es posiblitada (sic.) por la alteridad de Dios, y otra, que es posibilitada por la afinidad. Lógicamente, la primera precede a la segunda, pero la segunda puede ser también real, y quedar unificada con la primera.”

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Moltmann.154 The other side of this intuition is – recall that salvation is tantamount to humanisation in Sobrino’s understanding – that “pure alterity does not humanise.”155 In what, exactly, does this salvific character of affinity consist? In other words: how does the crucified God save a crucified people? The key word to Sobrino is – as it was to Elizabeth Johnson – communion. The experience of communion with God in the midst of darkness and radical evil is, in spite of everything, an experience of salvation. Any communion, and particularly this communion, is something which “produces identity, dignity and joy.” Whereas the alterity of God as liberator expresses the efficacy of the salvation that the victims long for, the affinity of the crucified God expresses the “graciousness and tenderness” of this salvation. (T)hat which is salvific and liberating in a crucified God lies in the overcoming of the orphanhood, the radical destituteness and the total degradation which the poor of this world experience.156

Describing further what kind of salvation the crucified God brings, Sobrino underlines three elements. Firstly, a crucified God brings, like the Suffering Servant, “light”: light to see the truth of reality. Second, a crucified God questions and criticises our traditional vision of God. This questioning is something healthy, Sobrino believes, something which awakens hope, and not resignation. 154 Op. cit., 58: “Se mantuvo, pues, y quedó confirmado el escándalo expresado ya en Pablo y Marcos, pero ello no sólo por mera fidelidad formal a los textos del Nuevo Testamento, sino por una intuición, que, en nuestra opinión, se mantiene hasta el día de hoy: sin afinidad no hay salvación.” 155 Op. cit., 59. 156 Op. cit., 59. “(L)o salvífico y liberador de un Dios crucificado está en la superación de la orfandad, de la soledad radical, de la indignidad total que experimentan los pobres y las víctimas de este mundo.” – Note again that it is the experience of abandonment that is to be overcome.

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Finally, and most importantly, a crucified God saves by being an ultimate expression of historicised love. As we remember, these elements were also central in Sobrino’s treatment of the soteriological significance of the crucified Liberator, Jesus, as well as that of the crucified people(s). In Sobrino’s understanding, this is where the question of the “necessity” of suffering properly belongs. Since there is – tragic and incomprehensible – suffering in the world, God “must” suffer, in order to save the world from suffering. It cannot be removed by simply confronting it from “above” or from the outside, because “without affinity, there is no salvation – pure alterity does not humanise”. This is in line with basic insights from the early church, which remain valid in Sobrino’s view, however unsatisfactory their formulations may sound today (in Greek theology: “What he did not assume, he did not redeem”157; in Latin theology: “Without the shedding of blood, there is no salvation”158 [cf. Heb. 9:22]). These insights are taken up by liberation theology as Ellacuría and Sobrino have developed it, in the soteriological tenet that only by taking on, suffering under sin, can it be definitively overcome. Only by carrying the burden of sin, can the burden of sin be carried away. The “necessity” of suffering is then primarily a historical necessity, stemming from the character of historical sin and evil. Yet history is not blind fate, but an open-ended process in which all human beings are invited to “participate in God’s life” in an ongoing salvific praxis of carrying the burden of sin away. This is why Sobrino and liberation theologians deal with the mystery of God in terms of a practical and historical theodicy. Why is history like this? Why does sin have power? Where do the powers of the anti-Kingdom come from? Sobrino makes here a further determination of historical evil which is of particular inter157 In Spanish: “Lo que no ha sido asumido, no ha sido redimido.” 158 In Spanish: “Sin derramiento de sangre no hay salvación.”

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est to us. From the outset, he held that the traditional theodicy from the vantage-point of Latin America turns into anthropodicy. Historical suffering, radical suffering, cruelty and oppression originate from human beings. At the same time, the framework of a struggle of “divinities”, i.e. the actual reality and destructive effectiveness of the idols of death in history has come to play an increasing role in Sobrino’s christology. In Chapter v, “The Crucifying Conflict”, I have discussed this at length and laid bare what I see as limitations in Sobrino’s thinking at this point. Here, however, these two perspectives are explicitly linked together: In the processes of liberation […] the problem of the human being and of anthropodicy – which also has its equivalent in religious language: the idols – makes itself present with great impact. Thus the problem is not just to find light, but to find strength, firmness and love to be able to defend the victims and combat the idols.159

Sobrino explicitly calls the idols “crucifiers.”160 There is certainly no “unloading all the burden of violence on God” (Boff ) here, then. By turning to the mythical language of idols, a sense of inexplicable mystery is maintained in the face of evil in history. Yet human responsibility is not done away with. On the contrary, it is strongly affirmed. Sobrino does, in my view, comply with the first condition that I put forward above regarding the “necessity” of suffering: that such “necessity” does not originate with God.

159 Op. cit., 71, my emphasis, SJS. “En los procesos de liberación […] se hace muy presente también y con gran fuerza el problema del ser humano y de la antropodicea, lo cual tiene también su equivalente en lenguaje religioso: los ídolos. Y entonces el problema no es sólo de encontrar luz, sino sacar fuerza, firmeza y amor para defender a las víctimas y combatir a los ídolos.” 160 Ibid.: “Y se podrá o no aceptar a un Dios crucificado, pero hay que estar muy claros en la existencia de ídolos crucificadores.”

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But how then, can one confess God to be the ultimate source of life, and Jesus to be the ultimate liberator, the victorious victim? Do the idols actually threaten God? Do we not already know the outcome of the struggle? How can one integrate the dualistic framework in a monistic one? Again the answer is that evil – and therefore also the idols, cf. Chapter v above – belong to history. At the end of history there will be no crucifixion, no struggle, no suffering. “(I)n history we believe simultaneously in the God of liberation and the God of the cross, but at the end there can be no crucifixion.”161 God will then be all in all; not as a result of a quasiautomatic law, but as a result of God’s salvific presence and activity in and through history. In this sense – because without affinity, without communion there is no salvation – it may be seen as a “necessity” that God suffers. But – importantly – it cannot be said in the same sense that it is a “necessity” that the people suffer. God suffers in order to save the people from their sufferings. The people suffer because of historical sin. Following the drift of this logic, the suffering of the people is no necessity; it is rather a tragic fact. This clarification is important. However, the case is not closed. Because, if salvific love in history must pass through suffering; if we see the call to salvation as an invitation to participating in God’s life in history (which involves suffering); if we see the crucified people as the body of the crucified God; then the question is whether it is possible to avoid the conclusion that there is a sense in which the suffering of the people too is a necessity. Obviously, such a conclusion does not seem to be in accordance with the intention and interest that moves Sobrino’s theology. For one thing, it would be likely to encourage resignation rather than a compassionate and courageous faith-praxis. Further161 Op. cit., 72. “(E)n la historia creemos, a la vez, en el Dios de la liberación y en el Dios de la cruz, pero al final no puede haber crucifixión.”

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more, the accusations of some sense of cruelty – and hence total incompatibility with Christian faith – inherent in a thought that led to such a conclusion would again have a strong case. And yet, is this the necessary consequence here? This brings us full circle, and we are ready to embark on our final evaluation of the viability and adequacy of seeing the interrelationship between the crucified and the Crucified as an expression of the theological significance of contemporary suffering. But first, let us look back at this chapter, to sum up its findings.

[6] Conclusions At the centre of any truly Christian theology stands the cross. What faith in God emerges from Jesus’ cross on Golgotha? What light is shed – or shadow cast – on the mystery of God from the many crosses of our time? Is God too crucified? These questions – which are ultimate limit-questions and thus can be asked only with a clear consciousness of the short-sightedness of our vision and the brokenness of our words – have been the object of my considerations in this chapter. I began by describing and analysing a remarkable shift in the Christian conception of God, which has occurred mainly during the last century. That was the shift away from a firm belief, built on Greek presuppositions, that God-self could not be affected by suffering. Since God was held to be immutable, almighty and incorporeal, God could not suffer. This perception of God was supported by the doctrine of Christ’s two natures, according to which Jesus suffers and dies only in his human nature, leaving his divine nature unaffected. Although this view was generally held up until modern times, we have traced a theological undertow which confesses God’s

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participation in the suffering and death of Jesus. This passibilist stance, radically formulated in the phrase deus crucifixus, originates in the earliest Christian witness, and is found in fragments and glimpses throughout the history of theology, most notably in Martin Luther’s powerful theologia crucis. For several reasons, I suggested, this passibilist undertow has become the strongest in contemporary Christian theology, emerging as the dominant view, a theological commonplace. In the 20th Century, the suffering and even death of God has been a main topic in theology as well as in philosophical and cultural debates. The atheist nihilism of Nietzsche, and, from an opposite position, the profound theological reflections of Bonhoeffer from his prison cell in Germany at the end of World War II, have been very influential in these debates. The new emphasis on relatedness and mutuality as an intrinsic quality of love – which applies a fortiori to the love of God – was also seen as a significant factor in this theological development. But how does God suffer? And in what way is it legitimate to speak of the death of God? When exploring these more precise questions that follow from the shift to a passibilist stance, the consensus among contemporary theologians disappears. On the contrary, we have witnessed a heated debate on these issues during the last decades. Starting with Moltmann’s position in his book The Crucified God and the reactions (Sölle, Boff ) it evoked, I reviewed some of the relevant arguments and stances in this debate (Johnson, Jüngel, Metz, Sarot). The critical problems here are primarily related to (a) the question of a possible conflict in God (Deus contra Deum), (b) the question of whether Jesus is actually abandoned by God on the cross (derelictio Jesu) and (c) the question whether suffering and death are to be thought of as phenomena external or internal to God’s own being. Vital to this discussion is also (d) the question as to what extent and in what way theological or religious language is appropriate to deal with these topics, and (e) how

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attempts at coming to terms with these problems in the view of contemporary experiences of radical suffering and evil (theodicy) relate to human praxis. Analysing Sobrino’s writings on the subject in view of this contemporary debate, I found that he joins in the change to passibilism, and taking the cue from Moltmann, he speaks of a crucified God, but sees this intimately related to the suffering and death of the people. This is the original characteristic of Sobrino’s elaboration on theo-logy as seen from the cross, then: God is seen as crucified in the suffering poor. Nonetheless, this enigmatic mystery of God as it is seen from the foot of the cross(es) is and remains a scandal; it cannot be resolved through any conceptual synthesis, but represents a lacuna which can only be bridged in a praxis of mercy towards the victims of this world, the crucified. Since the possibility of God’s passibility seems to depend on ascribing some sense of corporeality to God (Sarot), I suggested that the crucified people may be implicitly seen as the body of the crucified God in Sobrino’s approach. While affirming these fundamental traits of Sobrino’s interpretations, I have challenged two other central points in it. The first one deals with God’s (possible) abandonment of Jesus on the cross. Sobrino defends this point, influenced by Moltmann: Jesus dies abandoned by the Father. However, I have noticed that Sobrino seems to be moving away from this thought. In some of his more recent writings, one may detect a shift from “absence” – “presence”, to another binary opposition, “affinity” – “alterity”, which I find to be a much more fruitful approach. Speaking of God’s absence on Jesus’ cross should be avoided, I submit, since, firstly, it is not necessary from the early Christian witness (Mk. 15:34 may be seen as an expression of Jesus’ experience of God’s abandonment, which is not equivalent to a de facto absence on the part of God), and secondly, it is counterproductive to a christology of liberation, since it makes

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God’s role in the suffering of the victim Jesus ambiguous: God seems to become both crucified and crucifier. My second critical question to Sobrino’s outline regarded the “necessity” of suffering. Scrutinising his line of thought, I found that it can lead to the conclusion that God’s suffering is seen as a “necessity” given the atrocious and inexplicable presence of evil and sin in human history, whereas the suffering of the people is not a “necessity”, but rather a tragic fact, due to these same historical forces. The case is not clear, however. Sobrino repeatedly puts forward the soteriological presupposition that sin must be “carried”, i.e. suffered under, in order to be “carried away”, i.e. redeemed. The crucial question arises thus, whether speaking of the crucified people – carrying the sins of others – in some sense implies that their suffering is seen as “necessary”. In my view, it is warrantable to make use of the term “the crucified people”, only if such an implication is clearly avoided.

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viii. The Crucified People (2) The Theological Significance of Contemporary Suffering: Towards a Critical Appraisal

Y ese pueblo, que en los setenta fue crucificado por las dictaduras militares, que en los ochenta fue crucificado por la democracia formal sin vida real, y que en los noventa está siendo crucificado por el neoliberalismo que se desentiende de los pobres, ese pueblo sigue siendo para nosotros la máxima presentización de Cristo crucificado y de Dios en él.1

What meaning can it possibly have to speak of a “crucified people” or of the “crucified in history”? Any theological meaning of this terminology must be derived from a relationship to the One who was crucified outside the city walls of Jerusalem: Jesus of Nazareth. The theological significance of the crucified is dependent on the Crucified. But the opposite is also true, according to Jon Sobrino: the reality of the crucified in history bears upon the theological significance of the crucified Jesus. Having examined thoroughly both poles of this connection as Sobrino presents them in his christology, we are now prepared to assess and reflect further upon his proposal of integrating this theologoumenon “the crucified people” as a way of naming suffering human beings of our time, and expressing their christological and hence theological significance. “The crucified and the Crucified”: is it an acceptable proposal? What possibilities does it open up in our theological discourse and praxis? What limitations might it impose? In sum, is it helpful – or harmful? These are the questions to be answered in this chapter. I shall do so in four steps, which are all related to what I in the introduc1

Sobrino 1993g, 359.

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tion defined as the specific theme of this study: “The theological significance of contemporary suffering as it is expressed in the symbol of the crucified people and its constitutive relatedness to the crucified Jesus in Jon Sobrino’s christology.” First, I shall deal with the issue of “contemporary suffering”. What does it mean? What kind of suffering does Sobrino refer to? And is it justified to make this reality of suffering the central key to the interpretation of the Christian gospel? Secondly, we must look at “the crucified people” as reality and as linguistic expression of that reality. What is the linguistic status of “the crucified people”? I shall propose that it should be called a “symbol”. But will it not then lose its essential relation to reality? Thirdly, I have shown that the category “constitutive relationship” plays a central role in Sobrino’s thinking, and in fact is what makes possible the theological significance that Sobrino attributes to “the crucified people”. Is this properly founded? What are the advantages in using this category? What may be its limitations or even risks? Following these three subchapters, I shall deal with the main issue in directo: “the theological significance”. By “theological significance” I refer to its theological content (i.e. systematic theology or dogmatics), as well as its methodological implications (i.e. fundamental theology). Although distinguishing between these aspects, I have nevertheless chosen to treat them together. I find it fruitful to do this by proposing a set of theses, structured according to the three axes I proposed in Chapter ii: the epistemological-hermeneutical, the historical-soteriological, and the ethical-praxical. These theses will express my own interpretation of the theological significance of the symbol of the crucified people, as the result of my critical appraisal of Sobrino’s proposals.

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[1] Christian Theology and Suffering: Relevance and Identity By the centrality that he gives to the “crucifixions” going on in contemporary history, Jon Sobrino places the question of suffering at the very core of Christian theology. Is he justified in doing so? One way of responding to this question is to check it against its relevance to the Latin American and world situations on one hand, and against its identity with the Christian sources and tradition on the other. As I cannot make a full depth analysis, an investigation of some key elements will have to suffice. (1) First: the relevance of this focus. Sobrino himself gives much importance to the criterion of relevance. In my treatment of his fundamental presupposition for doing theology in a crucified reality,2 I pointed out that Sobrino requires a profound honesty regarding reality; that he gives fundamental importance to the epistemological and hermeneutical significance of the location of theological reflection; and that he views theology fundamentally and foremost as an interpretation of reality. In this, one can see that Sobrino’s theology may be called a correlational theology.3 It consciously seeks to combine contemporary experience and biblical/ traditional/confessional witness. 2 3

Cf. Chapter i [2],above. The term “method of correlation” is closely associated with Paul Tillich’s theology, see Tillich 1951, 34-68, especially 59-66. His formulation and application of this method have been widely discussed and criticised. Holding liberation theology to be a correlational theology, Roger Haight, S.J. defines this not in a strictly Tillichian sense, but rather holds that “correlation simply means that adequate and intelligible method in theology today requires that the two poles of contemporary human experience, including religious experience, and of history, especially the record of the originating experiences of Christianity as found in the Scripture, be held together in dialogue, tension, correlation with eachother.” Haight 1985, 48.

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I also found that, according to Sobrino himself, it is the intention of an absolute “honesty to reality” that leads him to identify this reality as “crucified”, and to see the true reality, the true world, as “the world of the poor”. Hence, Sobrino makes this world of the poor, more particularly, “the church of the poor”, the primary theological location. In this connection I raised the critical question whether this really is an appropriate description of reality. Is suffering really such an “hecho mayor”, such an indispensable fact for gaining a true view of our time? In Chapter iii, I found that Sobrino’s recourse to “the historical Jesus” actually depends on the “master-narrative” within which he sees the quest as being pursued. This “master-narrative” is for Sobrino the liberation of the poor, which he sees as a theological objective in its own right. As I have pointed out on several occasions, Sobrino postulates a structural similarity, an isomorfismo estructural, between his contemporary situation and outlook and the sources of the past. At this point, I missed in Sobrino’s writings a more explicit description of the hermeneutical move from “history” or “reality” to theology. In Chapter v I showed that this move could be more thoroughly analysed and founded by paying attention to Croatto’s appropriation and further development of Ricoeur’s hermeneutics. Now, on this background, should we accept Sobrino’s claim that the reality of suffering is so relevant that it must be made central in and to the theological endeavour? (a) We need to define more precisely the term “suffering”. What kind of suffering does Sobrino address? There are two principal aspects of suffering that are central. They often come together, but not always, and not necessarily. Firstly, there is a suffering stemming from poverty. This poverty may be either “economical”, i.e. material, or “sociological”, referring to all sorts of social exclusion and deprivation. Secondly, it is a violent suffering. It is the suffering of perse-

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cution, repression, oppression, war crimes, massacres […] In both cases, Sobrino sees this as suffering inflicted by others, be it indirectly, as in the first case,4 or directly, as in the second case. Suffering occasioned by so-called “natural” causes, such as catastrophes or epidemic diseases, or by the mere contingency of human existence, such as accidents, casual and natural deaths, etc., are not directly dealt with within Sobrino’s framework. Though this does not necessarily mean that his concept “the crucified people” a priori excludes this third, ‘natural’ aspect, it must be asked why the two first aspects are given priority? The reason is that Sobrino – always operating within the hermeneutic circle between revelation and reality – sees this suffering as analogical to the suffering of Jesus. The fact that Sobrino does include also the passive suffering of simply being a victim as a suffering analogical to that of Jesus, points to a noteworthy expansion of the traditional understanding of participating in the sufferings of Jesus, i.e. the theological concept of martyrdom. Sobrino’s “crucified people” is a “martyr people”,5 but that does not imply that the people as such do possess all the virtues, faith, and acts of holiness that are traditionally implied in the term “martyr”. It is sufficient, according to Sobrino, that they experience sufferings that in some way resemble those of Jesus. There is, however, a danger here, namely that this approach may point in the direction of a classification, even a “ranking” of suffering. Is not any form of human suffering, inflicted by others or not, an unbearable burden, and an incomprehensible enigma for those who experience it? Is not anyone who suffers, regardless of cause, consciousness, or even “dignity” embraced by the love of

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The poor are impoverished, and there is a dialectical opposition between poor and rich. Sobrino 1991d, 440-451 / Sobrino 1994c, 264-271.

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God? And, returning to the biblical argument for a moment, is not the Suffering Servant someone hit by illness – like Job? Despite the particular classification or qualification of suffering which Sobrino implicitly makes, there is no reason why his theological reflections – concentrated as they are on God’s love expressed in history as mercy towards victims – should not be made relevant also to this third, “natural” form of suffering.6 The distinction he makes, however, is fruitful because the coincidence between the relevance for his particular context and the identity with the content of the Christian tradition is more easily detectable with reference to these two former aspects. The “natural” suffering and death, moreover, raises other wide-ranging questions, e.g. on the relationship between creation and salvation, the role of perishability in the process of evolution, the cruelty inherent in the natural order of things, etc., to which Sobrino has chosen not to pay closer attention so far. One reason for this is probably that he holds these latter questions to be more fruitfully addressed in light of the former, than vice versa. (b) Is focus on these forms of suffering – poverty and violence – relevant in Latin America at the turn of the millennium? Sadly enough, there can be little doubt that it is. Although experts differ on the question of whether and to what extent the Latin American economies are improving, there seems to be no denial of the fact that poverty is widespread and actually increasing. According to figures from the Banco Interamericano de Desarrollo (BID), there will be about 220 million Latin Americans living in poverty in the year 2000, a number which will then equal 57% of the population. In 1996, this percentage is just above 50. The number of poor in the 6

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For an application of Sobrino’s thinking – together with those of other prominent theologians with emphasis on a theology of the cross – to the more general challenge of human pain related to illnesses and ‘natural’ processes of dying, see Peinado 1995.

region will have increased by 60 million since the end of the 70s.7 Yet there are at the same time many analysts who speak of something close to an economic “miracle” in the region in the last years. “Latins ride high” was the heading for the cover story of The Economist of July 18, 1992.8 This paradox clearly shows that in spite of the much desired and welcomed process towards democracy and peace, the issue of justice and equity is by no means solved in the region. It also shows that democratisation has not yet reached the sphere of economy in 7

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These figures are given by Bernhard Kliksberg, an economic expert in the BID, according to Carta a las Iglesias 15, 1995. Other figures mentioned in the same article confirm this tendency and further underscore the seriousness of the perspectives: 44% of the population suffers from malnutrition. 54% belongs to the informal economy, without any social protection. Those who are most severely affected by poverty are children, women, youth between 15 and 24 years old, disabled persons, indigenous groups and the “new poor”, i.e. impoverished people formerly belonging to the middle class. About 3,000 children die each day from malnutrition or other easily curable diseases, making a total of 900,000 each year. 60% of all deaths are caused by poverty. Kliksberg concludes that sustainable development in Latin America is impossible under these conditions. See The Economist July 18th, 1992, which presents an optimistic analysis of the Latin American economies, stating that the continent is on its way to becoming the fourth economic bloc in the world. An interesting contrast, which illustrates the point I am making here, is found in the November 30th 1996 issue of the same review (The Economist). Here the front page heading reads “Backlash in Latin America”, and the editorial opens in the following way: “A malaise is abroad in Latin America […] A decade of democratic regimes broadly committed to low inflation, free economies and open trade has not, except in Chile, brought sustained growth; and, while laying the groundwork for that, it has both made old woes visible and added some new ones. The region stuck to its chosen path through the buffeting of Mexico’s 1994-95 currency crisis. But the results are fairly meagre: it may grow by only 3% this year, and, with luck, 4-5% next. And little of such growth as there is finds its way to the poor.” Economist 1996, 17.

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the sense that citizenship would imply some welfare security – which again justifies Sobrino’s and liberation theology’s option to see poverty in a conflictual perspective: as suffering inflicted on people by other people. And yet, both poverty and violence in Latin America have changed character lately. The region is no longer the scene of ruthless military dictatorships and violent struggles in the form of open (internal or external) warfares. “Since 1982, Latin America has undergone a double transformation that has significantly altered the region’s physiognomy.”9 It has experienced a severe economic and social crisis. Simultaneously, it has been “living through its most substansive and broadly based process of democratisation since the thirties.”10 This double transformation means that the role and situation of Latin America’s poor has changed, and changed in a way that has implications for Sobrino’s christology as well as for liberation theology at large. In short, one could say that the poor have passed from being openly oppressed and abused, to being insignificant, excluded and expendable masses. They have become left-overs.The economic system does not “need” them to the same extent as it did earlier. The neo-liberal policies with their privatisation and their drastic cuts in public spending promise opportunities to anybody who can compete. Their result, however, at least in the short and medium term, is an increased concentration of wealth.11 9 Castañeda 1993, 5. 10 Op. cit., 6 11 Castañeda, Jorge: Op. cit., 6-7. “In the long term, it was foolish to discard the possibility of the neoliberal policies’ success in triggering growth, employment and competitiveness as well as reducing social disparities. But in the short and medium run, they aggravated inequality, deepened the gap between the rich and poor, ripped the slender safety net, and bred resentment among the poor and poorer over the fortunes of the rich and richer.”

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At the same time, there has within the social sciences been an increasing awareness of and focus on the varieties and internal differences within that all-encompassing term “poor”. The poor have many faces. They are urban slum-dwellers or landless peasants. They are unemployed, factory workers in free trade zones, or belong to the informal economy. They are indigenous, blacks, women, children. They suffer from malnutrition, drug abuse, street violence, lack of proper health care and education. Their strategies for survival – both legal and illegal – are countless and still largely undiscovered by analysts. In sum, the poor have different, sometimes even conflicting interests. And furthermore, the disenchantment with politics, the deep distrust of traditional parties and politicians, the “death of ideologies”, together with explosive growth and diffusion of senseless media propaganda – the rule of the telenovelas – make it reasonable to expect that the general awareness of these (self-) interests among the poor is on the decrease. This changing reality of the poor has also affected their cultural and religious characteristics. The contemporary suffering which is the starting point for Sobrino and the other liberation theologians, finds particular expression in what Gutiérrez called “the irruption of the poor.” This “irruption” was seen as the awakening and mobilisation of the poor themselves, in a struggle for liberation and justice. Their liberation praxis was interpreted in the light of Christian faith as the principal force for salvation in history, in the one and only history there is, according to liberation theologians. Its primary ecclesial expression was the Ecclesial Base Communities (CEBs). It is doubtful whether one can speak of an irruption of the poor in this sense in Latin America – or elsewhere in the world – today. Hugo Assmann is among those who now believe that the expectation that the poor would be the principal protagonists in the transformation and humanisation of society that was implied in the emphasis on the irruption of the poor (an expectation held by the

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poor themselves and by others), was far too optimistic, and did not take realistically into account the strength of the counter-forces.12 The paradoxically optimistic climate and widespread conscientisation and mass mobilisation of the late sixties are long gone. The world of the 1990s seems to present itself as a world without credible alternatives. From now on, it appears, it will only be “more of the same” – celebrated by Francis Fukuyama and those who agree with him, but mourned by many groups and agents in solidarity with the poor and the excluded. As for the CEBs, these reached their culmination in the period from 1975 to 1982. Today, they probably gather no more than 1 or 2% of the population; and this population is not even among the poorest. Instead, the CEBs “form a small elite, which because of their social condition become somewhat separated from the poorest.”13 Instead – put broadly – the poor are becoming Pentecostals. To put it polemically, but not altogether incorrectly, we may say that the “church of the poor” is no longer Catholic base communities, but independent, charismatic and often fundamentalist Pentecostal congregations and churches.14 The spread of popular Protestantism, particularly among the poor segments of the population, implies what many see as a revolutionary change in the religious configuration of the continent. Its social, economic and political consequences are already notable, and may be expected to be even more considerable, although the fundamental character of these consequences are not as clear as many hold.15 12 Assmann 1994b, 7. 13 “(L)as comunidades eclesiales de base reúnen hoy sólo el 1% o el 2% de la población, y no precisamente entre los más pobres. Forman una pequeña élite que por su condición social se separa un poco de los más pobres.” Comblin 1993, 39. My translation, SJS. 14 See the Introduction [3], above. 15 Cf. particularly Mariz 1994; Sjørup 1995, in addition to the other relevant literature that is suggested in the Introduction [3], above.

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In this situation, profound questions arise as to the role of poor as main protagonists in the processes of liberation. Similarly, the traditional strategies for liberation appear exhausted and in need of renewal. They clearly need to be multiplied and differentiated. These changes present fundamental challenges to Sobrino and liberation theology at large. But do they alter the fundamental priorities: to make the mere presence of the suffering of victims of poverty and violence the point of departure for theological reflection and praxis? Do the changes in the characteristics of these sufferings, from the political and social martyrdoms in the form of disappearances, assassinations and massacres of the 1970s and 1980s to the social exclusion and general human deprivation of the 1990s16, undermine the legitimacy and relevance of putting “the 16 This tendency is not without important exceptions. In El Salvador, political assassinations, death threats and death squad activity continue even after the war has ended. One of those who have received death threats recently, is the Lutheran bishop Medardo E. Gómez, who – like the Jesuits of the UCA -has taken a clear stance on the side of the poor and the victims during the years of conflict. He has also had the courage to criticise the Government’s failure to complete successfully with the Peace Accords. See Carta a las 1996. Another notable exception is the Zapatista uprising in Chiapas, Mexico. It resembles the conflicts of “yesterday” – an armed guerilla movement in open warfare against the national army – but has at the same time as its core issues the problematics of “today”: it begun during the first days of January 1994, the very days Mexico became fully part of the NAFTA (North American Free Trade Agreement), thus intending to symbolically lay bare “the other side” of the neo-liberalist heyday; it takes on the full agenda of the cultural, social and political rights of the indigenous participation; its aim seems not to be a military take-over, but rather to represent a critical opposition force to the Government, in a broad alliance with other forces of the civil society. See i. a., Hinkelammert 1996a. This article, which takes its title from a Zapatista phrase, appears in an important collection of contributions to the “Cuarta Jornada teológica de la CETELA. Teología de Abya-Yala en los albores del siglo XXI”, held in San Jeronimo, Medellín 10-13 July 1995. On the Zapatista rebellion, see also my article, Stålsett 1994c.

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crucified people” on the top of the theological agenda? In my judgment, these changes do not invalidate the basic concern and methodological point of departure of liberation theology. It is in this new situation still relevant to speak theologically of crucified people. The basic fact is unchanged – and even more imperative than before: human suffering from violent, social injustice continues to be an hecho mayor in Latin America.”The option for the poor now imposes itself by being not so much an historical as an evangelical necessity. For that reason it is better founded than ever.”17 (c) Making suffering – particularly suffering related to poverty and violence – central in a contemporary interpretation of the Christian faith is clearly relevant then, when seen from the perspective of Latin America. Still, since Sobrino presents his interpretation as a challenge to the worldwide theological community, and since this present study is made in a cross-cultural, global perspective, it is necessary to ask whether this specific relevance in Sobrino’s close context also can be generalised. In other words, is it relevant on a global scale to choose this particular perspective? The answer to this question must also be affirmative, both in quantitative and qualitative terms. Suffering from poverty and violence are widespread phenomena in the world today. The report on Human Development issued by the UNDP in 1992 clearly shows that increasing poverty and exclusion is a dominant social and political feature of our era.18 Inequality is continuing to grow. In 1989, one fifth (20%, about a billion people) of the world population controlled 82,7% of the income; 81,2% of the world trade; 94,6% of 17 “La opción por los pobres ya no se impone tanto como una necesidad histórica sino como una necesidad evangélica, y por ello está más fundamentada que nunca.” Comblin 1993, 42. 18 Quoted from Gorostiaga 1993, 126.

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the commercial loans; 80,5% of the investments. In terms of resources, the panorama is equally alarming. The rich countries have about 25% of the world population, while they consume 70% of the world’s energy, 75% of its metals, 85% of its wood and 60% of its food. The report concludes that this pattern of development is sustainable only if the extreme inequality is maintained, because otherwise the world resources will be too scarce. In this perspective, inequality is not the deformation of the system, but a necessity for its growth and permanency.19 This indicates why the suffering addressed by Sobrino has attained an even more serious, incomprehensible, and evil character in the 20th Century. We live “after Auschwitz.” We live in the times of the ethnic cleansing of Srebreniza, starvation as a strategy of war in Southern Sudan, the genocide of Rwanda. We live in the times of the unimaginable daily sufferings of India’s millions and millions of poor. Yet there is enough food in the world. There are enough economic resources to solve the poverty crisis.20 There are ways in which to prevent much of this from happening. This tragedy goes 19 According to the UNDP, the number of people living in absolute poverty is increasing by nearly 25 million a year. This calculation is based on the World Bank and the United Nations definition of absolute poverty: those people whose incomes are no more than $370 a year. The number of people currently living in absolute poverty is roughly 1.3 billion. Recent data from the World Bank and the Human Development Report suggest that the aggregate number of poor people world-wide is increasing at roughly the same rate as the annual population growth of the developing world, or about 1.88 per cent. (Information according to the UNDP homepage on Internet, http:/ /www.undp.org/undp/poverty/clock.htm., 26.01.97.) 20 Whatever else the Gulf crisis of 1991 showed, it clearly demonstrated that when the rich world cares to unite efforts and intervene in a particular situation, there is an almost unlimited supply of resources available. Sadly, the most plausible explanation of why it “cared” in this particular instance is that it saw its own economic interests fundamentally threatened (the oil reservoirs of Kuwait).

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on in an age with the knowledge, resources and ability to reduce it considerably, but without the political or ethical will to do so. Hence, the optimistic, teleological schemes of Modernity have entered a severe crisis, and are found lacking in credibility. The question of an anthropodicy has become even more radical as this inflicted suffering and destruction has expanded to encompass even nature and the ecological environment, thus threatening the very basis for human existence. All this adds to the seriousness and centrality of the reality of suffering, even radical suffering, in our age. And it obviously concerns the whole of the human community, not just some parts of it, so that the relevance of Sobrino’s perspective may be confirmed also at this level.21 (2) Let me now turn to the question of identity. Is it compatible with the foundational Christian sources, the biblical scriptures,22 to make suffering, particularly unjustly inflicted poverty and violence, the primary lens through which one reads the gospel of Jesus Christ?23 21 Haight 1985, 25-42, discusses the universality of liberation theology in this sense. Holding that “the problem of human existence appears when the free, historical and social human phenomenon is looked at in the concrete terms of its actuality which is so characterized by poverty, by oppression and by sheer human suffering […]” (p. 34), and furthermore that “all human beings share in this general situation because all share a common human existence […]” (p. 35), it follows that “[…] this is not only a problem of the poor. It is a problem of meaning for every thinking person who pauses to consider it” (p. 37). 22 Christian identity is no doubt formed both by its foundational sources, the biblical scriptures, and its history and tradition. Catholic and Protestant traditions view the normative status of the two, and their interrelationship, differently. My choice here is made from practical reasons as well as reflecting my own Protestant priority. 23 For the following analysis, see Scharbert, Wolter, and Sparn 1990.

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In the Old Testament, suffering is a fundamental theme. It is often interpreted as a punishment for personal sins (cf., e.g.: Num 12:10f; 2 Chron 21:15-1), for the sins of the people against their God, or for the misdeeds of the pater familias or the king (Ex 7-12; 2 Sam 21,1; 24, 11-17). National catastrophes are interpreted as caused by the people’s failure to be faithful to the covenant (Lev 26:14-35; Deut 28:15-68). According to the prophets, this failure is particularly obvious in the lack of social justice and the exclusion and oppression of the poor, the “widows and strangers” in Israel (Amos 5; Is 1:15-17; 3: 16-26). In the wisdom literature the causality between deed and consequence (Tat-Folge) is strongly emphasised (Prov 5:4; 23:29, Job 5:2-7.) This idea will be almost totally abandoned in the New Testament. And, already in some strands of the Hebrew Scriptures, such as in the book of Job, and in the vicarious suffering of the Servant of Yahweh in Deutero-Isaiah, there emerges a protest against this explanation of suffering. Historical experience clearly shows that the causal bond is broken: it is not only the “unjust”, “wicked” or “evil” persons who suffer. There is no escape from the painful enigma of innocent or inexplicable suffering. As Sobrino rightly emphasises, Jesus’ principal concern according to the synoptic accounts is to proclaim and respond to the coming of the Kingdom, which is particularly addressed to the poor, and to whom it brings (in Sobrino’s wording) “just life, always open to a ‘more’.”24 “The salvific reality of God’s Kingdom is accordingly recognised in that it invalidates contemporary experiences of suffering and changes them to their opposite.”25 Jesus’ salvific praxis is a service particularly directed to suffering people, to the poor and outcast. It is aimed at overcoming their suffering by defending their rights and dignity through prophetic preaching and action (including exorcisms and unmaskings), and by curing their sicknesses and restoring their faith and hope through healings and acts of “wel24 Sobrino 1994c, 131, see above, Chapter iv [2].

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come-forgiveness”, which are paradigmatically symbolised through Jesus’ table-fellowships and parables. In sum, there is considerable support in the synoptic witnesses for the claim that the reality of violent and unjust suffering is relevant to Jesus of Nazareth. Soon after Jesus’ suffering and death, the “Jesus-movement” (Theissen), inspired by faith in the resurrection, re-interprets its own experiences of persecution and distress as “following” (cf. e.g., Mk 1:17; Lk 9:57f par.). Their sufferings are now seen as a consequence of the mission they have received from the Lord himself, and as a participation in his historical destiny (Mk 8:34; Lk 14:27 par.; Mt 10:38). This permits Jesus’ followers to see these painful experiences paradoxically as gain rather than loss, giving reason to hope rather than despair (Mk 8:35; Mt 10:39 par.; Lk 17:33.) Sobrino seems to be in accordance with this New Testament strand of thought when he sees contemporary experiences of suffering as closely related to the category of “following.” One could note, however, that suffering in the New Testament is given such a paradoxical interpretation primarily because of its explicit connection with Jesus. In other words, the focus is on the believers’ suffering because of their faith. Sobrino’s interpretation is wider, as we have seen. Yet since the promise inherent in this communion in suffering with Jesus goes back to Jesus’ own solidarity with and service to the victims he met, regardless of any prior faith in him, of national adherence, ethical standard, or other qualities, there should 25 Scharbert, Wolter, and Sparn 1990, 677: “Jesu Hinwendung zu den Leidenden steht in direktem Zusammenhang mit seiner Ansage des unmittelbar bevorstehenden Anbruchs der Herrschaft Gottes. Die Teilhabe an ihr wird gerade den materiell Armen zugesprochen (Lk 6,20; vgl auch 16, 19-26) und das mit ihr anbrechende eschatologische Heil nach 6,21 den ‘Hungernden’ und den ‘Weinenden’ (Mt 5,4: den ‘Trauernden’) verheissen. Die Heilswirklichkeit der Gottesherrschaft ist hiernach dadurch gekennzeichnet, dass in ihr gegenwärtige Leidenserfahrung aufgehoben und in ihr Gegenteil verkehrt wird.”

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be no theological reason to see only suffering (explicitly) for Jesus’ sake as a suffering embraced by the suffering of Jesus. This point is crucial, I think, if one is to accept Sobrino’s proposal regarding “the crucified people”. In Paul, his own sufferings as an Apostle and the hardships of the Christian communities are seen as reflecting their communion (koinonia, Phil 3:10) with the crucified Jesus. Thus external weaknesses and all kinds of opposition and difficulties are seen in this light as something which will not last, something which will not be able to crush them ultimately. Since the One who was crucified is believed to live and reign among them as the Risen Lord – so that the victim’s victory on the cross is thus confirmed – they may rejoice in hope in the midst of disaster, and celebrate triumph in defeat (2 Cor 1:9f; 4,10f; 13:4). In an eschatological perspective (Rom 5:2-5; 8:17-39), suffering becomes the place where the future breaks in to the present, making salvation a present reality through the firm hope that arises in those who suffer.26 In the Letter to the Hebrews, which Sobrino often refers to, the suffering of Jesus’ followers is not seen as their participation in Jesus’ suffering, but vice versa: Jesus’ hardships and trials show his com-passion, his “suffering-with”, all his “brothers and sisters.” He suffers in order to help them in and free them from their sufferings (Hebr 2,9f; 4:15; 5,2.)27 In sum, the general tendency seems to be that in the early Christian witness suffering is integrated paradoxically as part of 26 “Hierbei wird das Leiden als der Ort bestimmt, in dem die Zukunft in die Gegenwart hineinreicht und Heil stiftet, insofern sie im Leidenden als Hoffnung Gestalt gewinnt, die ihrer Erfüllung gewiss ist.” Op. cit., 683. This indication, suffering as ‘Ort’ – place – is particularly important in view of Sobrino’s theology. 27 “Das Gefälle lautet hier nicht: ‘Weil Christus litt, leiden auch die Christen’, sondern (sinngemäss): ‘Um seine leidenden Brüder zu erlösen, hat Christus das Leiden auf sich genommen’.” Op. cit., 685

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Christian existence and can be endured and resisted because it clearly bears within itself the promise of salvation. This promise is founded in the communion of those who suffer with Jesus; and the communion of Jesus with those who suffer. Does this make suffering a necessity, a prerequisite for salvation? Is it something which is required in an authentic imitatio Iesu? No; it is rather an expression of realism regarding the state of affairs in human history, and a confession of faith in the love of God as strong enough to bear one through even the darkest moments of radical suffering.28 From this brief review it seems clear that it is consonant with the Christian sources to make the contemporary experience of suffering a fundamental starting point and guiding principle for an interpretation of the meaning of the Christian message today.29 However, as I have shown, the particularity and novelty of Sobrino’s emphasis is the widening of the concept of “martyrdom”, of participating analogically in the sufferings of Christ. He does not address only the sufferings that follow from confessing Christ in a sinful world. For him, “the crucified” is not only a Mgr Romero or the four North American Church women killed by Salvadorean soldiers, but also the anonymous victims of El Mozote, Rio Sumpul, and other man-made disasters. 28 “Die sich durch das gesamte Neue Testament hindurchziehende Benennung der “hypomone” als der in der Situation des Leidens vom Glaubenden verlangten Haltung […] intendiert darum unter den genannten Voraussetzungen weder eine ‘Leidensrechtfertigung’ […] noch akzentuiert sie die Forderung die passiven Hinnahme und Widerstandslosigkeit gegenüber dem Leiden. Ihr ist es vielmehr allein darum zu tun, den Glaubenden in die Bewahrung der allein heilstiftenden Existenzorienterung an Jesus Christus auch im Leiden einzuweisen […] Op. cit., 687. 29 One interesting way of expanding this analysis of the identity-question with regard to Sobrino’s usage of “the crucified” would be to analyse if and how the poor are seen as representatives of Christ through Church history: See González Faus 1991.

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This expansion is admissible, in my assessment, when based on a consistent emphasis on what it is that constitutes the fellowship in sufferings with Christ. It is not the believer’s confession which constitutes this fellowship, but solely the merciful love of God towards all victims in history revealed in and through the victim Jesus.30 In this sense I cannot see that the biblical and Christian witness taken as a whole would preclude or prevent the interpretation that the crucified people participate in the sufferings of the crucified Jesus, and Jesus himself is present in the sufferings of the crucified people. On the contrary, this interpretation may find considerable support – which Sobrino’s re-reading of Jesus’ salvific praxis in the horizon of the coming of the Kingdom to the poor shows (cf. Chapter iv). It does raise some questions concerning the scope and range of such an interpretation, however. I shall address these below.

[2] The Crucified People – Reality and Symbol Both from the perspective of the Christian sources and from an analysis of the contemporary human condition, not least in Latin America and other parts of the (two thirds) world that is “left over”, it is in my assessment well founded to make contemporary suffering a central concern for Christian theology, influencing both its method and its content. But is it fruitful to designate this suffering as “crucified” and “people(s)”? What is implied by such a designation? Which reality does the expression refer to; and how is reality 30 This shows to what extent a theology of the crucified people is incarnational – God has entered into the world of suffering through the Son – and pneumatological – God’s presence with all the crucified in history is mediated by the Holy Spirit – which in turn makes explicit its trinitarian structure.

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represented by or in it? In other words, we must address once more the issue of reality and linguistic representation or reference. (1) Which reality does the linguistic term “crucified people” refer to? In Chapter ii I pointed out that by defining the historical phenomenon of contemporary suffering from poverty and violence by the word “crucified”, at least three central traits are indicated. First, it is thereby designated as a dialectical and conflictual reality. Where there are crucified, there are also crucifiers. This conflictual perspective inevitably brings in a second trait, which is the political. The determination “crucified” carries political connotations. As we have seen, execution by crucifixion was clearly a political penalty. Third, and most obviously, it indicates that this historical phenomenon is not adequately described in purely secular terms. To call poor and oppressed people “crucified”, is to give them theological significance. Closely related to these three traits, Sobrino holds that it is “useful and necessary” to speak of “crucified peoples” on three levels: the level of concrete reality (“nivel fáctico-real”), the historicalethical level, and the religious level.31 What more can be said of the terminology in itself? As I have shown, Sobrino’s usage is flexible; he speaks of “the crucified people(s)”, “the crucified in history”, “historical crosses”; referring to “the poor”, “the victims”, “the outcast”, “the marginalised”, “the Third World”, etc. The term “people” is central here, though. It points to the fact that the “crucifixions” going on in history are a collective, not merely an individual reality.32 Yet the term “people” – central as it is to the Catholic Church after Vatican II in general, and to Latin American liberation theology in particular – is also an ambiguous term. It is far from having only one semantic meaning. 31 Sobrino 1991d, 424. 32 “Desde el tercer mundo, no cabe duda de que hay cruz, no sólo cruces individuales, sino colectivas, las de pueblos enteros.” Sobrino 1991d, 423.

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This ambiguity makes it important to analyse in what way it is used, since it is also a powerful term: in a modern society it is claimed that all power comes from the people. “Defining who the people are means defining who can legitimise power.”33 An analysis of the term “people” made by Pedro Ribeiro de Oliveira is helpful in this respect.34 Within a Latin American context, he deems it relevant to point to the different character and meaning this term has within the frameworks of two distinct sociopolitical discourses or projects: that of “populism” on one hand, and that of the “popular movement”, on the other. In the Latin American version of the populist project, it was the State that took on the leading role in uniting the different classes around the project of national development. It was thus effectively under the control of the middle classes, but had to take on a form that would be acceptable to the masses.35 “The people” is seen as this broad alliance, then, under the leadership of the ruling middle class. Within the popular movement, this is understood differently. Here, “people” means, above all, (a) those living in poor areas, who are “despised by established society.”36 These see themselves as (b) opposed to the ruling elite: those who hold political power, who have land or capital, the police force, or religious authorities, etc. However, within this understanding, the “people” (c) only acquire social power when they cease to be a mass and organise themselves in such a way as to influence their own destiny. Hence the crucial role of the “popular movement”: it makes the masses emerge from their state of passivity and become a “people”. As a consequence of

33 34 35 36

Ribeiro de Oliveira 1984, 82. Op. cit. Op. cit., 83. Ibid.

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this mobilisation, (d) belonging to the “people”, is no longer a disgrace or shame, but rather a source of pride. These two understandings depend on different political options, defining different political agents or subjects. The populist version holds the State, controlled by the middle class, to be the principal political agent and thus embodiment of the people, whereas in the other version this role is attributed to the civil society, the different groups – be they neighbourhood associations, labour unions, human rights groups, indigenous movements, religious communities or others – that together make up the “popular movement”. Ribeiro de Oliveira concludes: When we use the term in one or the other sense, we are placing ourselves within one or the other framework or reference. Therefore, by taking up the definition of the people given by the popular movement, we are taking up a stance that implies seeing the reality of the Church in Latin America from the standpoint of the oppressed classes.37

It is clearly this definition given by the popular movement which is closest to Sobrino’s understanding of “people” in “the crucified people(s)”. It fits very well also with his description of the CEBs – “the church of the poor.” As I have indicated, one often wonders if it is actually these Christian base communities that Sobrino specifically has in mind when he speaks of the crucified people, especially when he elaborates on their salvific role.38 Given the latest developments in Latin America described above, however, one may ask whether this understanding is satisfactory. The CEBs do actually make up only a small percentage of the Christian communities, and not even among the poorest. Though this does not falsify the value of their experiences and interpretations, it raises the question whether it is reasonable to generalise 37 Op. cit., 85. 38 See above, Chapter ii [3] (2) and Chapter iv [10].

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these to the level implied in Sobrino’s use of “the crucified people”.39 Likewise, the popular movement as a unified political subject is deeply questioned in our day. Its diversity and internal tensions now attract considerable attention. In his analysis of the socio-political transformations in Latin America between 1972 and 1992, Manuel Antonio Garretón claims that one should “no [longer] identify the transforming action with one historical subject only, not even if this be seen as the victims of domination.”40 This is particularly a lesson valid for liberation theology in the 1990s, he thinks.41 Thus it seems that Ribeiro de Oliveira’s analysis today at least would have to be further refined, perhaps even considerably altered. In fact, if one follows his line of thought, one may have to end up by stating that the “people” in Latin America today – those united, organised and committed civil forces belonging to the “popular movement” – even in sum is only a small minority.42 This said, there is a danger of overstating the level of precision intended in the term “the crucified people”. In Sobrino’s use – as in Romero’s, it seems – the function of such a designation is more suggestive and generative, than definitory. As we have seen, Ignacio 39 Sobrino is aware of this lack of representativity: “No hay que exagerar, pues, la cuantitativa de la nueva imagen [de Cristo como liberador, my addition, SJS] y de la nueva fe en actualidad, sometidas ambas al bombardeo de religiosidades contrarias y no suficientemente apoyadas por la Iglesia institucional […]” Sobrino 1991d, 35. Nevertheless it remains unclear what this lack of representativity means for his concept of “crucified people”. 40 “Finalmente, supone no identificar la acción transformadora con un solo sujeto de la historia, aunque sea las víctimas de la dominación, al que todos deben supeditarse.” Garretón 1993, 27. 41 Among the tenets that liberation theology should review in light of these socio-political tranformations, Garretón underscores this: “[…] la visión de la unidad de un sujeto de la historia, identificado con las víctimas de la opresión, sin considerar a veces la diversidad de actores y sus intereses reales muchas veces contradictorios entre sí.” Op. cit., 28.

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Ellacuría gave the more precise, socio-political definition of the term, which today may be in need of revision, at least if it is seen as referring to a more or less uniform group.43 Sobrino’s definition is more open and flexible, less ideological. Sobrino thus makes the term less precise, but also more useful in a changing environment, a changing reality. Yet Sobrino insists strongly that the term relates to concrete reality. It seems that Sobrino’s terminology is faced with the following dilemma, then: the more he elaborates it in the direction of – an ideal version of – the CEBs, the less it deserves the general term “people”.44 And the less precise he makes it, the more appropriate is the term “people” – but then its theological significance becomes

42 On the other hand, there has been much talk of a ‘grassroots explosion’ in Latin America and elsewhere in the South during the last decade. While “old” popular movements have stagnated, “new” ones, with different characteristics and agendas, have emerged: urban movements consisting of squatters and slum-dwellers, indigenous groups, women groups, etc. An interesting discussion of this development is found in Castañeda 1993, 175236. Although highlighting the difficulties encountered by the CEBs, and stating that “(t)he importance of the grass roots religious movements in Latin America has been both exaggerated and idealized” (p. 217), Castañeda deems it “indisputable […] that as the economic and social situation in the region continues to stagnate or regress, while forms of political expression open up, the role of the Church in grass roots social movements will continue” (p. 218). And as the Salvadoran example clearly shows, according to Castañeda: “If and when the Church ceases to be a defender of status quo and becomes a force for social change, the consequences are momentous” (p. 216). 43 See above, Chapter ii [2]. 44 In a sociological sense, that is. With regard to the theological meaning of the term ‘people’ this is of course more directly applicable to the CEB’s, although it raises the question of the relationship between these and the whole people of God.

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more vague, and the term is in danger of losing its concrete relation to reality, to concrete persons and communities. Sobrino attempts to solve this dilemma by suggesting a distinction between an active meaning and a passive meaning, unified by the category “analogy”. On the one hand, the crucified people are those who actively take up the challenge and mission of establishing justice in the world, and who for that reason encounter opposition and persecution. On the other hand, the crucified people includes a majority of human beings who are put to death, not because of what they actively do or seek to accomplish, but simply because of what they (passively) are. These are all the innocent victims of history. Analogy unites these distinct groups of people because they both – though in different ways – experience a kind of suffering which resembles that of Jesus. Thus Sobrino also seems to apply “people” both in a more precise meaning – i.e. as understood in the popular movement, and in a more general, “wide” meaning.45 (2) In what way does the linguistic expression “the crucified people” refer to “reality”? What is the linguistic status of this expression? I have repeatedly signalled the need for a further reflection on these questions within the confines of a theology of “the crucified people(s)”. It appears that it is Sobrino’s loyalty to the principle of “being honest to reality” that has prevented him from such explicit reflections on the nature and role of theological language. It is as if he fears that reality will “disappear” in language, and result in what he sees as post-modernist irrealism, cynicism, and (ironically) indifference.46 Therefore it seems that he is unable to make up his mind with regard to the linguistic status of “the crucified people”. It is “certainly metaphorical”,47 but then again – not metaphorical at 45 See above, Chapter ii [6]. 46 Sobrino has a few, rather polemical references to post-modernism, see e.g., Sobrino 1993g, 359.

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all.48 Likewise he seems to be saying: it is certainly rhetorical, but not rhetorical at all. However, a certain “linguistic turn” seems to be under way in Sobrino’s own development. In his more recent works the issue is addressed, and he seems to gradually admit the narrative and rhetorical character of his theology.49 He can do so without losing the primary reference to reality. Sobrino’s polemics is directed against the reductive understanding of these categories – “merely a metaphor”, or “pure” rhetoric, in a negative sense. But these reductive understandings should clearly be abandoned by now. As my recourse to Ricoeur and Croatto showed, a liberation christology has much to gain from hermeneutical and linguistical reflections of the kind they propose. In fact, particularly when theology is to address and reflect upon the reality of victims, it is quite unthinkable that it could do so without paying close attention to the principal mode of expression of these people themselves: narration. The victims tell the story of their lives, of what has happened to them or to their families by way of testimonies and stories, which are often filled with symbolism and directly intertwined with mythologies and biblical narrations.50 In a deep sense, suffering is a theory-resistant reality,51 and should therefore never be used merely to point beyond itself. At the same time, conceptualisations are needed in order for us to get a grasp on that obscure reality of suffering, in order to resist, endure, and overcome it. There is in our time a “gap between the extremity 47 Sobrino 1992b, 85. 48 Sobrino 1991d, 425. 49 See e.g. Sobrino 1991d, 427, and Sobrino 1993g, 356. Cf. above, Chapter iii [4]. 50 Cf. los impresionantes testimonios publicados por UCA en Carta a las Iglesias, los libros de María López Vigil: Vigil 1987b; Vigil 1987c, etc. 51 Sparn, Walter: Scharbert, Wolter, and Sparn 1990, 699: “[…] den theorieresi-stenten Charakter des Leidens […]”

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of suffering and the triviality of our symbolic and conceptual worlds,” as Wendy Farley formulated it.52 What we need, then, is a definition of “the crucified people” which preserves the reference to concrete reality, while at the same time opening up for mystery, plurality, and imagination. “The crucified people” may appropriately be seen as concept, analogy, and even typology. Whereas “concept” may imply connotations in a too strictly analytical-scientific direction, analogy in the traditional sense more clearly preserves the mystery of the reality referred to, and the brokenness of the words used to name this reality.53 Following Ricoeur, who sees metaphorical and symbolic discourse as having a capacity to give a creative and suggestive redescription of reality, these candidates for linguistic categorisation – “metaphor” and “symbol” – should also be considered. The risk inherent in calling “the crucified people” a metaphor or a symbol is that it may thereby be understood according to the reductive scheme as “merely” an image, “merely” something pointing beyond itself, i.e. a signification. Once this reductive scheme is abandoned, I think the expression “the crucified people” can be seen as both metaphor and symbol. Yet, all taken into account, I would suggest the designation “symbol” as the more appropriate categorisation of “the crucified people” in Sobrino’s christology. Well aware of the multitudinous definitions and theories of the symbol in our day, I shall refrain from developing one myself. I shall rather rely on Ricoeur, once more. In his definition, we clearly see that both reference to concrete reality and openness to incomprehensibility, mystery and creativity are well preserved:

52 Farley 1996, 124. 53 Johnson 1992, 112ff.

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I define ‘symbol’ as any structure of signification in which a direct, primary and literal meaning designates, in addition, another meaning which is indirect, secondary and figurative and which can be apprehended only through the first. 54

Ricoeur’s more well-known functional definition of symbol, however, is the one from Symbolism of Evil: “A symbol gives rise to thought.”55 The symbol of “the crucified people” in Sobrino’s christology is geared towards exactly this: to give rise to (new) thought on the reality of the suffering of millions and millions in our present – as well as in the past56 – contemplating its radical seriousness and its close connection to the central core of Christian faith, the cross of Christ. But furthermore, given the practical orientation of Sobrino’s christology, I am tempted to alter Ricoeur’s definition sligthly: The symbol of the crucified people in Sobrino’s christology gives rise to compassionate action.57 Hence the rhetorical character – in a good sense – of Sobrino’s theology. By redescribing suffering persons and groups around the globe today as “crucified” people, he seeks to mobilise a Christian worldview and praxis in favour of these victims of history. This is in fact how the centrality of the mercy principle works in his own theological endeavour: by way of rhetoric. His theological reflection is meant to give rise to compassionate action, to undergird a Christian praxis that ultimately will serve the liberation of the poor and excluded. The mediation through discourse is crucial in that undertaking. Unlike other liberation theologians, Sobrino has not been very explicit about which other “mediations” should be given priority in 54 55 56 57

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Ricoeur 1969a, 12. This passage is italicised in the original. Sobrino refers to this definition by Ricoeur in Sobrino 1976, 175. Cf. Metz 1980, particularly pp. 100-118. An interpretation of “symbol” and “symbolism” that would fit well with Sobrino’s christology, further developing what I have said here, is found in Sánchez 1993.

the liberation praxis itself. In other words, he has not prescribed in any detail what actions are to be taken, which are the remedies for the illness; he has not stated very clearly how liberation of and by the poor is to be achieved concretely. Gutiérrez and Ellacuría were initially more specific on this. This could be seen as a weakness in Sobrino’s writings. But given the enormous changes that have occurred, it has rather turned out to be a strength. In this manner, Sobrino’s theology remains faithful to the “honesty to reality” – the need for mercy and acts of liberation – while at the same time not presenting solutions determined in advance, but rather preserving an explorative, suggestive, and generative profile in that respect. In this, the symbol of the crucified people plays a primary role.

[3] Constitutive Relatedness as Central Category The possibility and potential usefulness of designating suffering in the world by the determination “crucified” relies on its relatedness to the suffering and death of Jesus, the Crucified. I have repeatedly emphasised this relatedness, since it is a central and structuring category in Sobrino’s theological work. This view holds that it is not something intrinsic to an object or a person which defines what it, he or she is. The ontological “status” is rather decided in and through the relations in which the object or person is embedded. How should we assess Sobrino’s application of this category of relatedness? First of all, it should be recalled that the emphasis on the constitutive character of relations and relatedness is not something original to Sobrino. In Chapter iv, we saw that this emphasis corresponds with a main trend in recent feminist theology. Yet Sobrino is hardly influenced by feminist theory. In traditional Christian theology, the issue of relations has been particularly at the forefront in

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the trinitarian discussions and treatises. In connection with the return of trinitarian thinking in modern theology, the advantages of a relational approach to ontology as opposed to a “substance-ontology” have been explored by several leading European theologians.58 Although Sobrino has not written anything explicitly on the Trinity, his christology is clearly trinitarian. Here too, the influence from Moltmann on Sobrino is evident. But also Zubiri’s philosophy, mediated through the reception and further elaboration of Ellacuría, has had a notable impact on this feature of Sobrino’s theology. In spite of the centrality of this category in Sobrino’s theology, he does not anywhere explicitly discuss its philosophical or theological foundation, nor its qualities and limitations. Such an analysis is called for, in order to strengthen his proposal and demonstrate its applicability in other areas of theological reflection, as well as in other contexts. It is beyond the scope of the present study to make a full analysis of the philosophical and general theological standing of this category. I shall rather make an assessment of how the premise of constitutive relatedness functions internally in Sobrino’s theology, in order to see what possibilities it opens up, and what limitations it might entail. As we have seen, there are both constitutive and antagonistic relationships in Sobrino’s christology. The constitutive relationships are primarily Jesus <-> God of the Kingdom <-> Kingdom of God, on one hand, and God <-> Jesus <-> Jesus’ followers, on the other. 58 Eberhard Jüngel holds that God’s being is constituted by relations; the relations are God’s existence, see Jüngel 1983. A relational ontology as alternative to an “ontology of substance” is a basic presupposition in Gerhard Ebeling’s theology as well; see, for instance Dogmatik des christlichen Glaubens I, Tübingen 1979, 346-355. Wolfhart Pannenberg too rejects the ontology of substance in favour of an ontology built on the inner-trinitarian relations of God, and the relationships between God, humanity and world.

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It is these constitutive relations which make possible the mutual relation between the crucified and the Crucified. The antagonistic relationships in Sobrino’s thought are primarily and ultimately tied to the “theologal-idolatrous” structure of reality, which takes shape in history as a struggle of “gods”, of evil forces and structures of sin, that crucified Jesus the Son of God and continue to crucify God’s children today. (1) What are the strengths and potential in this relational approach? With respect to the conception of reality, the relational approach shows a clear strength in that it gives room for the dynamic and transformative dimensions of experienced reality. It shows a way beyond the static concepts of traditional ontology, opening up for a more radical appreciation of such categories as change and development. It also allows full weight to be given to the interdependency and interconnectedness of human existence – as well as of the global environment. This is obviously a gain in a situation where both the vulnerability and the vital importance of this interconnectedness are becoming urgent public concerns. Furthermore, the relational approach, with its emphasis on transformation and interdependency, clearly paves the way for a fuller appreciation of human praxis. It is through praxis in its wide meaning that human beings enter into relations, change relations, and are formed by relations. All of this serves Sobrino’s theological purposes very well. In the strictly theo-logical questions, we see that it enables him to concretise the New Testament statement “God is love” in a conception of God as loving relations, both internally in the inner-trinitarian relations, and externally directed towards humanity and the whole of God’s creation. It means that God quoad se is affected by and involved in what happens in the world. The aporias of the theistic,

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static, impassible God, built on Greek presuppositions, are thus clearly overcome.59 It also means that God is accessible. The God who is loving relations invites human beings to take part in these loving relationships. This invitation is extended by way of the Son, Jesus Christ, and realised through the Holy Spirit. In this manner the concept of relationality becomes highly relevant also to christology, soteriology and pneumatology. I have also shown that it is such a perception of constitutive relationality that makes it possible to accept Sobrino’s claim that the gods, the idols, “exist” in human history, while at the same time maintaining human responsibility for the evils and atrocities occurring. The idols exist insofar as they are believed in. They are “realised” in history, and thus attributed existence through the actions of the human beings who adore them. However, this mode of thought is utterly problematic if applied to the reality of God too, as I have indicated. With regard to christology, Sobrino moves from an anthropological consideration which holds praxis and relationality to be constituent of a human person’s identity, to an analysis of what we may know of exactly these two traits of the life of the historical Jesus, through the stories about him, and the impact these stories make on believing communities today. The fundamental christological question of who Jesus is, is answered by describing his relations: through his relation to God as Father, Jesus is the Son of God; through his relation to the Kingdom, Jesus is the Messiah; through his relation to the disciples, followers, believers, Jesus is the Firstborn, the Lord, Saviour and Liberator. The clear advantage of this approach is that it does not proceed deductively from a pre-understanding of what these titles might mean prior to their application to Jesus, but vice versa, that these christological titles are defined and explicated 59 See Chapter vii [2], above.

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through what we may know of the historical relations that they are meant to qualify.60 In this manner, the revelational primacy of Jesus’ historical life is maintained. The relational category with its dynamic character also enables Sobrino to see a development, growth and even change in Jesus with respect to these confessional titles. Jesus becomes Son, Messiah, Lord and Liberator through his life, mission, death and resurrection. This is what the centrality of the – rather controversial – concept “filiation” in Sobrino’s thinking clearly shows. There are moreover two advantages with this approach for the christological endeavour as such. First, by this way of proceeding from concrete, historical relations to the limit-questions of faith in Christ, it gives the latter a historical rooting which can rescue christology from the lofty abstractness which so often has been attached to it. Second, by seeing these relations not only as historical in a past sense, but also as relations which the community and hence the theologian him-/herself participate in today, the christological endeavour gains actuality and takes on a concrete contextual as well as existential character. Moving now to soteriology, I have noted several strengths in the use of a relational approach. In Chapter iv, I argued that this makes Jesus’ maleness lose its salvific significance. Hence a major obstacle for a liberating soteriology as seen from a feminist perspective is removed. In Chapter vi, I demonstrated how this relational emphasis – though not fully developed in this direction by Sobrino himself – saves Sobrino’s christology from the pitfalls of a mainly exemplarist or “subjectivist” soteriology.61 Christ saves by way of relations. Through these salvific relations the believer is trans60 Although it should be noted that these approaches (deductive – inductive, “from above” or “from below”) tend to be more complementary than alternative. 61 See Chapter vi [5], above.

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formed, being shaped in Jesus’ image, becoming thus more truly human – and at the same time, in Sobrino’s interpretation, more like God. Jesus is true human being and true God. The dynamic, transformative character of these relationships, concretely expressed through human praxis, makes salvation a reality in history. “Filiation” is thus not only a christological category, but also a soteriological category. Salvation means becoming God’s children in history, like Jesus became God’s Son. It is simultaneously a process of filiation, humanisation, divinisation (deiformación) and historical liberation, all effectuated by way of relations. We see here then, that the relational category also enables Sobrino to maintain a strong emphasis on the continuity between Jesus and other human beings. Seeing salvation as mediated through loving relations implies giving full soteriological value to such concepts as nearness, affinity, “proximity”,62 solidarity, communion and incarnation.63 God saves by drawing near, by including human beings in God’s “own life” as relations, through Jesus, a human being like us. The communion that God is, is extended in the incarnation to all humanity and all God’s creation. This communion with God is in itself the salvific reality par excellence. By this a way is shown that leads beyond the negative aspects and impasses inherent in an overly judicial and expiatory soteriology of an Anselmian kind. All of this demonstrates that a relational approach for a contemporary, liberating christology has many virtues. Sobrino is quite justified in choosing this as one of his main methodological and interpretetative tools. He uses it in a creative and constructive manner, which in my view proves its appropriateness through its results. 62 Cf. E. Lévinas, E. Dussel, see Chapter i [2] notes 133 and 136, and Thesis 12 1 below. 63 “La salvación de Dios es cercanía que llega hasta la solidaridad con los abismos de horror de la historia humana.” Sobrino 1982a, 37.

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Its potential could however be even further developed in Sobrino’s work. Its theoretical basis and theological implications should be brought out more explicitly. This would reveal not only the further potential, but also the costs and limitations attached to such an approach – to which I now turn. (2) One of the main problems with a relational approach, at least when it is applied too onesidedly and without due precautions, is that it may result in an excessively harmonising view of reality that does not do justice to the radical experience of rupture, conflict and chaos. This, of course, would be particularly damaging to a theology that intends to be liberating. The very word “liberation” points to a need for a rupture in relations, for breaking bonds. Sobrino does, however, make it very clear that there are both positive, constitutive, salvific relations, and destructive, antagonistic relations. There is not only continuity, but also discontinuity. This balance must be preserved. The main difficulty, then – in any Christian theology, one should add – is how to integrate or how to relate continuity and discontinuity, constitutive and antagonistic relationships to one another. This tension is perhaps not ultimately solvable. Yet it must be treated in a theologically responsible manner. Maintaining this tension in an adequate way is a problem which appears in practically all the theological themes or loci that we are concerned with here. In terms of theo-logy, too strong an emphasis on God’s relatedness with creation can overshadow the experience of God as ultimate mystery, God’s radical otherness, and the fundamental difference between God and the world that has always been safeguarded by Christian theology. Though constantly engaged in debates on the relations in God, and between God, humanity, and creation, the Church fathers were always particularly careful not to make God an intrinsic part of creation. This difference may be at stake in an interpretation that sees God as loving

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relations, extending themselves into history. The tension is then expressed in the need to take the incarnation in its full and radical meaning on the one hand, and the need to maintain God’s otherness vis-à-vis humanity and creation on the other. Sobrino deals with this tension in terms of the dialectics of a “God who is ‘Father’ (intimate benevolence) and a ‘Father’ who is God (radical mystery)”, and the “Dios mayor y Dios menor”. By so doing, he shows a clear awareness of the problems, and avoids simplistic solutions. His emphasis on relationality does not generally make him embrace a naivistically harmonious world-view, nor present a completely immanent God. Yet, the striking immediacy which characterises his reflections on God and historical reality, Jesus and the victims etc., threatens to some degree this tension. The element of distance and rupture is not always safeguarded in Sobrino’s texts. This means that one should maintain that though God is relations, God is also in some way “prior to” and “beyond” these relations. One must accordingly move beyond a general analysis of how relationships work, from a philosophical relational ontology to a strictly theological relational ontology of some kind. God is the reality that constitutes the constitutive relations. Though affected by the relations with the world, God quoad se is not constituted through these relations. If this were to be the case, the atheistic criticism which sees “God” as merely a human projection would have a strong case. By maintaining this balance/ tension between God as loving relation and as ultimate reality constituting the salvific, loving relationships, it is also possible to preserve a vital, ontological difference between God and the gods. God as Ultimate Reality has reality in Godself – not an isolated, relation-less reality, but embedded in relations that God has chosen to establish freely and out of love. The gods, on the other hand, owe their existence completely to the his-

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torical fact of being believed in and worshipped. Their reality is constituted through (perverted) relations. What about christology and soteriology then? The problems which the relational approach raises here are densely present in the term “filiation”. Sobrino early received criticisms of his application of this term, and of the formulation “hacerse Hijo”, describing Jesus’ divine Sonship. These formulations may be interpreted as adoptionist or similar in the direction of christological schemes which traditionally have been seen as reductionist. Furthermore, if the filiation which Jesus undergoes, becoming Son of God, is seen in principle as parallel, or even equal, to the filiation Jesus’ followers undergo by becoming God’s children, then this accusation gains strength. When the continuity between Jesus and his sisters and brothers is strongly underscored, the question about Jesus’ true divinity becomes critical. When the development in Jesus’ relationship to God is emphasised, then the pre-existence of Christ and the eternal Sonship may be seen as disputed. From a strictly orthodox dogmatic point of view moreover, it is a question whether the (Gr.:) homoousin to patri of the Nicene Creed, reconfirmed in the formula from Chalcedon, really is appropriately taken care of by way of a relational approach alone. Admitting the ambiguity of these formulations – ‘hacerse Hijo’ and ‘filiación’ – Sobrino defends his views by introducing the following noteworthy precisions and distinctions:64 First and foremost, he distinguishes between “historical” and “divine” filiation. The divine filiation of Jesus is the ultimate, limit-reality discovered by faith, namely that Jesus is the eternal Son of God, consubstantial with the Father. The historical filiation, on the other hand, is what is expressed in the historical relationships of the human being Jesus with God, as narrated in the Gospels. This historical filiation is characterised by development and change. It is a process of “becom64 Sobrino 1982a, 15-70, cf. particularly pp. 54ff.

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ing.” In this context, then, it is appropriate to use the expression “hacerse Hijo”. Closer examination reveals that this historical relationship in fact is unique. This means, in other words, that Sobrino distinguishes between the ultimate reality, confessed in the christological creeds and dogmas – that Jesus is the eternal Son of God – and the historical apparition of that reality, expressed in Jesus’ “unique and unrepeatable”65 historical relationship with God. Now, it is crucial to Sobrino that the knowledge of Jesus’ “historical” filiation represents the possibility of arriving at a firm confession of Jesus’ “divine” filiation, both as regards its truth and as regards its content. Through Jesus’ historical process of becoming son of God, the eyes of faith see who he is from eternity: the Son of God. There is no opposition in this understanding between the divine reality of Christ and the historical filiation of Jesus, Sobrino insists. Rather, the latter is the way of gaining knowledge of the former. Thus he proposes the following path of three steps from the “historical” to the “divine” filiation: (1) the registration or observation of the historical relationship of Jesus to [the Father], which can be aptly described as “filiation”; (2) a consideration of that filiation as the supreme, unrepeatable, and unique oneness of Jesus with [the Father], described in John as a oneness of knowledge and will; (3) the assertion of the “divine” filiation of Jesus – that is, of his being Son of God, consubstantial with [the Father].66

65 Sobrino 1982b, 46 / Sobrino 1982a, 56. 66 Sobrino 1982b, 46. The words in brackets are mine [SJS], since the English translation (Jesus in Latin America) in this passage changes “el Padre” in the Spanish original to “God”. Sobrino 1982a, 56 : “(1) la constatación de la relación histórica de Jesús con el Padre que puede ser aptamente descrita como ‘filiación’; (2) la consideración de esta filiación como unidad suprema e irrepetible de Jesús con el Padre, descrita en juan como unidad de conocimiento y voluntad; (3) la afirmación de la filiación ‘divina’ de Jesús, es decir su ser Hijo de Dios, consustancial al Padre.”

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This is clarifying, in my opinion, not only for this particular christological topos, but for the role of relationality in Sobrino’s theology at large. It may be seen as Sobrino’s way of integrating continuity and discontinuity, historical and theological, immanent experience and transcendent mystery in his thinking. This is an integration that I have repeatedly asked for in this inquiry. In what way does this respond to my concerns? First and foremost, this is clarifying because it shows in what way the necessary discontinuity may be preserved even within a profoundly relational approach. The ultimacy and mystery of Jesus as One with God from eternity is firmly maintained. But simultaneously, a way is shown towards the recognition and verification of the significance of this doxological confession in human history. This way is the historical life of Jesus from Nazareth. This human life – in the midst of the conflicts, struggles and sufferings of human history – is God’s ultimate apparition, God’s salvific presence in history. And that it is a real presence, is shown through the cross: God is present in history even at the point where it is most profoundly anti-God – in cruelty, evil, and radical, systematically inflicted suffering. Hence, the early Christian confession of Jesus as Way is clearly emphasised. Thus – secondly – there is also a possibility of speaking of any human being’s “filiation”: in the likeness and following of Jesus amidst the conflicts of history, faith embraces the promise of God’s presence as a loving “Father”. “Filiation” – understood as historical filiation – becomes thereby a soteriological concept too. In other words, the history of Jesus/the Jesus of history represents the access to God for all human beings. This is the third way in which this clarification answers to a concern that I have raised: the question of Jesus as example and/or sacrament. Jesus becomes thus example, since he is the way to follow. But he is also clearly sacrament, since he is the true and salvific presence of the eternal God in

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history. And although it is the latter which is the foundation for the former – as Jüngel rightly insisted – it is the former which is the historical path to the recognition and appreciation of the latter, as Sobrino maintains. I affirm this clarification since it in my judgement should make it possible for Sobrino to maintain both continuity and discontinuity, arguing that a method based on continuity is the best manner to reach the ultimate leap of faith (discontinuity) on which any full confession of Jesus as the Christ, Jesus as the Liberator, ultimately relies. It should also enable him to hold together the opposite perspectives of salvation as a process – filiation, deification, etc. – and salvation as a breakthrough, an irruption, a liberation. The first perspective relies on the relations – historical, dynamical, transformative – by which we become in history what we are in the image of God, being transformed into the likeness of the Son through the faith in and following of him. This is what it means to “hacerse hijos en el Hijo” (Rom. 8:29). Here there is room for praxis, for human labour and effort, in a kind of cooperatio which does not found or condition salvation, but concretises it, actualises it in history. The second perspective strongly maintains that the initiative as well as the completion of this is all the work of God, who is mysteriously and graciously present in history through Jesus the Son. God is the one constituting the salvific relationships, opening them up and inviting everyone into them through the history of Jesus/the Jesus of history. Here there is room for grace alone, faith alone, and God as the mystery to whom only doxological statements are ultimately appropriate.67 Yet this clarification is not in every aspect consistent with other tenets of Sobrino. Firstly, it raises anew questions as to the basic presupposition of the unity of history. If there is a distinction between

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who Jesus ultimately is (“divine”) and how this is made known in history, the idea of something “other than” history seems inevitable. Secondly, this takes us back to an important observation in Chapter ii above: that the relationship which Sobrino postulates between the crucified and the Crucified is a reciprocal relationship. It “works both ways”. This made us find in Sobrino’s proposal a kind of communicatio idiomatum between Jesus and suffering people of today. And certainly, if one follows Sobrino’s reasoning here, God is affected by the world through these relationships. And Jesus becomes/is Son, Lord, Liberator, etc. by way of his relationship with the God of the Kingdom, the Kingdom of God, and with his sisters and brothers, his followers in history. Yet what this clarification means, as I have interpreted it here, is that although mutual, there is a certain asymmetry in the relationships between God and the world, and between the Crucified Jesus and the crucified people. God is the one who constitutes these relationships. The initiative is God’s alone. This initiative is expressed in history in a unique and unrepeatable manner in Jesus, the Son. It is necessary, in my view, to stress this assymetry in order to avoid the reductionism and even the functionalism (affirming, for instance, Jesus’ status as saviour only insofar as he actually functions as saviour) that would follow from a relational approach that underscored this mutuality without paying sufficient attention to its ultimate “theologal” foundation.

67 My interpretation here is notably coloured by the Lutheran tradition to which I belong. It is possible that Sobrino would not express and explicate these tenets in the same manner. Moreover, the first perspective, salvation as growth, cooperatio, would still need more precision and elaboration in order to meet fundamental Lutheran concerns. Any kind of Lutheran “testing” of Sobrino’s tenets is certainly not the purpose of my analysis here, though. What I have done, rather, is to show how this clarification made by Sobrino meets some of the major concerns that I have raised during the inquiry so far.

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Thirdly, by this clarification Sobrino implicitly corrects one of his earlier formulations, which stated that if the figure of Jesus ceased to be of interest to people, if nobody followed Jesus any more – “which faith holds to be impossible” – then Jesus “would no longer be the revelation of human being, and in this manner neither the revelation of God.”68 These inconsistencies and questions lay bare some of the unclarity that remains in Sobrino’s outline still. The mutual, yet asymmetrical relationship becomes particularly crucial with regard to a potential salvific role of the crucified people, a point to which I shall return shortly. One more possible weakness of the relational approach must be considered, this time concerning the christological endeavour as such, that is, concerning fundamental christology. Above, I have pointed to the advantages of this approach, making christology a contextually rooted, actually relevant and personally existential undertaking. Now, it must be asked on the other hand – in line 68 Sobrino 1976, 297. “El día en que la figura de Jesús dejase de interesar, dejase de ser camino de salvación – lo cual la fe considera imposible – ese día la fórmula no sería verdadera, Jesús hubiese dejado de ser la revelación del hombre y de esa forma también la revelación de Dios.” – If this is to be understood as saying that Jesus in fact is constituted as Son of God and as Lord only insofar as he is being followed, a functional reductionism of christology is threatening here. The hypothetical character of this statement thus becomes decisive. If “impossible according to faith” is taken to mean that it is “impossible since Jesus is Son of God and Lord, and therefore he will never cease to be of interest to people”, then it is not necessarily in conflict with the interpretation I have supported above, namely that “historical filiation” is the process of revelation of what faith believes to have been the case since eternity: that Jesus is the Son of God, and hence, Lord. If, to the contrary, “impossible according to faith” signifies that it is in principle possible, since Jesus is constituted as Son and Lord (only) through the following of him, but that faith believes that it will never happen, then the case is more dubious. Sobrino should be clearer here.

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with my critical questions in Chapter i [4] above: does this imply that the following of Jesus and christological reflection in fact become inseparable? And would not that in case make faith a precondition for entering into a christological debate, which subsequently would seem to effectively preclude a critical conversation with all interpreters, regardless of faith, the praxis of following, etc.? If one emphasises too much the identity of the relationship with Jesus in faith and the christological endeavour as such, one may in fact end up with a closed christological discourse, representing a form of “fideism”. In some of his most pointed statements on this issue – for instance, in a direct and radical application of the maxim “to know Jesus is to follow Jesus” – Sobrino seems to come close to such a position. What may enable one to avoid these consequences, however, is the centrality of historicity. What happens in history is in principle equally open to observation, interpretation and judgement by all observers, regardless of preconditions. God’s revelation in Jesus is a revelation in history. Exactly by insisting on an interpretation of this historical life as the appropriate path for posing and answering the ultimate limit-questions, that is, for an interpretation and possible acceptance or rejection of the confessional statements, Sobrino may escape the trap of a christological discourse totally closed in on itself, irrelevant to anyone but those already convinced. In sum, the category of constitutive relatedness proves itself to be particularly helpful in a contemporary christological reflection with a liberating intention. This relational approach could be further developed, however. It would need a more substantial philosophical and theological foundation. It also represents a potential which Sobrino himself has not yet fully developed. In spite of this, the relational approach as Sobrino makes use of it in his “historical-theological” method, represents in my view one of the major strengths

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of his christology. Though not a novelty, Sobrino’s characteristic formulation and application of this category from the committed perspective of the poor and downtrodden is thus an important contribution to contemporary christology and theology. Yet this relational approach does also entail weaknesses and possibly misleading tendencies, as I have indicated. Although Sobrino shows explicit awareness of these, I still find in Sobrino’s approach a tendency to underline the similarity, continuity, and harmonious relatedness between the crucified and the Crucified to such a degree that it threatens to overshadow some, in my view, crucial elements of dissimilarity, rupture and discontinuity. This is demonstrated by the unanswered questions emerging from his own clarification on the issue of “filiation”, which may be seen as revealing certain inconsistencies in his approach. Still I hold that it would be possible to elaborate a “theology of the crucified people(s)” along the lines of Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s proposals – or, in my own wording, a “theology in a victimological key” – which would manage to maintain in tension both continuity and discontinuity. The formula “the crucified and the Crucified” may at best open up for an appreciation of God’s radical identification with the victims in our time, which could make Christian theology take on – or rather regain – a committed and praxical character. Thus it may also give new historical relevance to key concerns in Christian doctrine, inviting ever new re-readings and reformulations of the old testimonies of faith in Jesus Christ. And yet there is an “otherness” of God and an “otherness” of the victims that theology also needs to heed.

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[4] The crucified and the Crucified: Theological Significance It is Jon Sobrino’s (and that of his forerunners in this matter, Ignacio Ellacuría and Mgr. Oscar A. Romero) great merit to have – audaciously and firmly – put the reality of the crucified people on the christological and theological agenda. At the very least, it implies that theologians should not address the issue of the meaning and relevance of the crucifixion of Jesus without also contemplating the reality of so many crucifixions in our day. This simple statement is a minimum of what this proposal entails, but even so it is a statement with ample consequences. What can be said then, on the basis of this critical appraisal of Sobrino’s theology, of the suffering people, the victims in human history, in terms of their relationship to Jesus? What is their theological significance, i.e. both their significance in theology, particularly in christology, and their significance for theology, i.e., for fundamental theology? As I have argued, in Sobrino’s outline “the crucified” are related to “the Crucified” by way of three axes: an epistemological-hermeneutical axis, a historical-soteriological axis, and finally, an ethical-praxical axis. I shall now consider these critically, by proposing my own interpretation of the theological significance of the reality and symbol of the crucified people in the form of thirteen theses. In proposing these theses, my stance with regard to Sobrino’s positions will become clear. Yet I would like to point out that these theses are not to be seen as an attempt at correcting and improving Sobrino’s theology of the crucified people. From liberation theologians I have learned that we all theologise from different contexts, responding to different concerns, and even – in this case – setting out from different confessional traditions. Therefore I would rather ask that these theses be seen as my response to the invitation issued

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by Jon Sobrino to take seriously the reality of suffering people in our theological work.

(i.) First, with regard to the epistemological-hermeneutical significance of the crucified people, I shall submit two theses. (1) The crucified people make possible and promote the process of gaining “true” knowledge (i.e. knowledge as comprehensive and appropriate as possible) of the world, of God, and of Jesus as the Christ. [1.1] Epistemology is the reflection on the possibility of gaining knowledge. Any process of cognition is set in motion and directed by a determined interest. Any process of cognition “takes place”: it happens in a historical, geographical, social, etc. location which informs and shapes it. And any process of cognition is intimately united with human praxis, to the extent that it is an integral part of that praxis. Yet, while being conditioned and moulded by its driving interest, its location, and the praxis of which it is an integral part, the process of gaining knowledge is not fully determined by these. What is known through this process is “reality”, which is ultimately external to the same process of cognition itself. “Reality” can never be grasped in its totality through any process of human cognition. However, the process of cognition aims at a knowledge as comprehensive and appropriate as possible, “true” knowledge. The possibility of gaining true knowledge is dependent on this process’ interest, location and praxis. In order to gain true knowledge it is necessary to pay particular attention to those aspects of reality that are normally – consciously or unconsciously, with or without the use of power – kept beyond the horizon of the knowing subject. These aspects are disharmonious and “unpleasant”, and there is a strong tendency to cover them

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up. This tendency to cover up negative aspects of reality may be prompted by interests in the knowing subject, as well as by socially or communally organised interests. In order to gain true knowledge of the world today, it is necessary to make an effort to resist and overcome the tendency to cover up its negative aspects, such as, for instance, the reality of the suffering and exclusion of millions of human beings; the serious threat to the environment and hence to human survival at all; the coincidence of factual ability and yet apparently systemic lack of political and ethical will to intervene in order to bring about the transformation, reduction and, as far as possible, removal of these negative realities. There is no access to adequate knowledge which does not pass via the reality of the “other” – the person excluded, covered up, coming from “beyond” the horizon of the knowing subject. The poor, the insignificant, the “barbarians” are indispensable for knowing the truth of the world. In order to gain true knowledge of the world today, therefore, it is necessary also to place oneself in the location of “the crucified people”, i.e. the excluded and oppressed persons and communities, with the interest of “taking them down from the cross”, i.e., of their inclusion into the community with full dignity and full rights, and of their liberation and well-being, realised in a credible praxis with this objective. [1.2] Theological epistemology is the reflection on the possibility of gaining true knowledge of reality in the light of faith in God, and correspondingly, of the possibility of gaining adequate knowledge of God as revealed in this reality. Christian faith in God is rooted in God’s self-identification with the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth, confirmed in his resurrection from the dead. The fundamental aporia that moves the process of theological cognition is accordingly how God, who is revealed through the life

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and mission of Jesus as gracious and merciful love, Creator and Sustainer of the entire universe, is compatible with a world in which there is destruction and senseless evil; correspondingly, how it can be the case that Jesus, who is believed to be the ultimate revelation and presence of God in history, ends his life in desolation, shame and apparent failure on the cross outside the city walls of Jerusalem. The reality and symbol of the crucified people helps to overcome these fundamental aporias: By making present and exposing the “underside of history” and the reality of the “other” who is normally expelled and suppressed, the crucified ones make possible a more appropriate approach to reality, and to the totality of reality. By thus laying bare its negative aspects, the crucified people through their mere presence testify to the evil and sinfulness of human history and the present world. A truthful approach to gaining knowledge of reality leads to admitting its present state of incompatibility with the will of God as this is revealed in the history of Jesus of Nazareth. Yet seeing oppressed and excluded human beings today as crucified, implies seeing them as related to the cross of Jesus, in which Christian faith sub specie contrarii finds the ultimate revelation of God in history. Holding God to be ultimate reality, Creator and Sustainer of the whole universe, and holding the totality of reality to be accessible only by way of a consistent confrontation with its negative aspects, requires thus that God be known also in and through these negative aspects (in order to confess God as God of the totality of reality). “The crucified people” – as reality and symbol – thus points to God’s identification with the victims of evil and sinful forces of human history, an identification which is paradigmatically and constitutively revealed in God’s self-disclosure in unity with the human person Jesus who dies as a victim on the cross. Thus the crucified people makes it possible to know God as the true God, the God of the totality of reality, since they testify to

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God’s ultimate historical solidarity with the victims. The true God in a history of suffering is the God of the victims. [1.3] Reflection on the possibility of gaining true knowledge of Jesus as the Christ, i.e. the ultimate Saviour of the world, may be called christological epistemology. Gaining knowledge of Jesus as the Christ means knowing him as Saviour, i.e., as one who responds to the utmost concerns of human existence both on a personal and on a communal level. But knowing Jesus as Saviour also means being able to see him as Saviour even while acknowledging the fact that he was condemned and crucified, and moreover, being able to see him as the one who saves through this apparent failure. By exposing the negativity of reality, the consequences of sinfulness and evil of human history, “the crucified people” – as reality and symbol – helps in gaining adequate knowledge of this “utmost concern” which makes salvation necessary, this fundamental anxiety and problem of humanity: the tremendum, the “interruption”, the radical suffering, El Mozote, Srebrenica – it is a reality with many names, but which in the end remains an unexplicable and unnameable mysterium iniquitatis. A credible Saviour must respond to this mystery of evil. Since it is obviously not yet resolved nor removed, a Saviour must be seen as sharing the burden of this ultimate mystery, being affected by it, but simultaneously as having the capacity to overcome it definitively. By seeing Jesus as the One who in his life vehemently resisted this sinfulness inherent in human history, and willingly confronted it even to the point of suffering its ultimate consequences; by seeing him as the One who did not resign when confronted with the deadly logic of power, but who remained faithful to the new reality of the Kingdom of God which had appeared in and through him in history, Christian faith sees Jesus as Saviour. The victim who did not give in to the powers that made him a victim, has become victor

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over these deadly forces, by conquering them from within. Faith finds confirmation of the reality and finality of this victory in Jesus’ resurrection from the dead. For this reason he is confessed as the ultimate Saviour, the Liberator of the poor, the Victorious Victim. The crucified people thus provide help in gaining knowledge of Jesus as Christ, by reminding us of (the consequences of ) the reality of sin from which he saves, and by making credible and understandable why Jesus’ cross is fundamental to his being Saviour. [1.4] The reality and symbol of the crucified people can thus be seen as “law” and “light”. The mere existence of crucified people in history reveals the presence of sin, the gravity of this sin, and the large extent of human complicity in and responsibility – guilt – for the sinful processes that lead to the crucifixion of others. The presence of the crucified people thus exposes the need for salvation, and becomes indirectly, but forcefully, a call to conversion.69 In this same sense, it can be said that the reality and symbol of the crucified people shed “light” on the true condition of this world, of human history, and of human nature. This light is revealing: it does not only mean that a part of reality which otherwise would be hidden, kept in the dark, becomes visible; it is also a light with which to regard all of reality, approaching its totality. (2) The crucified people facilitate and promote a “relatively adequate” interpretation of the Christian sources; the gospel of the Kingdom and the testimonies to Jesus as the Christ (kerygma). [2.1] Human access to reality goes by way of interpretation. There is a constant need for hermeneutical mediation of all human interaction with “reality”. 69 Cf. Martin Luther’s second use of the law, usus legis theologicus seu spiritualis.

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The Christian faith in Jesus as the Christ is an interpretation of an event which has taken place in history: the life, mission, and death of Jesus of Nazareth, and the occurrence of faith in his being raised from the dead. The testimonies about this event, in themselves already interpretations of it, are the formative and authoritative Christian sources. They contain the proclamation of the good news of the coming of the Kingdom, and of Jesus as the inaugurator and ultimate mediator of this salvific presence of God in human history. This original kerygma, orally, symbolically, and literally communicated and handed on through the ages, has been constantly interpreted and re-interpreted, and is in permanent need of new interpretations. One ultimate, “correct” interpretation is beyond human reach. Nevertheless, as there are more and less appropriate interpretations of any event, any sign, any text, so there is a need to search constantly for an interpretation of these Christian sources that is “relatively adequate” (Tracy). “The crucified people” – as reality and symbol – facilitates and promotes such a “relatively adequate” interpretation of the testimonies to Jesus as the Christ: [2.2] The location from which the sources are interpreted co-determines the content of their interpretation. The location of the crucified people – the world of the poor, excluded, and victims – represents an appropriate location for interpreting these sources, because their message, although ultimately universal, is addressed in a specific manner to these ‘small’ and insignificant persons, exiled and excluded, prisoners and strangers. The God of Exodus has seen the chosen people suffer – a people chosen for its smallness, its insignificant status – and intervenes for its liberation; Jesus proclaims that the Kingdom is for the poor; and the early Christian community ultimately identifies Jesus with “the hungry, naked,

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imprisoned […]” even in an eschatological perspective (cf. Matt 25). [2.3] The authoritative norm (norma normans) for the interpretation of the sources is the event to which they bear witness: the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Our access to this event is mediated through a chain of interpretations, of story-telling and proclamation, of hearing and following. We do not have direct access to the Jesus of history any more, we only have the history (or rather histories) of Jesus. Nonetheless, the event founding this history is the decisive criterion for assessing conflicting interpretations and versions of the history of Jesus. In order to give a relatively adequate interpretation of that authoritative story, one must pay due attention to the “master-narrative” – the particular purpose with which the story is told, and which governs and directs it – and the praxis from which it emerges. Since the determination of this master-narrative and praxis always occurs inside the hermeneutical circle, it cannot be definitively decided upon. But here too, it is necessary and possible to reach a relative adequacy, in order to prevent manipulative and distorted interpretations. The symbol and reality of the crucified people give rise to the fundamental interest of a merciful intervention on behalf of victims, a praxis of the liberation of the poor. This fundamental interest and purpose – “master-narrative” – corresponds to a basic semantic axis in the biblical material, as shown above. It also corresponds with the core of the Gospel message, according to Lk 4:1430. The perspective of the crucified people thus makes it possible to “tune in” to the principal semantical and kerygmatical axes of the Bible, thus securing a relatively adequate interpretation of its normative content, the history of Jesus. That Jesus, from the perspective of the world of the poor, is seen as “liberator”, a “messiah”,

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responding to the profoundest concerns of those dwelling in this world, can be seen as a confirmation a posteriori of the appropriateness of the hermeneutical perspective chosen. [2.4] An ‘ethics of reading’ (Jeanrond) aimed at preventing fraudulent interpretations requires that a text – if one claims to interpret it as text – is read in accordance with its genre and style, and with attentiveness to the addressees and purpose which the text itself indicates.70 Although this, again, cannot be decided outside the hermeneutical circle, the appropriateness of a given interpretation can be assessed on the basis of these criteria. ‘Euangelion’ means “news that gives cause to joy.”71 Joy is not only the content of the message, but also the result of its being communicated. From which vantage-point, then, does the preaching of the gospel – accompanied by credible service in order to make good news become good realities in history – appear as good news, giving cause to joy? There is good reason to claim that one such vantagepoint is that of the crucified people, since these are the primary addressees of the message of the coming of the Kingdom, and furthermore the first ones to “enter into it” according to the early Christian witness, and since they are the ones who today suffer most radically under the powers of the anti-Kingdom, under the consequences of the sin of the world. [2.5] An ethics of reading also requires that the interpretation of a given text be validated in a community of readers. The early Christian sources can most appropriately be interpreted in communion with “the crucified people” – the “others”, the poor and destitute –

70 See Chapter v [5]. 71 See Gerhard Friedrich’s article on ‘euangelizomai’ and ‘euangelion’, Friedrich 1964 – 1974. Cf. Stålsett 1996a.

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since these are the ones who are made central persons in these texts, and (again) to whom they are primarily addressed. (ii.) The second axis – the historical-soteriological – is the one that has given most rise to critical questions. The following seven theses are dedicated to clarifying the salvific aspects of the relationship between the crucified and the Crusified. (3) Since God is present on the cross of Jesus, God’s presence on the historical crosses today can be analogically affirmed in faith. [3.1] Christian faith holds that God is present on the cross of Jesus. In spite of the experienced absence of the God of the Kingdom, the loving God of life and justice, (an experience most radically expressed in Mark 15:34), it is maintained that God has chosen to be present on Golgotha. God did not ultimately abandon Jesus, but remained in communion with him, even to the point of being made a victim by the powers of the anti-Kingdom, the powers of death. This means that God is affected by suffering and human history. The conception of God as impassible and unaffected is criticised and ultimately overcome on the cross. God has freely and out of love chosen to be different. God is a crucified God, a suffering God, a ‘Dios mayor y menor’. [3.2] Christian faith holds Jesus Christ to be the ultimate and unique revelation of the true God and of true humanity. The execution of Jesus thus testifies to the scandalous and incomprehensible presence and power of evil forces in history. By killing God’s Son, and continuing to kill God’s children, these forces show themselves as forces contrary to God. Since these forces are directed against God, they are labelled as sin.

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Since these forces require human sacrifices and produce victims in history, they show themselves to be profoundly anti-human and de-humanising. They spread death, premature and unjustly inflicted death. Since the presence and reality of these forces goes beyond human reason, a mythical language is appropriate in order to name them. They can be called “idols”, since they aspire to ultimacy, are object of adoration, and require human victims. But this naming substracts nothing from the human responsibility for their being operative in human history. Nor does it substract anything from the scandal which the power of these forces represents. [3.3] Because Christian faith recognises sub specie contrarii God’s solidarity and communion with the victim Jesus on Golgotha, it is possible to affirm God’s solidarity and communion with all in human history who fall victims to the same forces – in spite of all apparent evidence to the contrary. Since God is believed to be present with the Crucified One, opposing the crucifying forces, there is no longer anything that should prevent faith from affirming analogically God’s presence with all crucified ones, with the crucified people. This presence is rooted only in God’s free decision, out of merciful love. (4) Since God’s presence with the crucified Jesus according to the Gospel is a salvific presence, there are signs of God’s salvific presence also in the “crosses” in history. [4.1] Jesus announced that God has drawn near in grace, becoming involved in human history for the salvation of all humankind. Faith sees Jesus as the ultimate historical revelation of this merciful God. According to the gospel of the Kingdom, brought near and proclaimed by Jesus, God’s presence is salvific. God, drawing near in Christ, enters into relationship, communion, with human beings.

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This presence founds a new communion (Gr.: koinonia) which is salvific. It would therefore be self-contradictory and in direct opposition to the gospel for Christian theology to affirm God’s presence with the crucified people without at the same time affirming this presence as salvific. [4.2] Jesus showed in words and deeds that the love of God, having entered history for the salvation of all humankind, shows itself with a predilection for those who are particularly made victims by the evil forces of history, and in this way “carry the sins of the world.” The loving presence of God thus shows itself as a power for life and justice, opposing all crucifying forces. [4.3] Faith’s affirmation of God’s presence with the crucified is particularly good news – euangelion – to the crucified people. It means that they can rely on God’s mysterious presence, in spite of the experience of (God’s) abandonment. God’s presence is salvific for the crucified themselves. The gospel should therefore be communicated to them and celebrated together with them, so that they may recognise, accept and celebrate this presence, and thus their faith may be strengthened, their hope affirmed, their dignity restored, and their struggles for survival, transformation, and well-being empowered. A credible communication of the gospel to the crucified people requires that it be communicated in words and deeds – that it be accompanied by an effective service for, on behalf of, and together with the crucified ones themselves for their healing and liberation.72 [4.4] The affirmation of God’s presence with the crucified ones in history is a statement of faith in the God of Jesus, the Crucified One. Like God’s presence with Jesus on the cross, God’s presence with the 72 See theses 10-13 below.

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crucified people is a “hidden” presence. It is by no means obvious or natural for human beings to encounter God on the Golgothas of history, but something which requires faith. This does not mean, however, that there are no explicit signs of this salvific presence which faith can heed and by which faith can be nurtured. 73 [4.5] Since this faith in God’s presence with the crucified ones is rooted in God’s self-revelation in Jesus, it is a particularly Christian faith in God. Yet God’s presence with the crucified does not depend on faith at all. God is present because God has chosen to be present. This means that Christian faith audaciously maintains God’s presence with all the crucified in history, regardless of their faith, praxis, level of consciousness/organisation, or “worthiness”. [4.6] This obviously does not render faith void of soteriological significance. Neither does it mean that salvation occurs automatically, so to speak, for all victims: (a) Faith is trust in the love of God for Christ’s sake. It is the reception of this love, the letting oneself be involved in a salvific relation with God. Faith in God through Jesus Christ is acceptance of the scandalous claim that God is the God of victims, and that through this partisanship, God is the God of all, of sinners and sinned-against alike. This acceptance brings forth in the believer fruits of salvation: hope, acts of mercy, resistance and liberation, etc. Yet again, this acceptance (faith) does not rely on anything other than God’s salvific presence and merciful invitation. (b) Theology should always respect both the “otherness” of God and the “otherness” of each human being, in concreto, each victimised person. Therefore it cannot speak in terms of a “quasi-automatic” salvation. Nevertheless the Christian gospel, claiming that salvation is constituted by God alone; that the faith of the believer 73 See below, thesis 5.

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is the work of the Holy Spirit; and that the Holy Spirit works “ubi et quando visum est Deo”;74 gives good reason to expect that this “ubi et quando” (whenever and wherever else God out of love may choose to be present) points to God’s salvific presence with the crucified people. (5) Since salvation is a reality always “flowing over”, a reality always to be shared, the crucified people may be seen as sharing salvation with the world by testifying to God’s salvific presence, and by transmitting and communicating signs and fruits of this salvation to others. [5.1] Salvation is a dynamic reality, not a static condition. Salvation is a reality to be shared, to be communicated, not be kept or guarded for oneself. To bring salvation means going out of oneself in love, entering into healing, mutual relationships with the “other”. If we hold that God is present on Jesus’ cross, and therefore, analogically, on the crosses in human history, and that this presence is salvific, one may see the crucified people as sharing salvation with the world. The crucified people share salvation with the world by testifying to God’s salvation, transmitting signs of this salvation, and thereby even mediating, in a derived sense, God’s salvation in history. [5.2] The testimony of the crucified people is a testimony to the saving presence of God, contrary to all expectation and appearance. The testimony of the crucified people is, therefore, a testimony to the qualities and values of the Kingdom of God: life in its fullness, justice, community and sharing. The testimony of the crucified people becomes at the same time a testimony against all crucifying forces, that is, against everything that de-humanises persons and 74 Cf. Confessio Augustana, art V.

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communities, and thereby opposes the coming of the Kingdom. In other words, it is a testimony against everything that prevents the realisation of peace, justice and reconciliation – in the full meaning of these qualities as implied in the biblical vision of shalom. The crucified people testify: they are witnesses. Since their witness emerges from suffering, they can be considered “martyrs.” The crucified people is a martyred people, yet in distinct ways. Some among them proclaim openly God’s salvific presence in Jesus Christ, and suffer for this. Others proclaim and promote the humanising values and qualities of the Kingdom of God, and suffer for this. These two groups can be named “crucified” and “martyrs” in an active sense. Others again testify only through their silence, their mere presence, their being made victims by forces of sin and destruction – like Jesus. They can be called “crucified” and “martyrs” in a passive sense. Yet since their status as witnesses is not dependent on their own “achievements”, but solely on God’s presence among them by way of the constitutive relationship God has established with them through Christ, they are all, in a Christian discernment, “crucified” and “martyred” people, bringing signs of salvation. [5.3] By testifying to God’s salvation, the crucified people transmit salvation to others. They do so by preparing others to acknowledge God’s gracious presence and to accept its salvific character as an offer for all to embrace. This happens when the reality and symbol of the crucified people brings “light”, i.e. reveals the truth of reality and the inclination to cover it up, and thereby offers an opportunity for conversion (cf. 1.4). The crucified people also transmit salvation to others by spreading signs or traces of salvation in history. This happens more or less explicitly, and to a greater or lesser degree. It happens when crucified people have hope in spite of their struggle being against all

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odds, making therefore their hope a “hope against hope.” It happens when the crucified people promote life in its fullness, with justice and well-being for all – a community in which there is room for everyone (“una sociedad donde todos quepan”) – and resist and confront all crucifying forces which prevent the fullness of life. It happens occasionally, and contrary to all expectation and beyond everything that might be required from them, in the midst of this struggle for life when they accept the cost of this struggle, even to the extent of laying down their own lives for the sake of others. They thus testify that true love – existence for others – is possible in sinful history. It also happens when, contrary to all expectation and beyond everything that might be required of them, they embrace and forgive those who have done wrong against them: their oppressors, perpetrators, crucifiers. The crucified people bring forth signs of salvation when, as a result of their mere existence or their active commitment, they generate solidarity and mercy – values that are indispensable for the healing and survival of humankind and all of creation. And finally, they transmit salvation to others when they confess and celebrate faith in the God of life, the true God, the God of Jesus, thereby negating and denying all the idols that are offered them obedience and adoration. [5.4] Salvation as a fundamental reality is constituted and offered by God in Christ, in its fullness and once and for all. It is therefore helpful to distinguish between these “signs” or “fruits” of salvation, and the salvific reality in se. Salvation and the fruits of salvation should not be identified with one another.75 The salvation which comes from God does not come in portions, to varying degrees. But explicit signs of this reality may show themselves in history to a varying degree, and in different manners. Where there are signs of salvation, faith may confidently celebrate God’s presence. However, 75 Sobrino 1991d, 160f / Sobrino 1994c, 89-90.

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more often than not, radical suffering gives a clearer sign of dehumanisation, of no longer being able to love, than of salvation. Yet, faith also knows God’s presence where there seem to be no salvific signs. Although faith believes that God is present on Jesus’ cross, it recalls the scandalous silence and darkness of Golgotha. [5.5] In a derived sense, then, it can be said that the crucified people mediate salvation. Jesus is the Mediator of the salvific reality of the Kingdom of God in history. The reality of salvation is that the Kingdom has come. Jesus’ mediates this firstly, by causing and representing its presence in directo, and secondly, by making its presence visible. In this second capacity, Jesus calls others to follow him, in order to continue this mediating function of making salvation visible and tangible in history. Entering into relationship with Jesus implies being introduced into the same relationships as Jesus: relationship to the God of the Kingdom and to the Kingdom of God. The crucified people are taken in a particular – though not exclusive – manner into this relationship by God. Therefore they also may in a particular manner mediate the reality of salvation, by following Jesus in being (a) mediators of the Kingdom, (b) sons and daughters of God, (c) “way” to God. The degree of this mediation, of making salvation a visible and tangible reality in history, varies. The crucified people’s awareness of and self-understanding with regard to this mediating mission vary too. However, in the final analysis, whether this mediating mission is carried out by the crucified people or not, depends on God alone. (6) Although the crucified people is indispensable for salvation in history, they do not constitute salvation. They are not saviours; they do not play a salvific role, in the ultimate sense. God alone constitutes salvation. Jesus alone is Saviour.

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So far, I have stressed the continuity between the Crucified and the crucified. Now it is time to address the matter of discontinuity, in other words, to clarify wherein the difference between them lies. [6.1] Although the crucified people testify to, transmit and mediate God’s salvation in history, they do not constitute salvation.76 Salvation is God’s nearness and communion, expressed in and through profound relationships. These relationships are reciprocal. Yet only God properly constitutes these constitutive, salvific relationships. This is where there is an asymmetry in the relationships. Asymmetry in this case does not mean that the relationships are not reciprocal, but that one of the poles in the relationship is ultimately the constitutive, founding pole upon which the relationship relies. The crucified ones share salvation with the world as a result of the particular relationship God has established with them through Jesus, the Crucified One. The crucified people is “light” only because they reflect Jesus, the Light of the world.77 The crucified people bring signs and fruits of salvation to the world only insofar as they reflect the salvific reality of God’s predilection for and presence among them. [6.2] The crucified people are not saviours, nor do they play a salvific role in the ultimate sense. This clarification is important in order (i) to maintain that to the crucified people too, salvation is grounded in God’s grace alone; it is not something that builds on their capacities, efforts or circumstances (i.e., it is ‘euaggelion’, in the 76 Contrary to Ellacuría and Sobrino, who both speak of the poor as “saviours”. See Sobrino 1991d, 437: “’Pobres con espíritu puntualizaba I. Ellacuría, para recalcar la totalidad salvífica de los pobres; pero añadía que en la materialidad de la pobreza y no en otras materialidades se da la connaturalidad para ese espíritu que les hace vivir como salvados y como salvadores”; and Sobrino 1993g.

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deepest sense); (ii) to avoid an exaggerated expectation of what the poor and destitute in fact may accomplish in world history;78 (iii) to preclude the false conclusion that since the crucified people bring salvation, it is “good” for the world that there should be such crucified people. [6.3] The crucified people do not have any expiatory function. Nor is their suffering vicarious. They are not instrumental in healing the wounds of human existence; they should not be considered “instru77 This point of view may find an interesting and somewhat surprising parallel in the theology of the late Karl Barth, as Kjetil Hafstad has shown: “In the Church Dogmatics IV/3, Barth says that the created world has its own lights and utters its own truths. In this way, thanks to the Creator’s fidelity, the creature shines and speaks. Whether humanity knows it or not, whether humanity acknowledges it or not, moreover, the creature has this light. In another place (reference to KD IV/3:134, English translation, p.119f ), Barth affirms therefore that we have to be prepared for ‘true words’ outside the Church, i.e. from human beings who do not yet believe in Jesus Christ or bear witness to him, and from so-called ‘un-conscious Christians’, words which find expression in the way they operate in society. Jesus is able to to raise up extraordinary witnesses who utter true words […] They may appear to be without Jesus Christ, but he is not without them.” As we can see, Barth’s interpretation here is more related to the doctrine of creation than is Sobrino’s. However, Barth, true to the deeply christological foundation of his theology, maintains that, in Hafstad’s words: “The true words from outside the sphere of the Church and the Bible have nothing other to say than God’s one word, Jesus Christ, and it is this one word which commissions, moves and empowers them to attest it.” Hafstad 1985, quoting from the unpublished English translation, Excursus 3: “Barth’s ‘Doctrine of the Lights’ in the Light of his Doctrine of the Light and Dark Sides of the Created World.” English Translation, unpublished, pp. 104-121; especially 104106. 78 This is what Bedford sees as an “overburdening” of the crucified people by giving them a salvific role; an “[…] überhaupt nicht befreiende Belastung auf die Schultern des gekreuzigten Volkes [legt].” See Bedford 1993, 293-295.

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ments” or “sacraments” of salvation. Rather, they are the most visible expression of the need for salvation. They lay bare the wounds of human existence. In this sense, however, they are indispensable for salvation in human history: there can be no salvation without them. Therefore, God has chosen to be near them in a particular manner. And this presence produces unexpected and life-bringing fruits of salvation which are beneficiary to all human beings. The Kingdom is primarily for the poor. The resurrection is primarily a sign of hope for the crucified ones. But through them, these realities become signs of hope for salvation and eternal life for all, for humanity as a whole, and for all creation. [6.4] This means that I cannot agree with Ellacuría’s and Sobrino’s boldest statements: that the crucified people are a “principle of salvation”, by “carrying the sins of others (away).” The typology/analogy Servant-Jesus-victims today is theologically admissible and fruitful. However, as in any analogy, there is also an element of dissimilarity. One basic dissimilarity between the suffering of Jesus and the suffering of victims today regards those aspects of Jesus’ salvific life-and-death which in the history of theology have been expressed through the terms of “substitution” and “expiation.” Regardless of what precise meaning these terms should be given in a contemporary interpretation, there is an element of uniqueness, of something accomplished once-and-for-all, which should be preserved. Any “continuance” of these in history through the crucified people would in fact threaten the validity of what Jesus accomplished “on behalf of many” (Rom 5:19 ). [6.5] What furthermore makes the cross of Jesus different from other crosses, is that faith sees in it the completion of a human life lived in full and unambiguous devotion to God and to other

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human beings, thereby restoring the broken relationships between Creator and creation. Jesus is homo verus, the true and complete human being, in and through his constitutive relationships with God, the Kingdom, and his “brothers and sisters”. This makes Jesus not only the first among many, but furthermore Alpha and Omega, the first and the last. This makes him not only a motivating example, but the one who establishes and facilitates new, salvific relationships within human history. In this sense, only Jesus is Saviour. [6.6] Yet although the crucified people do not have any expiatory or vicarious function, there is a sense in which one might state that the crucified people carry the sins of others in a way similar to the Suffering Servant. Not seldom, the crucified people are given de facto the function of a “scapegoat.” As René Girard has shown, this seems to be a particular phenomenon which comes to expression in many ways and nuances in human history, myths, literature and culture: the phenomenon of a victim who through his/her/their sufferings is seen as safeguarding the well-being and survival of the whole community.79 This positive “effect” is obtained through the channelling of violence on to these victims – “scapegoats”. This sacrificial drama seems in many cases to “function”: it does in fact reduce violent tension, it does strengthen the community. Yet the uniqueness of the Biblical witness is that the versions of scapegoats themselves are heard, and moreover, through their voices, the voice of God is heard. In that way, in spite of the scapegoat-mechanism’s “efficaciousness” on an historical level, the Christian revelation breaks the logic of violence inherent in this mechanism, by revealing the face of the victim, and revealing God’s face as unequivocally on the side of victims. There is in this aspect, then, a close connection between the “theology of the crucified people” of Ellacuría and Sobrino, and the thinking of René Girard. 79 Girard 1986; Girard 1987, et passim. Compare Assmann 1991.

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But this conception also enables us, in my view, to indicate just why this role of the crucified people is not salvific in the direct sense. It is not their potential temporary “redeeming” the community of its own violence (“carrying the sins of others away”) which should be called salvation. Rather, it is their breaking out of this role, empowered and enabled by God’s identification with them in Christ, thereby rendering the whole scapegoat-mechanism obsolete and invalid, which testifies to God’s saving work. (7) Suffering is not salvific, neither in the cross of Jesus nor in the crosses of history. That which is salvific is the love of God, present in spite of the overwhelming and inexplicable power of the death-bringing forces which apparently are still triumphant in human history. [7.1]Suffering is never good. Crucifixions are never desirable. However obvious, this must be stated clearly and explicitly against any doloristic or masochistic misconceptions that could follow from an erroneous Christian soteriology. This is particularly important in connection with a “theology of the crucified people”. Any responsible theological talk of “crucified peoples” must be aware of this danger: to aestheticise, theorise, or explain away the cruelty and scandal of radical suffering. [7.2] Nevertheless, a responsible theological consideration of the crucified people can also contribute to the rejection and correction of these faulty soteriologies. It can lead to a healthy revision and critique of some aspects of traditional Christian soteriologies, as well as of the traditional “mysticism of suffering”. By mobilising to an active accompaniment of all those stricken by real sufferings and crucifixions today, the reality and symbol of the crucified people can convince us that God does not will such suffering, but counters it firmly. It may thus also become clear that it is not suffering which

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is salvific, but love. Nor is it suffering which makes love salvific, but the fact that true love endures also in spite of senseless evil and pain. This is valid not only for the crosses of history, but for the cross of Jesus too. The cross can be seen as expressing the will of God, not in the sense that God wills the suffering of Jesus, but in that it shows that true, salvific love – in a reciprocal relationship, a communion, between human being and God – survives and conquers even the historical reality of sin and evil. [7.3] There should be no “necessity” of suffering, then. Christian faith holds that God does not endorse suffering and evil, but firmly opposes them. These tragic historical realities do not stem from God. Through Christ, God summons all human beings to counter these realities, to work for their abolition. The only sense in which it is theologically legitimate to speak of a “necessity” of suffering, is that it is an accumulated historical experience that in this work for its abolition, in this struggle to remove suffering, suffering is often the cost. There is a suffering for the sake of freedom, communion, salvation; a suffering out of love for the sake of love. The cross of Jesus, God’s own suffering, shows that this fact does not imply that the love of God has lost, nor that those who suffer this situation are abandoned from the God of life. On the contrary, it shows that this God remains mysteriously present with all the crucified ones, so that this reality in which crucifixions occur will not ultimately triumph. [7.4] As to the soteriological premise that, in Ellacuría’s words, “the power of sin can only be overcome through bearing its consequences: suffering under it”, or in Sobrino’s words, “(A)s to what should be done about sin, […] the answer is clear, eradicate it, but with one essential condition: by bearing it”, this can be accepted only in the following sense: Given the historical reality of sin and

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evil, on the one hand, and the fact that the salvific love of God is not to be understood in idealistic, a-historical terms, but rather is incarnated, concrete and historical, on the other hand, the salvific love of God shows its strength and ultimacy by letting itself be affected – truly and wholly – even by this negative historical reality. The love of God is present, even where evil apparently reigns. If it were not, none of those who fall victims under these forces would be within reach of God’s salvific love. This is where the “necessity” of God’s suffering under sin lies. And yet, this “necessity of suffering” cannot and should not be transferred – analogically or otherwise – to the crucified people. Their suffering is not a salvific necessity; it is a tragic fact.80 (8) Since God constitutes salvation in solidarity with the victims of history, there can ultimately be no salvation which does not imply the full restoration of the rights and dignity of the victims. [8.1] The true God in a world of suffering is a God of victims. Christian faith affirms that this true God is revealed in history in unity with the victim Jesus of Nazareth. Thus, it can be said that Christian theology and soteriology has a victimological orientation. [8.2] The victimological orientation of Christian theology does not imply that victims are called to accept their destiny and quietly reconcile themselves with it. Much to the contrary, Christian theology summons all those who suffer to endurance (Gr.: hypomone)81 and active resistance, not resignation. And it offers a hope in the ultimate overcoming of the reality in which human beings are victimised.

80 See Chapter vii [5], above. 81 See [1] above.

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[8.3] This victimological orientation, the priority that is given to the perspective of the victims, has important consequences for both soteriology and eschatology. Since God constitutes salvation in solidarity with the victims of history, there can ultimately be no salvation which does not imply the full restoration of the rights and dignity of the victims. Salvation can never be obtained at the expense of other persons. This negation includes all victims of the past. Contrary to an ideology of progress which de facto accepts its – even human – “costs” if only the final result is positive, Christian theology can never accept the “cost” of those who were trampled down, shut out, or shot dead in the course of history. This reluctance to forget the victims of the past, but rather to keep them always present through memory and narration (Metz), makes Christian theology take on an eschatological character. The last judgement and the ultimate restoration are closely linked to the destiny of the victims in human history. The end of history will dawn upon humanity only when God restores their right once and for all. Crucifixions will ultimately be ended when God becomes all in all. [8.4] This means that not even today should Christian salvation be preached without the accompaniment of a consistent effort for the full restoration of the rights and the dignity of victims.82 (9) Since God constitutes salvation in solidarity with the crucified people, the victims of history, there is hope even for “crucifiers “: perpetrators and offenders. [9.1] A “theology of the crucified people” should address also the reality and situation of the crucifiers. This concern grows out of the experience of the reality of the “North” at the turn of the Millen82 See theses 10-13 below.

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nium. The experience of being co-responsible for other people’s suffering and at the same time being tied up in systems and networks which paralyse both the ability and the willingness to break out of this situation of guilt, leads many into an apathy and resignation which may come to expression as despair, restless pursuit of satisfaction, ‘ennui’, or emptiness. The concern for the inclusion of the crucifiers also emerges from a wish to take due account of and come to terms with the insight expressed in the Pauline statement “they had all sinned”, and in the Lutheran formula simul iustus et peccator. However, this concern becomes crucial from a consistent perspective from the “South”, or from the crucified peoples, too. History shows the complexity and ambiguity of all human interaction. Even though it is pivotal that one never blur the distinction between perpetrator and victim, crucifier and crucified, it is also true that there are seldom clear-cut borders between the two in actual history. This only shows the radical nature of evil: the victims in one relation may become offenders in another. The spiral of oppression is an illuminating example of this complexity of human relationships.83 In El Salvador, as in other war-ridden countries, the post-warsituation shows how the armed conflict itself often de-humanised both parties, even those who in principle defended a just cause, or were innocently and against their will drawn into the hostilities. It also clearly points to the necessity of reconciliation, forgiveness, restoration, and inclusion of even war-criminals and murderers – “crucifiers” – in the new community. This is not contrary to a theology of crucified people. What such a theology should always make clear, however, is that this reconciliation, forgiveness, and new beginning can never be established at the expense of the victims. 83 Compare the “striking similarities” between the victim and offender population indicated by Fattah, Chapter v [2], above.

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One final reason for including an explicit concern for the crucifiers is the observation that crucifiers also crucify themselves in their act of crucifying others. The very misdeed threatens the identity and integrity of the human person committing it. The crucifiers are always in the danger of being identified with their wrongdoings. This parallels the danger of the crucified persons of becoming one with what has been done against them.84 But according to Christian anthropology, a human person is always more than what he or she does, and more than that which has happened to him or her. This is said, again, without blurring the real distinction between offender and offended. Crucifiers primarily offend other persons – victims. But in the same act, they also victimise themselves. Therefore they must be included in a theological reflection on crucified people. [9.2] The “crucifiers” – active and passive collaborators in the destruction of others – cannot be saved qua crucifiers without their victims, those whom they have crucified. Since it is the perverted relation to the other (oppression) which defines who these human persons are in these relations (oppressors), it is only by the cessation of these perverted relations that they can be freed from that status. But once such a destructive relation has been established, it is only the victimised part who has the possibility of breaking it, and of reestablishing new, positive relations.85 This is due to the historical dimension of human existence. There is no way to undo what has been done. And there are no others than those against whom evil has been done, those who have been sinned against, who have the 84 Cf. the ambiguities of the terms “victim” and “victimisation” discussed above. 85 “As the oppressed, fighting to be human, take away the oppressors’ power to dominate and suppress, they restore to the oppressors the humanity they had lost in the exercise of oppression.” Freire 1972, 32.

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authority and right to forgive and forget that wrong which has been committed against them.86 [9.3] However, it cannot be demanded of victims that they forgive. It does happen that the crucified people in fact welcome and forgive their crucifiers. When this occurs, it represents signs of salvation, miracles of the Kingdom occurring in history. But this can never be expected, still less required from the crucified people. Furthermore, the tragic fact is that most victims are dead. Given that they are the only ones with the authority and capacity to undo the oppressive relations, this fact may seem to eternalise the perverted relationships. There can be no ultimate forgiveness nor liberation for the perpetrators without the victims. However, God’s identification with all victims through the victim Jesus makes possible the healing of these perverted relations even when the victim in person is not able to do so. Therefore, the message of the cross is good news even to the crucifiers. Since God is in solidarity with victims, sharing their lot to the ultimate consequences, God can do what they may no longer be capable of doing. God can forgive on behalf of others, living or dead. The God of victims is therefore the true God also for crucifiers, with the ability through Jesus the Victorious Victim to save even them. And by being God also for crucifiers by being primarily the God of victims, God is shown as the true God, the God of all people, of all of reality. This means however, that God’s authority to forgive on behalf of living and dead victims is founded on God’s credible solidarity with these, in other words, on the historical revelation of Jesus, and 86 I am grateful to Paul Leer-Salvesen for his contributions, comments and responses regarding this particular aspect. See particularly his original and groundbreaking doctoral thesis, Leer-Salvesen 1991, and furthermore LeerSalvesen 1996 and Leer-Salvesen 1995.

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on the promise that God shall restore the lives and rights of all victims. [9.4] In this way, a theology of the crucified people inclusive of the crucifiers presents also an important lesson for theologies of Pauline, Lutheran, or other origins and inclinations, whenever these de facto promote a salvation which neglects the reality and rights of the victims of history, through (i) giving an excessive priority to the relationship between God and the individual human being at the cost of the relationships between human beings, and/or (ii) a misguided equalising of all persons and groups in their complicity with evil and guilt, to such an extent that concrete trespasses and the very real distinction between the offender and the victim are made less important. (iii.) Finally, I move to the ethical-praxical axis between the crucified and the Crucified. My deliberations here can be summarised in the following four theses: (10) A responsible theological application of the theologoumenon “the crucified people” depends on a credible affirmation and promotion of a praxis for “taking the crucified down”. [10.1] The acceptance of “the crucified people” as theological symbol is only recommendable as long as it is made explicitly clear that their crucifixion, their situation of suffering, is something which is caused by the inexplicable presence of sinfulness and evil in human history, and not by God. The best way of making this clear is by affirming, promoting and committing oneself in a credible praxis for reducing, removing and ultimately overcoming this situation of suffering.

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[10.2] The formula “taking the crucified people down”, a formulation with roots in Jesuit spirituality, 87 expresses the urgency, ultimacy and content of this praxis. In this sense, it can be affirmed. It is an open question, however, how well this formula may function within the framework of other Christian traditions and confessions, in which the idea of taking Jesus down from the cross does not play any significant role in spirituality or theology. It also leaves a certain unclarity with regard to how the difference between “taking down from the cross” and “rising from the dead” should ultimately be understood. [10.3] However one wishes to designate this praxis, it is a praxis of mercy, with no reason other than the suffering of the other, and with no other aim than the removal of the suffering of the other. This praxis is rooted in a pre-reflexive, pre-theological heeding and accepting the call of the suffering other, and therefore needs no theological or religious foundation. It is in this sense a purely human, even ‘secular’ praxis. Yet, since this “mercy-principle” is ultimately founded in God – according to the biblical revelation, God is primarily known through God’s merciful acts in history – it becomes a praxis rooted in God. As such, it may be called a theo-praxis. Since this praxis de facto takes the shape of Jesus’ praxis in history – the history of Jesus shows a unique pro-existence on Jesus’ part, dedicating his life not only to the other, but particularly to that other who is a victim – it may also be called a praxis of following, or a christo-praxis.88

87 See Sobrino 1991d, 437. 88 Sobrino 1991d, 70: “[…] así la cristología debe comprenderse ante todo como cristopraxis, no para anular el logos, pero sí para que éste ilumine la verdad de Cristo, desde los impulsos del mismo Cristo para que la liberacón llegue a ser realidad.”

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(11) The praxis of the crucified people or, analogically, of all followers of Christ in solidarity with the crucified people, may be called salvific only in the sense that it actualises in history that salvific reality which is already and once and for all initiated by God through the coming of the Kingdom. [11.1] In correspondence with the distinction between salvation and fruits and signs of salvation maintained above, the praxis of the crucified people or, analogically, of all followers of Christ in solidarity with the crucified people, is salvific only in a derived sense. It does not effectuate or constitute salvation, but, responding to the reality of the Kingdom which has appeared in human history in Jesus, it actualises in history that salvific reality. This is a necessary clarification, in order to preclude a possible conception of a cooperatio which effectively leaves it up to human beings, and in particular to victims, to bring about salvation in the ultimate sense. If this were the case, the implication would be that salvation would be only for the strong, active, committed, etc., or – more precisely – for the strong, committed, etc. among victims. To avoid the “moralisation” of salvation implied in any thought of God helping (only) the ones who help themselves, the urgency and indispensable character of Christian praxis should be seen as reflecting that movement of praxis which is already initiated and empowered by God in Christ, and which one day will be completed by God. [11.2] This emphasis need not in any way render human praxis void of theological significance. On the contrary, such praxis may be seen as reflecting and making visible and tangible God’s salvific love in history. It may also be seen as an actualisation of what it means to be fully human: being able and willing to intervene actively on

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behalf of and for the sake of the suffering other, and to enter into community with him/her (face to face). (12) The reality and symbol of the crucified people demands and founds an ethics which is at the same time an “ethics of proximity” and an “ethics of following”. [12.1] The ethical orientation and foundation of this praxis of “taking the crucified down from the cross” has accordingly common traits with that which has been called an “ethics of proximity” (Levinas, Dussel, and also K. E. Løgstrup). Its basis is the demand that occurs in the face-to-face encounter with the other, particularly with the suffering other. [12.2] Simultaneously it is an explicitly Christian ethics in that it finds this demand expressed and communicated in the gospel of God’s identification with the crucified Jesus, and in that it sees in the life of Jesus the ultimate, illuminative example of how to respond to this demand of the suffering other. It becomes thus an “ethics of following.” However, this following cannot rely on written norms, nor on a pure imitation of Jesus, but is ultimately based only in the reality of the suffering other, in which God in Christ is believed to be present. (13) The reality and symbol of the crucified people makes theology as such take on a profoundly practical and committed character; it becomes an ‘intellectus amoris’. Theology does not necessarily become thereby a closed discourse, however, but participates in a common quest for truth and justice. [13.1] Since the reality of the crucified people calls for transforming action, i.e. praxis, theology, as reflection on this reality in the light

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of faith in God, emerges from such praxis. When the reality and symbol of the crucified people is reflected theologically upon in the light of the history of Jesus, it leads to a new praxis: a merciful praxis of following. Theology, then, becomes a markedly practical endeavour: emerging from, reflecting on, and resulting in a liberating, healing praxis. [13.2] Since the reality of the crucified people calls for a partisan praxis for and with them, against everything which oppresses and excludes them, a theological reflection on this praxis must necessarily become a committed endeavour too. Thus it gives priority to a process of cognition which is empathic and built on the cognisant subject’s personal engagement in what is known: the object of the process of cognition. In this sense, theology becomes an intellectus amoris, with a clearly mystagogical orientation. [13.3] This practical and committed character does not make theology tantamount to fideism, however. There is no need for theology to become a closed discourse. On the contrary, because it is engaged in historical reality, and seeks to interpret the situation of victims and the signs of the presence of God in that reality, it may join in a common quest for truth and justice together with all persons – regardless of their theological, philosophical or ideological presuppositions.

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Postscript Hope Against Hope: The Resurrection of the C/crucified

Cuando la Iglesia […] está junto al crucificado y los crucificados, sabe cómo hablar del resucitado, cómo suscitar una esperanza y cómo hacer que los cristianos vivan ya como resucitados en la historia.1

In one sense, this postscript might as well have been a foreword. Our reflections have taken place within a circle. It is a circle from resurrection to resurrection: from faith in the resurrection of Jesus, the Crucified One, to hope in the resurrection of the crucified people. Yet as we have seen, Sobrino does not recommend that the resurrection be taken as a (methodological) point of departure in the christological endeavour. Neither does he think that it is necessary to have already developed all the implications of faith in resurrection in order to say what has been said here regarding the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified. Although it is the fact of faith in the resurrection of Jesus which makes it possible to speak in this way of the C/crucified, it is at the same time the memory of the life, mission, and destiny of the One who was crucified, Jesus, which gives concrete content to the understanding of the resurrection.2 “Paradoxically enough, the more we plunge into the cross, the more we plunge into the resurrection.”3 1 2

3

Sobrino 1982a, 183. Sobrino 1982a, 174. “[…] a través de esa identificación, de la narración e interpretación de la vida del crucificado, se entiende de qué se trata en la resurrección de Jesús. Quien así ha vivido y quien por ello fue crucificado, ha sido resucitado por Dios.” Sobrino 1978a, 230.

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Accepting this point of view, I have not dealt explicitly with the resurrection. Although I trust that the results of this study as presented in Chapter viii have proved the appropriateness of my approach, it is obvious that an analysis of faith in the resurrection as thorough as that which we have carried out with regard to the crucifixion would have been helpful, and would have added important insights to what has been said. Yet such an analysis falls outside the framework of the present study. It does so for obvious reasons of space. But furthermore, my procedure has been justified by the fact that I chose to approach my theme from the perspective of the concrete and historical reality of suffering and oppression – “crucifixion(s)”. That starting point inevitably drove me to the cross of Jesus. The reality of the world as seen from the perspective of the victims directed my quest to Jesus as the Crucified One. However, Christian faith holds that this Crucified One was raised by God. And it insists that the one who has risen, is none other than the one who was crucified, Jesus from Nazareth. Without intending a complete analysis, then, I shall briefly sketch out some basic features of what this faith in the resurrection means for what has been said about the relationship between the crucified and the Crucified. I shall ask what particular light faith in the resurrection sheds on the reality and symbol of the crucified peoples, and vice versa, what this contemporary suffering implies for Christian faith in the resurrection. This will be done first by presenting some main traits of Sobrino’s position in this matter, and then by suggesting some further developments on the basis of my own reflections and proposals in this study.

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[1] The Crucified People and the Resurrection of Jesus The daily reality of crucifixions going on in human history represents in a radical sense a question about the ultimate meaning of this history. As we have seen, Jon Sobrino finds this question echoed in the life-and-death of Jesus of Nazareth. The definitive answer to this question is, according to Christian faith, given in the resurrection of Jesus.4 This is why it is so important to always remember that the one who was risen is the very same human person Jesus of Nazareth, who was condemned, excluded, and executed (cf. Acts 2:24; 3:13 ff ).5 This means that the resurrection of Jesus today should be addressed from the perspective of the countless crosses of history. It is necessary always to remember the crucified people in order to ensure that Jesus’ resurrection be understood as a “concrete and Christian good news, and not something abstract and idealistic.”6 Approaching the proclamation of the resurrection from this perspective then, it becomes clear that the resurrection of Jesus according to the early Christian witness is presented, not primarily as God’s answer to the problem of death in general, but more specifically as God’s answer to the problem of the death that was unjustly inflicted on Jesus. In this manner, resurrection is presented 4 5

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Sobrino 1976, 234. Sobrino 1982a, 173. “Queremos recordar otra verdad no menos fundamental para la fe: que el resucitado no es otro que Jesús de Nazaret crucificado. No nos mueve a ello ningún a priori dolorista, como si no pudiera haber en la fe un momento de gozo y esperanza, ni tampoco ningun a priori dialéctico que fuese necesario conceptualmente para la reflexión teológica. Nos mueve más bien una doble honradez, con los relatos del Nuevo Testamento por una parte y con la realidad de millones de hombres y mujeres por otra.” Sobrino 1982a, 173-174: “[…] para que la resurrección de Jesús sea buena noticia concreta y cristiana, y no abstracta e idealista.”

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as the triumph of justice over injustice.7 This is the good news of the resurrection then: that at least once justice has completely triumphed over injustice, and the victim definitively triumphed over the executioner.8 The resurrection thus becomes an expression of hope in justice against the prevalent experience of injustice. It is not a general hope equivalent to optimism, nor equivalent to a dialectical approach which reckons that any progress has to pass through a negation. Rather, it is “hoping against hope” (Rom. 4:18). This Sobrino sees as a “third approach”, between despair and optimism.9 It is a hope which emerges paradoxically exactly at that point were all hope seems to be lost: at the foot of the cross(es). For this reason, the crosses of the crucified in history represent the location from which to proclaim Jesus’ resurrection today.10 The resurrection of Jesus means hope for the crucified ones of history. Is it only their symbol of hope, in Sobrino’s view? It is not exclusively theirs, but primarily. This is another result of the scandalous partisanship of the Gospel11: just as the Kingdom belongs to the poor, the Christian hope of resurrection is primarily a hope for the “crucified”.12 And just as it is only by accepting this partisan 7

Sobrino 1982a, 174: “La resurrección de Jesús es presentada más bien como la respuesta de Dios a la acción injusta y criminal de los hombres.” 8 Sobrino 1982a, 174-175: “[…] la resurrección de Jesús muestra en directo e triunfa de la justicia sobre la injusticia; no es simplemente el triunfo de la omnipotencia de Dios, sino de la justicia de Dios, aunque para mostrar esa justicia Dios ponga un acto de poder. La resurrección de Jesús se convierte así en buena noticia, cuyo contenido central es que una vez y en plenitud la justicia ha triunfado sobre la injusticia, la víctima sobre el verdugo.” 9 Sobrino 1978a, 233. 10 “Desde los crucificados de la historia, sin pactar con sus cruces, es desde donde hay que anunciar la resurrección de Jesús.” Sobrino 1982a, 183. 11 Sobrino 1982a, 177: “[…] escandalosa paradoja cristiana: la buena noticia es para los pobres, la resurrección es para los crucificados.”

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character of the Kingdom by entering into the world of the poor and sharing with them that the Kingdom becomes a salvific reality for everyone, in the same way it is necessary to “participate in the crucifixion, even if it be in an analogical manner” in order to share this Christian hope, Sobrino boldly states.13 Again: this is not to deuniversalise the Christian hope in resurrection, he insists, but rather to point to the correct location for its universalisation.14 That the resurrection is primarily a symbol of hope for the crucified ones does not mean that it is valid in directo only for a few people. The crucified are many; Sobrino even refers to “immense majorities of humanity.” As we recall, people may partake in the crucifixion of Jesus – analogically – in different ways. Seen from this location, then, the resurrection of Jesus also becomes a critical question to all human beings: do we participate in the scandal of killing the just one/s? Are we on the side of the crucified or the crucifiers?15 It is, in other words, communion with the life and destiny of Jesus – seguimiento – which makes one participate in the hope of resurrection. And furthermore, in this communion, the resurrection is not merely a future hope, but even a present reality. “Whoever follows Jesus in this manner, does already participate in his resurrec-

12 Sobrino 1982a, 176. “(L)a resurrección es esperanza en primer lugar para los crucificados. Dios resucitó a un crucificado, y desde entonces hay esperanza para los crucificados de la historia.” 13 Sobrino 1982a, 177. “Hay que participar, pues, de la crucifixión, aunque sea analógicamente, para que exista una esperanza cristiana”. 14 Sobrino 1982a, 176-177. “La correlación entre resurrección y crucificados, análoga a la correlación entre reino de Dios y pobres, que predicó Jesús, no significa desuniversalizar la esperanza de todos los hombres, sino encontrar el lugar correcto de su universalización.” 15 Sobrino 1982a, 175 “La pregunta que lanza la resurrección es si participamos nosotros también en el escándalo de dar muerte al justo, si estamos del lado de los que asesinan o del lado de Dios que le da vida.”

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tion.” Living as “resurrected in history”, the follower of Jesus has hope in the midst of darkness and suffering: “hope against hope”. Because Jesus was raised from the dead and already is the Lord of history, his followers participate in his lordship. But, as already emphasised, it is of utmost importance to remember that the risen Lord is none other than the crucified One. Thus, participating in the lordship of the Risen Christ means following/continuing the praxis of the historical Jesus for the Kingdom of God: The believer is lord of history in toil for the establishment of that kingdom, in the struggle for justice and for the integral liberation, in the transformation of unjust structures into other, more human and humane ones.16

The follower of Jesus participates in Jesus’ lordship. And, at the same time, the fact that there are followers, shows that Jesus is Lord. “Christ’s actual lordship is shown in the fact that there are ‘new human beings’, and these are the ones who make real in actu the fact that Jesus already is the Lord.”17 This present lordship in which Jesus’ followers participate is not, in Sobrino’s mind, an escape from the world (a misconception which can be seen in the charismatic movement), nor is it something which, so to speak, places Jesus’ followers on “top of the world” (as is sometimes implied in ecclesiastical authoritarianism and triumphalism). The Christian paradox implies that “to be lord” means “to serve”, in precisely the way the Lord Jesus served. 18 16 Sobrino 1982b, 155-156. / Sobrino 1982a, 181: “El creyente es señor de la historia en el trabajo por la instauración de ese reino, en la lucha por la justicia y por la liberación integral, en la tranformación de estructuras injustas en otras más humanas.” 17 Sobrino 1982a, 179. “Más aún, existe una correlación entre ambas novedades: el señorío actual de Jesús se muestra en que existan los hombres nuevos, y éstos son los que hacen realidad in actu el que Jesús sea ya ahora Señor.” 18 Sobrino 1982a, 180.

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Yet to follow Jesus in service to the world, particularly to the victims of the world, is something to which we are summoned already, prior to a direct treatment of the resurrection. Does the resurrection add anything new to the understanding of Christian existence and mission in history? Concerning the content of this service, the answer to this question is negative, according to Sobrino. The mission – the call to follow Jesus and “become” sons and daughters of God in history by celebrating and responding to the nearness of the Kingdom – remains the same. However, the resurrection adds two new “modalities” to this mission: freedom and joy.19 Counting on the presence of the Resurrected One, the followers of Jesus may experience freedom in the midst of slavery and oppression. There is no longer any need to be paralysed by the terrifying presence of the powers of sin and evil, because Jesus, whose victory over these forces was confirmed in the resurrection, is present with his Spirit. And wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (2 Cor 3:17).20 Last but not least, the resurrection adds a profound sense of joy to Christian existence in a crucified reality. Even when faced with and crushed by the crucifying forces, there is now good reason for the crucified people, and for all who those who join them in solidarity, to celebrate and rejoice. This joy is generated by the certainty of the presence of the Risen One. And in this joy, the Risen One makes himself present. In sum, what light does the reality and symbol of the crucified people shed on the resurrection of Jesus? Basically, that the resurrection first and foremost is a symbol of hope in the triumph of an ultimate justice and restoration of the rights and dignity – a vindi19 Sobrino 1982a, 181. 20 For creative analyses of freedom, evil and human dignity in a European context, drawing on insights also from Latin American liberation theology, see Hafstad 1993.

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cation – for the victims of history, in spite of all evidence to the contrary (“hope against hope”). Through this, and only through this, it becomes a universal symbol of hope. And what can we know of the crucified people from the perspective of the resurrection of Jesus? That they may celebrate freedom and rejoice even in the midst of historical bondage and tragedy, because the Risen One is present among them, empowering their struggle and ensuring their victory. Therefore, ultimately, there is a close connection between the praxis of the Kingdom and joyful celebration of its presence – in Latin American terms: ‘lucha’ and ‘fiesta’ belong together.21

21 Although ‘la lucha’ clearly may have belligerent connotations (like ‘the struggle’ in English) the term is wider, implying all sorts of hard, day-to-day work for bread and survival. It is in this wider sense I use it here. The dimension of ‘fiesta’ and celebration – such a central feature of Latin culture – has come more to the fore in Latin American theology during the last years. Cf. Taborda 1987, and Assmann 1996, (see particular his conclusion: “[…] hay toda una vasta gama de vivencias del placer de la vida cotidiana que tampoco han tenido mucho espacio en las elucubraciones teológicas.”). Sobrino frequently reflects on the experience of joy in the midst of hardships: “No es lo mismo adorar, rezar, obedecer a Cristo y rendirle culto – y nada digamos de organizar cruzadas para seguir su santa voluntad – que sentir el gozo en el Dios que se ha manifestado en él […] Dicho en lenguaje más conceptual, a la doble perspectiva de ortodoxia en nuestra relación con Jesucristo, queremos añadir una tercera que, a falta de mejor expresión, pudiéramos llamar ortopathos, es decir, el modo correcto de afectarnos por la realidad de Cristo. Y en ese afectarse debe estar centralmente presente el gozo que causa el que el Cristo es Jesús de Nazaret y no otro […] Así como el creyente ha de aceptar su verdad y proseguir su praxis para corresponder a su realidad, así al Cristo que es buena noticia se le corresponde con gozo.” Sobrino 1993e; cf. Sobrino 1993g, 368-369.

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[2] Claiming the Victims’ Victory Reflecting further along the lines of Sobrino’s liberation christology, I have suggested that Jesus can be seen as the Victorious Victim, and that theology faced with the sufferings of our time should take on a victimological orientation. Proclaiming the resurrection of Jesus in this connection may be seen as a way of claiming the victims’ victory. In the eschatological event of the resurrection faith finds confirmation of what could only be seen sub contrario at the foot of the cross: that the victim Jesus won victory. God’s powerful act of raising the dead Jesus is not the moment of his victory; it is the affirmation of his victory. The resurrection reveals what was already a fact on the cross: that Jesus triumphed over the death-bringing forces because he never gave in to them, never accepted their deadly logic of power, never accepted wealth, power, or outward piety and honour in preference to communion with the true God of life and with those particularly beloved by this God: the poor and outcast. The victory of Jesus the Victim showed itself in that he was faithful in his loving pro-existence for others – God and the poor – to the very end. This victory breaks the deadly logic of the powers of evil once and for all. A way is opened up for the victory of all victims of history. Since God has affirmed the victory of Jesus, the eschatological victory of all victims is certain, and may be celebrated already. It is important to stress that the victimological orientation of this interpretation does not imply an idealising of the life-situations of victims. Nor is it an attempt to portray them as saints. The victimising powers are so destructive that they frequently even make the victims themselves part of the very logic and structures which hold them down. Or, it may drive them into new relationships in which they themselves make others victims. Theology with a victimological orientation should always be attentive to the dangers of

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either idealising victims and thereby de facto playing into the hands of their offenders by helping to make the victims content with their lot, and passively resigned, or excusing all victims and thereby adopting a naive and simplistic approach to the analysis of the patterns of human interaction, thus in fact becoming blind to the radical nature of evil. Proclaiming faith in the resurrection as a way of claiming the victims’ victory can help to prevent these dangers. By pointing to the resurrection as a future promise, it can promote a hope and a joy which can free the victims from the bondage that their present situation represents, and from the despair and fear that this situation causes in them. By pointing to the resurrection as present reality, through the empowering presence in their midst of the Crucified and Risen One, the Victorious Victim, it can restore their dignity and affirm their hope even now, and not only in view of a (possibly) distant future. By pointing to the fact that the One who was raised from the dead is none other than Jesus, it can summon all victims – and all others who join them in solidarity and service – to follow the example of him who did not give in to the powers that create victims, but remained faithful to the life-restoring reality of the Kingdom of God and the salvific presence of the God of the Kingdom. Thereby, at best, the victims’ self-esteem may be restored and their passivity broken. Thus they may also be set free to testify to God’s salvation and make it visible and tangible in history. The victims, the crucified people, may share salvation with the world, contrary to everything that would and could be expected of them.

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[3] End of the Millennium – The End of History? We are at the end of the millennium. It is perhaps not surprising, then, that we also hear proclamations of the End of History precisely in these times. Fukuyama’s confident celebration of Western liberalism and capitalism as the ultimate and eternal solution for humankind may be read as another example of a realised eschatology: “the end has come, and is now. Rejoice!”22 Yet Fukuyama and those who agree with him do not seem to be aware of the presence and reality of the many victims caused by the very system that they are cheering. At least, they do not seem to be willing nor able to take the lot of these victims with utter seriousness. The times of Jesus too were times highly charged with realised eschatologies.23 Although recent Jesus-research has questioned the profoundly eschatological orientation of the “second quest”24, there is little doubt that there was a general eschatological spirit prevalent in Jesus’ days. Strongest among these realised eschatologies was clearly that of the Roman Empire. Well aware of the prophetic eschatologies with roots in both Jewish apocalypticism and Hellenistic utopian concepts which dominated the Roman world, the Emperor Augustus “consciously announced his new order of peace as their fulfilment.”25 That this new order, this new age of peace and well-being, was proclaimed as true and ultimate good news, is evident in the following quotation from the inscription of Priene (from year 9 BCE): Because providence that has ordered our life in a divine way […] and since the Caesar through his appearance (epifaneis) has exceeded the hopes of all 22 23 24 25

Fukuyama 1992. Cf. Introduction above. See Koester 1992. See Patterson 1995. Koester 1992, 11.

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former good messages (euangelia), surpassing not only the benefactors who came before him, but also leaving no hope that anyone in the future would surpass him, and since for the world the birthday of the god was the beginning of his good messages (euangelion), [may it therefore be decided that] […]26

This Roman imperial eschatology was presented as the fulfilment of prophecy, announcing a new order which was to include the earth as well as the heavens, and all nations of the world under the protection of the Roman Empire. And not least, the new age had a saviour figure, “the greatest benefactor of all times, the divi filius usually translated into Greek as huios tou theou – ‘Son of God’ – the victorious Augustus.”27 This was the new world order which executed Jesus. Whatever the degree of complicity by leading members of the Jewish religious community at the time, Jesus’ death was the direct consequence of a political decision of the Roman authorities. The inscription on the cross “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” (John 19:9; cf Mark 15:26 par.) makes this confrontation between Jesus and the Roman Empire explicit. Since he was perceived as a threat to the pax romana, Jesus fell victim to it. Yet within a short time-span, Jesus’ followers bravely spread the message throughout the Empire that this Jesus who was the victim of the Romans, had been vindicated by God. He had been raised from the dead. The Early Christian preaching is thus formulated in direct confrontation with the prevalent realised eschatology of the Roman Empire. “(I)n every instance Jesus’ followers believed that the new world and the new age had arrived, or could be obtained, through the one who was rejected, who suffered, who did not find a home in this world, and who had been put to death.”28 The true Son of God was not Augustus the Emperor, but Jesus the Victim. 26 Quoted from Koester, op. cit., 12, emphasis added. 27 Op. cit., 13. 28 Ibid.

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And since this Jesus had become victorious, it implied that there was a future surpassing the present age – good news to its victims! – even a future that was radically different. For if it was the victim Jesus who had been proved victorious, then the values and the system that had made him a victim were proved wrong and invalid. This perspective certainly brings out the anti-authoritarian, revolutionary character of the early Christian preaching. Likewise, it lays bare its profound victimological orientation. It is tempting to draw a parallel to our own times here. We hear the joyful proclamations of the End of History and a New World Order, while the number of people expelled and exploited by this Order continues to grow. Instead of pax romana, the world community gives clearer and clearer signs of being subject to a pax americana.29 However far one might wish to go in exploiting this parallelism (and perhaps it should not be pressed too far), at least this much is clear: that choosing the perspective of victims, making the reality and symbol of the crucified people central in Christian theology particularly at the turn of the millennium, is in accordance with the core and origin of the Christian gospel.

29 “We are the one indispensable nation on earth”. President Bill Clinton, in his Inaugural Speech during the Election Campaign, Autumn 1996.

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Afterword The Reality of Continuing Crucifixion in a Globalised Age

Crucifixion continues to be an almost everyday experience to too many Latin Americans. It may take on different forms – from the sudden, violent deaths of innocents, to the gradual but nonetheless deadly processes of social exclusion caused by neo-liberalist ‘globalisation’: On the 22nd of December 1997, in the small indigenous village of Acteal, in Chiapas, Mexico, 45 people were massacred as they were gathered in the local Chapel in a vigil for peace. 21 women, 14 children, 19 men and a newborn baby, all of them members of the local community organization ‘Las Abejas’, were murdered in cold blood by a government-related paramilitary group from nearby villages. One of the survivors expressed words of pain, but also of faith and commitment, in the midst of tragedy: We will never forget the blood of our sisters and brothers; even if they continue to kill us, we shall not be silenced because our sisters and brothers continue to walk side by side with the God of life. We will never forget this pain. This painful Christmas. We will never forget our fallen sisters and brothers because God is the one who suffers with the poor and with those who struggle for the good of their people.1

In La Quiaca, in the far north of Argentina, mid January 2002, a group of 11 unemployed persons and a local parish priest let themselves be symbolically crucified, in a previously unheard of protest in demand of employment. Five men, six women, and the parish 1

Durán & Boldrini, 1998, 53, my translation.

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priest, Jesús Olmedo, tied themselves on to several telephone and electricity posts with chains and ropes. “The crucifixion is symbolical and real, because it is the cross of every day hunger, injustice, and pain”, Olmedo commented. “This is a horrible situation.”2 Between October 2000 and 2001 the amount of Argentineans living below the poverty line increased by 1,4 million.3 Argentina is just one case, albeit more evident than many others, of how neo-liberalist globalisation excludes and sacrifices – or in the words of the parish priest, crucifies millions and millions of people in the name of the ‘free’ market. Today, it is particularly evident that a truly liberating theology must respond to the negative impact of this neo-liberalist globalisation. Globalisation has not invalidated – rather sharpened – the basic issues that led to the development of liberation theology in general and Sobrino’s christology in particular; issues of justice and a life of dignity for the oppressed and excluded masses. In this sense, globalisation signifies ‘more of the same’ to the world’s poor. Yet there is at least one aspect which is unique to this situation, and which therefore merits reflection. It deals with space and time. Like Latin American liberation theology in general, Jon Sobrino’s approach stresses the unity of history. God acts in this history. Salvation history is not ‘another history’, above or beyond this concrete human history in which we live and love, suffer and struggle, cry and celebrate. In the present age of globalisation it seems to me of particular importance to draw attention to the spatial (rather than to the temporal) aspect of this negation of a traditional theological thinking that operates in two ‘spheres’, ‘levels’ or ‘rooms.’ It is often claimed that in the globalised age something has happened to time and space. The technological revolution, particularly within telecommunication and computerization, has led to the 2 3

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La Nación, San José, 17.01.02., p 17A: “Tensión en Argentina en aumento”. According to figures provided by La Nación, San José, 21.02.02.

‘compression’ of both time and space. We have seen a tremendous acceleration, through the reduction of the time it takes to travel distances in space. In this sense it has been claimed that the present situation represents not only the ‘End of History’ (F. Fukuyama), but even more so the ‘End of Geography’ (P. Virilio4). What used to be of utmost political significance, such as borders, geographical distances, territories, topography etc. on the one hand, and long-term processes of development, planning and progress on the other hand, seem to have lost much of their importance in our cybernetic present. In the propagandistic and quasi-mythological version of globalisation as freedom and global unification, this is presented as the potential availability of everything to everyone right here and right now. We all live in a ‘global village.’ But the reality clearly is different. The present globalisation divides more than it unites. The idea of a global village is but an illusive harmonization. The actual state of affairs, rather, is one that benefits a small global elite. While ‘globalisation’ spells unlimited mobility and independence of space and time to some, it actually means forced localisation and limited movement to many others. As pointed out by Zygmunt Baumann, mobility has become the most powerful and most coveted stratifying factor in the contemporary world.5 Consequently, being ‘local’ in a globalised world has become a sign of social deprivation and humiliation.6 For the first world, the world of the globally mobile, the space has lost its constraining quality and is easily traversed in both its “real” and “virtual” renditions. For the second world, the world of the ‘locally tied’, of those barred from moving and thus forced to bear passively whatever change may be visited on locality they are tied to, the real space is fast closing up. 7 4 5 6

Virilio, 1997. Baumann, 1998, 9. Baumann, 1998, 2.

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For those who are not free to leave, those who do not possess the means to buy themselves out of local dependency, the situation is increasingly difficult. Through privatization, ‘flexibilisation’ of labour and technocratisation of politics, these people lose ever more of the influence they may have had on the living conditions in their local place – a place at which they are now condemned to remain. Or rather, they are condemned to remain in their place, forbidden to cross borders – and yet they must move, out of desperate need. Ours is also a time of migration. When the ‘locally tied’ move, they are obligated to take great risks. Many do not reach their destination alive. And those who do are often arrested and returned by force upon arrival. It is faced with this new challenge – the free, unrestricted mobility of the few, and the local captivity or forced migration of the many – that I think it is fruitful to reconsider one important aspect of liberation theology’s claim of ‘one history.’ What this claim implies, is not merely that salvation takes place now, and not primarely in God’s future; but furthermore that salvation takes place here, not in another place, in the ‘beyond’, in ‘heaven’ – nor in the virtual wonderworld of cyberspace. Jon Sobrino’s strong emphasis on the locus theologicus, the theological place or location, thus gains a particular relevance in relation to the forces of globalisation. The theological place is both the apt place for theological perception and interpretation, and the place in which God’s saving power is at work. God liberates concrete places, spaces, and human communities – the very places that to the globalised elite have become insignificant, but to the excluded majorities signify ‘social deprivation and humiliation.’ This approach calls for a much more critical awareness of the deep interdependence between humanity and nature, an aspect that liberation theology has been rather slow to address. The theological 7

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Baumann, 1998, 88.

place is also a concrete geographical, topographical, ecological place in which humans live with, in and from nature. Attention should therefore be drawn to the ways in which the forces of globalisation crucify places – places that give life to human beings, places that are filled with the life of nature. In keeping with Ellacuría and Sobrino, the fact that salvation history means salvation in history could today also be expressed in terms of salvation in and of local space. Finally, if in a globalised age mobility represents the very factor that divides the world and excludes people, condemning them to a life in poverty, the theological perspective presented in this book fosters a different kind of mobility. Jon Sobrino underscores that Christianity is a religión del caminar. Christian identity is about travelling. The gospels portray Jesus constantly on the move. He calls his disciples to leave behind their hometown and all its ties, and follow him, i.e. wander about with him. The first Christians were called followers of the Way. And yet, travelling as a governing metaphor in the Christian universe is neither about being on the run, nor wandering about freely without any particular purpose. There is a particular point of departure, and the wanderers are heading towards a point of arrival. The past is related to the future through our present travelling. Christian travelling is a pilgrimage. The pilgrimage is a venture into the world, with a purpose. It is a mission, in a sense, from God to the world, with the purpose of diakonia, marturia and koinonia - service, witness, and communion. Only in this sense, by being a venture into the world with the goal of bringing good news and bringing about good realities, transformation, is it a pilgrimage to God. Retrieving this characteristic of Jesus as being a way to follow, and of Christian identity as a following of Jesus, a pilgrimage and a mission is, I suggest, an act of resistance in a globalised world. It offers an alternative kind of mobility, which moves towards an alternative kind of globalisation, that of koinonia, or oikoumene.

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Since the writing of the manuscript for this book, Jon Sobrino has published another important work in Christology, La Fe en Jesucristo. Ensayo desde las victimas (1999). The main focus of my book – the crucified in history, the crucified people – is given the most thorough treatment by Sobrino in Jesucristo liberador. In La Fe en Jesucristo Sobrino does not present significant changes or modifications to this theme. Yet the theme is further developed. Whereas in Jesucristo liberador Sobrino develops the theme of ‘the crucified people’, in Fe en Jesucristo he asks the question of what realistic hope these people may have of becoming a ‘resurrected people’.8 This close interconnection between the crucified people and a (possibly) resurrected people is explored in several aspects. Most notably, Sobrino boldly puts forward the possibility of being resucitadores. This is not a question of actually repeating in history what God did to Jesus in the unique event of the resurrection. It is rather the possibility, within the analogical consciousness of similarity-in-difference, to give signs (Gr.: semeia) of the reality of the resurrection through a committed service to and with the victims, a service that is imbued with a certain power (Gr.: dynamis)9. Such ‘resurrection’praxis will always have a sense of ‘impossibility’ attached to it; it is working against all odds for the restoration of the justice and dignity of the victims in history.10 I believe that it is this ‘possible impossibility’ that continues to make the cross of Jesus a sign and source of hope in our time. In the midst of the struggle, in the graceful following of Jesus, we may Sobrino, 1999, 32: “[…] qué esperanza – y con qué realismo – tiene un pueblo crucificado de ser también un pueblo resucitado; […]” 9 Sobrino, 1999, 93: “Se trata de analogía, obviamente, pues no podemos pretender llevar a cabo una praxis que reproduzca el acontecimiento escatológico de la resurrección de Jesús, aunque sí podemos – como lo hacía Jesús en su anuncio del reino – poner semeia (signos), a través de una determinada dynamis (fuerza).” 10 Ibid. 8

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experience life as ‘resurrection in history’ – in local space and present time.11

11 Sobrino, 1999, 150.

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Sobrino, Jon. 1988c. “Teología en un mundo sufriente. La teología de la liberación como ‘intellectus amoris’,” Revista Latinoamericana de Teología 5 (15):243-266. Sobrino, Jon. 1989a. “Cómo hacer teología? La teología como ‘intellectus amoris’,” Sal Terrae (77):397-417. Sobrino, Jon. 1989b. “Compañeros de Jesús. El asesinato-martirio de los jesuitas salvadoreños,” Revista Latinoamericana de Teología 6 (18):255-304. Sobrino, Jon. 1989c. “Justicia para las víctimas de este mundo. Una vivencia desde El Salvador,” Diakonía (52):355-384. Sobrino, Jon. 1989d. “Los ‘signos de los tiempos’ en la teología de la liberación,” Estudios Eclesiásticos (64):249-269. Sobrino, Jon. 1989e. Monseñor Romero. San Salvador: UCA Editores. Sobrino, Jon. 1990a. Companions of Jesus. The Murder and Martyrdom of the Salvadorean Jesuits. Translated by Dinah Livingstone. London: CIIR. Sobrino, Jon. 1990b. “Jesús, teología y Buena Noticia.” In Teología y liberación. Escritura y espiritualidad. Ensayos en torno a la obra de Gustavo Gutiérrez, edited by CEP. Lima: Centro de Estudios y Publicaciones, 23-47. Sobrino, Jon. 1990c. “Monseñor Romero: diez años de tradición,” Revista Latinoamericana de Teología 7 (19):17-39. Sobrino, Jon. 1991a. “Centralidad del reino de Dios en la teología de la liberación.” In Mysterium liberationis. Conceptos fundamentales de la teología de la liberación, edited by I. Ellacuría and J. Sobrino. San Salvador: UCA Editores, 467-510. Sobrino, Jon. 1991b. “Cristología sistemática: Jesucristo mediador absoluto del reino de Dios.” In Mysterium liberationis. Conceptos fundamentales de la teología de la liberación, edited by I. Ellacuría and J. Sobrino. San Salvador: UCA Editores, 575-599. Sobrino, Jon. 1991c. “Espiritualidad y seguimiento de Jesús.” In Mysterium liberationis. Conceptos fundamentales de la teología de la liberación, edited by I. Ellacuría and J. Sobrino. San Salvador: UCA Editores, 449-476.

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Sobrino, Jon. 1991d. Jesucristo liberador. Lectura histórica-teológica de Jesús de Nazaret. San Salvador: UCA Editores. Sobrino, Jon. 1992a. “Atheismus und Idolatrie in der Theologie.” In Theologie der gekreuzigten Völker. Jon Sobrino im Disput, edited by O. König and L. Gerhard. Graz: Andreas Schnider Verlags-Atelier, 32-43. Sobrino, Jon. 1992b. El principio-misericordia. Bajar de la cruz a los pueblos crucificados. Santander: Sal Terrae. Sobrino, Jon. 1992c. “La honradez con lo real,” Sal Terrae (946):372388. Sobrino, Jon. 1992d. “Reflexiones sobre la decisión de Leonardo Boff,” Sal Terrae (9):749-757. Sobrino, Jon. 1992e. “Seguimiento de Cristo y espiritualidad.” In Vida, Clamor y Esperanza. Aportes desde América Latina. Santafé de Bogotá: Ediciones Paulinas, 161-174. Sobrino, Jon. 1993a. “Apuntes para una espiritualidad en tiempos de violencia. Reflexiones desde la experiencia salvadorena,” Revista Latinoamericana de Teología 10 (29):189-208. Sobrino, Jon. 1993c. “De una teología sólo de liberación a una teología del martirio,” Revista Latinoamericana de Teología (28):27-48. Sobrino, Jon. 1993e. “Es Jesús una buena noticia?,” Revista Latinoamericana de Teología 10 (30):293-304. Sobrino, Jon. 1993d. “Es Jesús una buena noticia?,” Sal Terrae (sept):595-608. Sobrino, Jon. 1993f. Jesus the Liberator. A Historical-Theological Reading of Jesus of Nazareth. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books. Sobrino, Jon. 1993g. “Los pobres: crucificados y salvadores.” In La matanza de los pobres. Vida en medio de la muerte en El Salvador, edited by M. López Vigil and J. Sobrino. Madrid: Ediciones HOAC, 355-370. Sobrino, Jon. 1993h. “Mesías y mesianismos: reflexiones desde El Salvador,” Concilium (246):159-170. Sobrino, Jon. 1993i. Mysterium Liberationis. Fundamental Concepts of Liberation Theology. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books.

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Selected index of names

A Abelard 375 Altizer 440 Anselm 104, 375, 378, 421, 422, 526 Aquinas 256, 460 Aristotle 214, 319, 323, 454 Aron 325 Assmann 34, 75, 79, 188, 189, 190, 194, 215, 300, 421, 461, 501, 502, 557, 578, 593, 594 Augustine 104, 170, 273, 399 Aulén 295, 374, 375, 410, 411, 413, 414, 418, 427, 594 B Balthasar 474 Barth 379, 456, 555, 607 Batstone 188, 255, 269, 469, 594 Baumann 587, 588 Bedford 24, 118, 154, 166, 172, 173, 204, 211, 402, 555, 594 Berkhof 21, 48, 594 Boff 27, 34, 57, 79, 80, 114, 119, 125, 132, 188, 189, 191, 220, 297, 335, 382, 383, 388, 421, 429, 446, 447, 448, 449, 451, 452, 460, 469, 471,

474, 480, 487, 490, 595, 596, 598, 614, 621, 625 Boismard 290 Bonhoeffer 96, 138, 394, 430, 437, 438, 439, 440, 441, 442, 448, 451, 456, 484, 490, 596, 600 Bonino 38, 79, 81, 188, 447, 593, 596, 614, 624 Borg 197, 201, 596 Bornkamm 197 Bravo 240, 597 Brown 362, 597 Bultmann 196, 318, 347, 348, 597 Bush 19 C Casaldáliga 16 Castañeda 30, 31, 32, 500, 516, 597 Chow 34, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 214, 277, 597 Clarke 265 Clement of Alexandria 98 Clinton 583 Columbus 180, 181, 182 Comblin 21, 28, 34, 70, 430, 627

502, 504, 597, 598, 604, 605 Cortés 179, 182 Croatto 288, 314, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333, 334, 335, 336, 337, 338, 340, 346, 357, 364, 365, 419, 496, 518, 598, 599 Crossan 197, 201, 220, 355, 362, 363, 599 D Dahl 196, 197, 220, 238, 599 Dass 369 Depuis 203, 599 Descartes 68, 438 Dilthey 320 Donovan 265 Duquoc 26, 34, 118, 119, 120, 600 Dussel 21, 66, 80, 84, 114, 116, 132, 306, 526, 568, 600, 601 E Ellacuría 21, 23, 28, 39, 42, 43, 44, 45, 47, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 77, 78, 79, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 94, 96, 102, 105, 106, 108, 110, 111, 112, 115, 116, 117, 118,

628

119, 120, 123, 127, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 157, 163, 164, 165, 167, 168, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 200, 210, 211, 223, 224, 227, 230, 231, 233, 255, 274, 286, 293, 296, 306, 311, 312, 343, 344, 345, 362, 370, 378, 383, 486, 516, 521, 522, 536, 537, 554, 556, 557, 559, 595, 599, 600, 601, 602, 603, 605, 606, 610, 611, 615, 618, 620, 622 F Fanon 68 Farley 17, 18, 450, 452, 455, 519, 603 Feuerbach 77, 439 Fichte 439 Ford 265, 274 Freire 82, 563, 604 Freud 68, 439 Frye 323 Fukuyama 19, 502, 581, 587, 604 G Gadamer 320, 321, 331 Garretón 30, 34, 515, 604

Girard 423, 557, 593, 604 Gómez 42, 503, 605 González 48, 87, 88, 223, 448, 480, 605 González Faus 34, 70, 86, 108, 125, 242, 257, 344, 383, 510, 598, 604, 605 Gorostiaga 20, 29, 504, 605 Gregory the Wonderworker 432 Grey 261, 606 Grovijahn 265, 606 Gunton 319, 367, 375, 400, 407, 418, 419, 420, 421, 427, 606 Gutiérrez 16, 34, 46, 51, 57, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 77, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 87, 96, 100, 105, 114, 116, 128, 132, 133, 137, 138, 167, 168, 183, 186, 211, 230, 232, 253, 266, 442, 501, 521, 598, 606, 607, 611, 620 H Habermas 320, 321 Hafstad 555, 577, 607 Haight 495, 506, 607 Hamilton 440 Harnack 431 Harrison 262, 266, 461, 607 Hegel 68, 84, 88, 306, 438, 457,

464 Hempel 325, 326 Higgins and Letson 112 Hinkelammert 75, 132, 503, 608 Horsley 197 I Iparraguirre 105, 106, 608 J Jeanrond 320, 321, 322, 326, 327, 365, 545, 596, 608 Jeremias 197, 199, 208, 210, 230, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251, 608 John Chrysostom 98 Johnson 154, 265, 361, 362, 437, 449, 450, 451, 452, 455, 483, 485, 490, 519, 608 Jones 214, 279, 608 Jüngel 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 175, 176, 275, 353, 389, 399, 400, 402, 433, 439, 440, 441, 453, 454, 455, 456, 467, 490, 522, 532, 609 K Kähler 196 Kant 77, 438 Käsemann 196, 199, 210, 235 Kazel 265

629

Kierkegaard 350 King Ferdinand 181 Kliksberg 499 L Las Casas 132, 133, 186, 190, 607 Leer-Salvesen 564, 610 Léon-Dufour 383 Lessing 196, 373 Lévinas 83, 526 Libânio 34, 112 Løgstrup 83, 568 Lønning 374, 389, 441, 611 Löwy 306, 611 Loyola 95, 96, 98, 106, 110, 112, 608, 615 Luther 170, 223, 350, 379, 399, 411, 414, 433, 434, 435, 437, 438, 440, 442, 443, 445, 473, 490, 533, 542, 562, 565, 610 Luther King 274 M Mack 197 MacIntyre 213, 611 Macquarrie 47, 161, 167, 188, 224, 279, 373, 399, 444, 611 Maier 24, 44, 118, 344, 611 Marcel 315, 618 Marcuse 68

630

Mardones 134, 135, 611 Mariz 310, 502, 611 Márquez 29 Marrou 325 Martin 32, 416, 611 Marx 26, 28, 58, 68, 77, 88, 105, 113, 117, 143, 205, 206, 260, 288, 306, 311, 439, 600 McFague 25, 221, 222, 406, 407, 408, 462, 612 McGovern 26, 28, 34, 79, 89, 207, 208, 612 McIntyre 375, 410, 411, 612 Meier 197, 201, 207, 208, 363, 612 Melanchthon 374 Mesters 132, 199, 612 Metz 16, 96, 213, 456, 457, 458, 459, 469, 470, 471, 490, 520, 561, 612, 613 Miranda 463 Moltmann 16, 17, 24, 36, 96, 105, 118, 120, 128, 129, 150, 161, 171, 201, 222, 227, 266, 295, 343, 345, 354, 367, 370, 371, 379, 383, 399, 430, 433, 434, 435, 438, 440, 441, 442, 443, 444, 445, 446, 447, 448, 449, 451, 456, 458, 460, 464, 465, 466, 468, 469, 472, 473, 474, 479, 480, 485, 490, 491,

522, 613, 614, 618, 623 Montenegro 304 Montesinos 183 N Negre Rigol 188, 614 Nietzsche 88, 439, 490 O Oliveira 513, 514, 515, 615 Oliveros 42, 66, 614 P Pannenberg 128, 184, 193, 465, 522, 615, 618 Patriarch Philaret of Moscow 444 Philo of Alexandria 432 Pilate 219, 358, 359, 361, 362 Pinochet 179 Placher 249, 615 Poma 188, 190 Prebisch 65, 66 Proaño 342 Q Queen Isabella 181, 183 R Rahner 47, 48, 90, 98, 99, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 112, 121, 137, 149, 161, 224, 285, 311,

344, 345, 465, 601, 603, 611, 615, 617, 619 Randles 432 Ranke 195 Ratzinger 26, 28, 89, 116, 117, 306, 615 Reagan 28, 308 Reimarus 196, 198 Richard 34, 66, 197, 296, 616 Ricoeur 213, 214, 288, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 333, 338, 340, 346, 357, 364, 365, 366, 369, 406, 407, 419, 424, 425, 426, 450, 496, 518, 519, 520, 609, 616, 624 Romero 15, 18, 39, 42, 43, 73, 131, 152, 154, 173, 274, 296, 342, 451, 465, 483, 510, 515, 537, 597, 602, 616, 619, 620 S Sanders 197, 205, 206, 208 Sarot 432, 435, 436, 442, 460, 461, 462, 490, 491, 617 Schillebeeckx 23, 197, 199, 207, 228, 383, 617 Schleiermacher 320, 323, 374, 438 Schüssler Fiorenza 260, 263, 266, 267, 472, 617

631

Schwager 309, 617 Schweitzer 196 Segundo 26, 43, 79, 81, 100, 112, 114, 188, 207, 208, 295, 298, 617, 618, 622 Socrates 93 Sölle 430, 445, 446, 447, 449, 469, 471, 490, 623 Spinoza 432 Stoll 32, 416, 622 Strobel 267 T Tertullian 209, 433 Tillich 495, 624 Trible 452 Trinidad 181, 182, 184, 185, 187, 190, 624

632

V Vaage 199, 625 Vermès 241, 248, 625 Viano 301, 302, 303, 625 Virilio 587 W Weber 306 Weiss 196 Wertham 301 Whitehead 430, 437 Widmann 235, 623, 626 Williamson 208, 209, 210, 626 Wrede 196, 255 Z Zubiri 47, 48, 84, 88, 105, 108, 137, 200, 223, 311, 522, 601, 605, 606, 626

STUDIEN ZUR INTERKULTURELLEN GESCHICHTE DES CHRISTENTUMS ETUDES D’HISTOIRE INTERCULTURELLE DU CHRISTIANISME STUDIES INTHE INTERCULTURAL HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY Begründet von / fondé par / founded by Walter J. Hollenweger und / et / and Hans Jochen Margull † Herausgegeben von / edité par / edited by Richard Friedli Université de Fribourg

Jan A.B. Jongeneel Universiteit Utrecht

Theo Sundermeier Universität Heidelberg

Klaus Koschorke Universität München

Werner Ustorf University of Birmingham

Band

1 Wolfram Weiße: Südafrika und das Antirassismusprogramm. Kirchen im Spannungsfeld einer Rassengesellschaft.

Band

2 Ingo Lembke: Christentum unter den Bedingungen Lateinamerikas. Die katholische Kirche vor den Problemen der Abhängigkeit und Unterentwicklung.

Band

3 Gerd U. Kliewer: Das neue Volk der Pfingstler. Religion, Unterentwicklung und sozialer Wandel in Lateinamerika.

Band

4 Joachim Wietzke: Theologie im modernen Indien – Paul David Devanandan.

Band

5 Werner Ustorf: Afrikanische Initiative. Das aktive Leiden des Propheten Simon Kimbangu.

Band

6 Erhard Kamphausen: Anfänge der kirchlichen Unabhängigkeitsbewegung in Südafrika. Geschichte und Theologie der äthiopischen Bewegung. 1880–1910.

Band

7 Lothar Engel: Kolonialismus und Nationalismus im deutschen Protestantismus in Namibia 1907–1945. Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen evangelischen Mission und Kirche im ehemaligen Kolonial- und Mandatsgebiet Südwestafrika.

Band

8 Pamela M. Binyon: The Concepts of „Spirit“ and „Demon“. A Study in the use of different languages describing the same phenomena.

Band

9 Neville Richardson: The World Council of Churches and Race Relations. 1960 to 1969.

Band 10 Jörg Müller: Uppsala II. Erneuerung in der Mission. Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie und Dokumentation zu Sektion II der 4. Vollversammlung des Ökumenischen Rates der Kirchen, Uppsala 1968. Band 11 Hans Schöpfer: Theologie und Gesellschaft. Interdisziplinäre Grundlagenbibliographie zur Einführung in die befreiungs- und polittheologische Problematik: 1960–1975. Band 12 Werner Hoerschelmann: Christliche Gurus. Darstellung von Selbstverständnis und Funktion indigenen Christseins durch unabhängige charismatisch geführte Gruppen in Südindien. Band 13 Claude Schaller: L’Eglise en quête de dialogue. Vergriffen. Band 14 Theo Tschuy: Hundert Jahre kubanischer Protestantismus (1868–1961). Versuch einer kirchengeschichtlichen Darstellung. Band 15 Werner Korte: Wir sind die Kirchen der unteren Klassen. Entstehung, Organisation und gesellschaftliche Funktionen unabhängiger Kirchen in Afrika. Band 16 Amold Bittlinger: Papst und Pfingstler. Der römisch katholisch-pfingstlerische Dialog und seine ökumenische Relevanz. Band 17 Ingemar Lindén: The Last Trump. An historico-genetical study of some important chapters in the making and development of the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Band 18 Zwinglio Dias: Krisen und Aufgaben im brasilianischen Protestantismus. Eine Studie zu den sozialgeschichtlichen Bedingungen und volkspädagogischen Möglichkeiten der Evangelisation. Band 19 Mary Hall: A quest for the liberated Christian. Examined on the basis of a mission, a man and a movement as agents of liberation. Band 20 Arturo Blatezky: Sprache des Glaubens in Lateinamerika. Eine Studie zu Selbstverständnis und Methode der „Theologie der Befreiung“. Band 21 Anthony Mookenthottam: Indian Theological Tendencies. Approaches and problems for further research as seen in the works of some leading Indian theologicans. Band 22 George Thomas: Christian Indians and Indian Nationalism 1885–1950. An Interpretation in Historical and Theological Perspectives. Band 23 Essiben Madiba: Evangélisation et Colonisation en Afrique: L’Héritage scolaire du Cameroun (1885–1965). Band 24 Katsumi Takizawa: Reflexionen über die universale Grundlage von Buddhismus und Christentum. Band 25 S.W. Sykes (ed.): England and Germany. Studies in theological diplomacy. Band 26 James Haire:The Character andTheological Struggle of the Church in Halmahera, Indonesia, 1941–1979. Band 27 David Ford: Barth and God’s Story. Biblical Narrative and theTheological Method of Karl Barth in the Church Dogmatics. Band 28 Kortright Davis: Mission for Carribean Change. Carribean Development As Theological Enterprise. Band 29 Origen V. Jathanna:The Decisiveness of the Christ-Event and the Universality of Christianity in a world of Religious Plurality. With Special Reference to Hendrik Kraemer and Alfred George Hogg as well as to William Ernest Hocking and Pandipeddi Chenchiah. Band 30 Joyce V. Thurman: New Wineskins. A Study of the House Church Movement. Band 31 John May: Meaning, Consensus and Dialogue in Buddhist-Christian-Communication. A study in the Construction of Meaning. Band 32 Friedhelm Voges: Das Denken von Thomas Chalmers im kirchen- und sozialgeschichtlichen Kontext. Band 33 George MacDonald Mulrain: Theology in Folk Culture. The Theological Significance of Haitian Folk Religion. Band 34 Alan Ford: The Protestant Reformation in Ireland, 1590–1641. 2. unveränderte Auflage. Band 35 Harold Tonks: Faith, Hope and Decision-Making. The Kingdom of God and Social PolicyMaking. The Work of Arthur Rich of Zürich. Band 36 Bingham Tembe: Integrationismus und Afrikanismus. Zur Rolle der kirchlichen Unabhän-gigkeitsbewegung in der Auseinandersetzung um die Landfrage und die Bildung der Afrikaner in Südafrika, 1880–1960. Band 37 Kingsley Lewis: The Moravian Mission in Barbados 1816–1886. A Study of the Historical Context and Theological Significance of a Minority Church Among an Oppressed People. Band 38 Ulrich M. Dehn: Indische Christen in der gesellschaftlichen Verantwortung. Eine theologische und religionssoziologische Untersuchung politischer Theologie im gegenwärtigen Indien.

Band 39 Walter J. Hollenweger (ed.): Pentecostal Research in Europe: Problems, Promises and People. Proceedings from the Pentecostal Research Conference at the University of Birmingham (England) April 26th to 29th 1984. Band 40 P. Solomon Raj: A Christian Folk-Religion in India. A Study of the Small Church Movement in Andhra Pradesh, with a Special Reference to the Bible Mission of Devadas. Band 41 Karl-Wilhelm Westmeier: Reconciling Heaven and Earth: The Transcendental Enthusiasm and Growth of an Urban Protestant Community, Bogota, Colombia. Band 42 George A. Hood: Mission Accomplished? The English Presbyterian Mission in Lingtung, South China. A Study of the Interplay between Mission Methods and their Historical Context. Band 43 Emmanuel Yartekwei Lartey: Pastoral Counselling in Inter-Cultural Perspective: A Study of some African (Ghanaian) and Anglo-American views on human existence and counselling. Band 44 Jerry L. Sandidge: Roman Catholic/Pentecostal Dialogue (1977–1982): A Study in Developing Ecumenism. Band 45 Friedeborg L. Müller:The History of German Lutheran Congregations in England, 1900–1950. Band 46 Roger B. Edrington: Everyday Men: Living in a Climate of Unbelief. Band 47 Bongani Mazibuko: Education in Mission/Mission in Education. A Critical Comparative Study of Selected Approaches. Band 48 Jochanan Hesse (ed.): Mitten im Tod – vom Leben umfangen. Gedenkschrift für Werner Kohler. Band 49 Elisabeth A. Kasper: Afrobrasilianische Religion. Der Mensch in der Beziehung zu Natur, Kosmos und Gemeinschaft im Candomblé – eine tiefenpsychologische Studie. Band 50 Charles Chikezie Agu: Secularization in lgboland. Socio-religious Change and its Challenges to the Church Among the Igbo. Band 51 Abraham Adu Berinyuu: Pastoral Care to the Sick in Africa. An Approach to Transcultural Pastoral Theology. Band 52 Boo-Woong Yoo: Korean Pentecostalism. Its History and Theology. Band 53 Roger H. Hooker: Themes in Hinduism and Christianity. A Comparative Study. Band 54 Jean-Daniel Plüss: Therapeutic and Prophetic Narratives in Worship. A Hermeneutic Study of Testimonies and Visions. Their Potential Significance for Christian Worship and Secular Society. Band 55 John Mansford Prior: Church and Marriage in an Indonesian Village. A Study of Customary and Church Marriage among the Ata Lio of Central Flores, Indonesia, as a Paradigm of the Ecclesial Interrelationship between village and Institutional Catholicism. Band 56 Werner Kohler: Umkehr und Umdenken. Grundzüge einer Theologie der Mission (herausgegeben von Jörg Salaquarda). Band 57 Martin Maw: Visions of India. Fulfilment Theology, the Aryan Race Theory, and the Work of British Protestant Missionaries in Victorian India. Band 58 Aasulv Lande: Meiji Protestantism in History and Historiography. A Comparative Study of Japanese and Western Interpretation of Early Protestantism in Japan. Band 59 Enyi B. Udoh: Guest Christology. An interpretative view of the christological problem in Africa.

Band 60 Peter Schüttke-Scherle: From Contextual to Ecumenical Theology? A Dialogue between Minjung Theology and ‘Theology after Auschwitz’. Band 61 Michael S. Northcott: The Church and Secularisation. Urban Industrial Mission in North East England. Band 62 Daniel O’Connor: Gospel, Raj and Swaraj. The Missionary Years of C. F. Andrews 1904–14. Band 63 Paul D. Matheny: Dogmatics and Ethics. The Theological Realism and Ethics of Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics. Band 64 Warren Kinne: A People’s Church? The Mindanao-Sulu Church Debacle. Band 65 Jane Collier: The culture of economism. An exploration of barriers to faith-as-praxis. Band 66 Michael Biehl: Der Fall Sadhu Sundar Singh. Theologie zwischen den Kulturen. Band 67 Brian C. Castle: Hymns: The Making and Shaping of a Theology for the Whole People of God. A Comparison of the Four Last Things in Some English and Zambian Hymns in Intercultural Perspective. Band 68 Jan A. B. Jongeneel (ed.): Experiences of the Spirit. Conference on Pentecostal and Charismatic Research in Europe at Utrecht University 1989 . Band 69 William S. Campbell: Paul’s Gospel in an Intercultural Context. Jew and Gentile in the Letter to the Romans. Band 70 Lynne Price: Interfaith Encounter and Dialogue. A Methodist Pilgrimage. Band 71 Merrill Morse: Kosuke Koyama. A model for intercultural theology. Band 73 Robert M. Solomon: Living in two worlds. Pastoral responses to possession in Singapore. Band 74 James R. Krabill: The Hymnody of the Harrist Church Among the Dida of South Central Ivory Coast (1913–1949). A Historico-Religious Study. Band 75 Jan A. B. Jongeneel a.o. (eds.): Pentecost, Mission and Ecumenism. Essays on Intercultural Theology. Festschrift in Honour of Professor Walter J. Hollenweger. Band 76 Siga Arles: Theological Education for the Mission of the Church in India: 1947–1987. Theological Education in relation to the identification of the Task of Mission and the Development of Ministries in India: 1947–1987; with special reference to the Church of South India. Band 77 Roswith I.H. Gerloff: A Plea for British Black Theologies. The Black Church Movement in Britain in its transatlantic cultural and theological interaction with special reference to the Pentecostal Oneness (Apostolic) and Sabbatarian movements. 2 parts. Band 78 Friday M. Mbon: Brotherhood of the Cross and Star. A New Religious Movement in Nigeria. Band 79 John Samuel Pobee (ed.): Exploring Afro-christology. Band 80 Frieder Ludwig: Kirche im kolonialen Kontext. Anglikanische Missionare und afrikanische Propheten im südöstlichen Nigeria. Band 81 Werner A. Wienecke: Die Bedeutung der Zeit in Afrika. In den traditionellen Religionen und in der missionarischen Verkündigung. Band 82 Ukachukwu Chris Manus: Christ, the African King. New Testament Christology. Band 83 At lpenburg: ‘All Good Men’. The Development of Lubwa Mission, Chinsali, Zambia, 1905–1967.

Band 84 Heinrich Schäfer: Protestantismus in Zentralamerika. Christliches Zeugnis im Spannungsfeld von US-amerikanischem Fundamentalismus, Unterdrückung und Wiederbelebung “indianischer” Kultur. Band 85 Joseph Kufulu Mandunu: Das „Kindoki“ im Licht der Sündenbocktheologie. Versuch einer christlichen Bewältigung des Hexenglaubens in Schwarz-Afrika. Band 86 Peter Fulljames: God and Creation in intercultural perspective. Dialogue between the Theologies of Barth, Dickson, Pobee, Nyamiti and Pannenberg. Band 87 Stephanie Lehr: „Wir leiden für den Taufschein!“ Mission und Kolonialisierung am Beispiel des Landkatechumenates in Nordostzaire. Band 88 Dhirendra Kumar Sahu: The Church of North India. A Historical and Systematic Theological Inquiry into an Ecumenical Ecclesiology. Band 89 William W. Emilsen: Violence and Atonement. The Missionary Experiences of Mohandas Gandhi, Samuel Stokes and Verrier Elwin in India before 1935. Band 90 Kenneth D. Gill: Toward a Contextualized Theology for the Third World. The Emergence and Development of Jesus’ Name Pentecostalism in Mexico. Band 91 Karl O. Sandnes: A New Family. Conversation and Ecclesiology in the Early Church with Cross-Cultural Comparisons. Band 92 Jan A.B. Jongeneel: Philosophy, Science and Theology of Mission in the 19th and 20th Centuries. A Missiological Encyclopedia. Part I: The Philosophy and Science of Mission. Band 93 Raymond Pfister: Soixante ans de pentecôtisme en Alsace (1930–1990). Une approche socio-historique. Band 94 Charles R.A. Hoole: „Modern Sannyasins“. Protestant Missionary Contribution to Ceylon Tamil Culture. Band 95 Amuluche Gregory Nnamani: The Paradox of a Suffering God. On the Classical, ModernWestern and Third World Struggles to harmonise the incompatible Attributes of the Trinitarian God. Band 96 Geraldine S. Smyth: A Way of Transformation. A Theological Evaluation of the Conciliar Process of Mutual Commitment to Justice, Peace and Integrity of Creation World Council of Churches, 1983–1991. Band 97 Aasulv Lande / Werner Ustorf (eds.): Mission in a Pluralist World. Band 98 Alan Suggate: Japanese Christians and Society. With the assistance of YAMANO Shigeko. Band 99 Isolde Andrews: Deconstructing Barth. A Study of the Complementary Methods in Karl Barth and Jacques Derrida. Band 100 Lynne Price: Faithful Uncertainty. Leslie D. Weatherhead’s Methodology of Creative Evangelism. Band 101 Jean de Dieu Mvuanda: Inculturer pour évangéliser en profondeur. Des initiations traditionnelles africaines à une initiation chrétienne engageante. Band 102 Allison M. Howell:The Religious Itinerary of a Ghanaian People.The Kasena and the Christian Gospel. Band 103 Lynne Price, Juan Sepúlveda & Graeme Smith (eds.): Mission Matters. Band 104 Tharwat Kades: Die arabischen Bibelübersetzungen im 19. Jahrhundert.

Band 105 Thomas G. Dalzell SM:The Dramatic Encounter of Divine and Human Freedom in theTheology of Hans Urs von Balthasar. Band 106 Jan A. B. Jongeneel: Philosophy, Science, and Theology of Mission in the 19th and 20th Centuries. A Missiological Encyclopedia. Part II: Missionary Theology. Band 107 Werner Kohler: Unterwegs zum Verstehen der Religionen. Gesammelte Aufsätze. Herausgegeben im Auftrag der Deutschen Ostasien-Mission und der Schweizerischen Ostasien-Mission von Andreas Feldtkeller. Band 108 Mariasusai Dhavamony: Christian Theology of Religions. A Systematic Reflection on the Christian Understanding of World Religions. Band 109 Chinonyelu Moses Ugwu: Healing in the Nigerian Church. A Pastoral-Psychological Exploration. Band 110 Getatchew Haile, Aasulv Lande & Samuel Rubenson (eds.): The Missionary Factor in Ethiopia: Papers from a Symposium on the Impact of European Missions on Ethiopian Society, Lund University, August 1996. Band 111 Anthony Savari Raj: A New Hermeneutic of Reality. Raimon Panikkar’s Cosmotheandric Vision. Band 112 Jean Pierre Bwalwel: Famille et habitat. Implications éthiques de I’éclatement urbain. Cas de la ville de Kinshasa. Band 113 Michael Bergunder: Die südindische Pfingstbewegung im 20. Jahrhundert. Eine historische und systematische Untersuchung. Band 114 Alar Laats: Doctrines of the Trinity in Eastern and Western Theologies. A Study with Special Reference to K. Barth and V. Lossky. Band 115 Afeosemime U. Adogame: Celestial Church of Christ. The Politics of Cultural Identity in a West African Prophetic-Charismatic Movement. Band 116 Laurent W. Ramambason: Missiology: Its Subject-Matter and Method. A Study of MissionDoers in Madagascar. Band 117 Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen: Ad UltimumTerrae. Evangelization, Proselytism and Common Witness in the Roman Catholic Pentecostal Dialogue (1990–1997). Band 118 Julie C. Ma: When the Spirit meets the Spirits. Pentecostal Ministry among the Kankanaey Tribe in the Philippines. 2., revised edition. Band 119 Patrick Chukwudezie Chibuko: Igbo Christian Rite of Marriage. A Proposed Rite for Study and Celebration. Band 120 Patrick Chukwudezie Chibuko: Paschal Mystery of Christ. Foundation for Liturgical Inculturation in Africa. Band 121 Werner Ustorf / Toshiko Murayama (eds.): Identity and Marginality. Rethinking Christianity in North East Asia. Band 122 Ogbu U. Kalu: Power, Poverty and Prayer. The Challenges of Poverty and Pluralism in African Christianity, 1960–1996. Band 123 Peter Cruchley-Jones: Singing the Lord’s Song in a Strange Land? A Missiological Interpretation of the Ely Pastorate Churches, Cardiff. Band 124 Paul Hedges: Preparation and Fulfilment. A History and Study of Fulfilment Theology in Modern British Thought in the Indian Context.

Band 125 Werner Ustorf: Sailing on the Next Tide. Missions, Missiology, and the Third Reich. Band 126 Seong-Won Park: Worship in the Presbyterian Church in Korea. Its History and Implications. Band 127 Sturla J. Stålsett: The crucified and the Crucified. A Study in the Liberation Christology of Jon Sobrino. Band 128 Dong-Kun Kim: Jesus: From Bultmann to the Third World. Band 129 Forthcoming. Band 130 Uchenna A. Ezeh: Jesus Christ the Ancestor. An African Contextual Christology in the Light of the Major Dogmatic Christological Definitions of the Church from the Council of Nicea (325) to Chalcedon (451). Band 131 Chun-Hoi Heo: Multicultural Christology. A Korean Immigrant Perspective.