Last week I posted a
review of Fr. Oliver's splendid new book. I had previously sent him some questions for an interview, and here are his replies.
AD: When we last talked on here,
it was about your book on Serapion of Thmuis. How, in the last two years, have
you moved from ancient Egyptian patristics to Turning to Tradition: Converts and the Making of an American Orthodox Church?
Was this a planned development or an unexpected move? What, if anything, links
the progress from the first book to the second?
OH: I admit that is a jump! Would it surprise you to know I published an
article on Anselm and one on Bonaventure during the interim (in addition to
articles on American Orthodoxy)? The
move was both planned and unplanned. Dr.
Lois Malcolm at Luther Seminary told our systematics class (and presumably she
tells each class this) that it is wise and helpful to have two periods of
church history from which to draw when developing one’s theology. That stuck with me and so I have always felt
it to be important to have a handle on some geographical and temporal location
in the early church together with a later period. I privately decided to one-up Lois’ class
challenge and committed to finding three periods, to triangulate my theology. It’s
been a slow go to develop the third (Byzantine theology of the eighth, ninth,
and tenth centuries, which is slowly coming to the fore and lies behind the
Anselm and Bonaventure articles and guides a current project in collaboration
with Brian Matz of Carroll College on the filioque
dispute of the ninth century—may we see that through!).
In
my case, I wanted to be grounded in patristic thought and at St. Vladimir’s, I
encountered Sarapion, who intrigued me, as he was a desert father, but also
clearly an astute, philosophical intellectual.
I also admitted that I had sympathy for him as a little known
saint—there’s something about a “dark horse.”
Anyhow, when I went to SLU, I fully intended to write a dissertation on
Sarapion. About a year-and-a-half into
my studies, though, I found American historical theology to be not only the
second area in which to ground my theology, but the area that interested me
more. I didn’t expect that. So, finding a second, modern period was
planned (because of that class at Luther) but finding it to be “American” and
finding that to be more interesting to me than fourth century Egypt was
unplanned. Up to that time, I had a
relatively generic view of Orthodox history in America. As I researched and wrote my
paper-turned-article on Nicholas Bjerring, the first convert priest in 1870,
however, I realized just how much Orthodox overlapped with theological
movements in America. I also realized
that many of the generalizations of that generic history needed to be
questioned. It was all downhill after
that. By that time, I had done so much
translation work on Sarapion (with encouragement from Fr. McLeod) that I
decided to finish that up and complete a manuscript, which I did. It took a little while for it to go through
the publication process, but it did. So,
I published a book on what would have become a dissertation and then completed
a dissertation and have now published that book.
I
should note that Cornelia Horn gave as good a pitch as any to get me to
re-prioritize my areas of research, and I’m thankful for working with her as
well, but American Orthodoxy is too fascinating to me. There is also the fact that Fr. John
Erickson, who was on my dissertation committee, and my advisor, Michael
McClymond, have an interest in American Christianity that is contagious.
So,
in the last few years I have found myself writing articles on American
Orthodoxy and completing this book. I’m
quite thankful to be where I’m at in terms of research and publications.
AD: In your introduction you use
several striking and revealing terms such as "ecclesiastical
restorationism" Could you elaborate a bit on that term for us?
OH: Sure. By using the phrase ecclesiastical restorationism,
I meant to highlight two things. First,
that what is going on here is something more than merely switching
denominations on the one hand (say, going from Lutheranism to
Presbyterianism). The converts were
doing more than denominational hopping.
They were operating within a restoration paradigm, seeking to restore,
or reconstitute, something.
The
second (and most important) thing I hope this phrase highlights is that the
converts in question were not simply looking for a past historical standard but
a past historical ecclesiastical standard—a past church that set Christian norms.
This is why tradition was such a concern. They were concerned not merely with a
tradition of ideas, but a tradition of a kind of religious existence. In fairness, of course, any restorationist
Christian movement will seek to reestablish the early church but in the case of
these converts, it went beyond that, with them looking for a “church” that
could be found to have existed early on and to have set the standards to which,
they believed, we are all to adhere.
That is to say, “church” was not a secondary or derivative concern, but
a primary one.
AD: You speak of the role of
theology in conversion. Is there one consistent role for theology? At risk of
generalization, could one inquire as to whether theology plays a major role
positively--coming to embrace Orthodox theology for its own sake as the
fullness of truth--or is the role of theology largely "negative" for
converts insofar as Orthodoxy represents what my former tradition is not
(liberal, pro-gay, etc)? Or perhaps it's a mixture of both?
OH: This is an interesting
question.
When I began looking at
theology as a factor, I had primarily the work of Lewis Rambo and
Amy Slagle in
mind.
For Rambo (and for Scot McKnight
who has adopted Rambo’s system), theology sets patterns of behavior.
I didn’t think that was really the primary
role of theology in these conversion narratives, at least not initially.
Additionally, Slagle’s study had noted
theological factors but it wasn’t her task to assess them.
I decided to investigate what theological
conclusions were driving
the conversion
process and whether those conclusions fit within any larger trend(s) within
American Christianity.
Interestingly,
what I found could be argued to have brought me back full circle, inasmuch as three
of the four converts studied pioneered theological norms for intra-Christian
conversion to Orthodoxy.
That is to say,
they promoted their way of looking at things and it guided many into the
Orthodox Church.
I
say all this by way of preface, because what I found was that theology was,
indeed, a “mix.” It could operate both
positively or negatively, in the ways you describe. I think the primary way in which it
functioned as “positive” was that the converts were making legitimate
conclusions to the best of their ability.
If we deny that, then I think we end up down-playing what was motivating
them at their core. That said, this positive
use was very much wedded to a negative use at times. You see that in Toth with his polemics, which
could be quite vehement. You see this in
Morgan and Berry on the issue of race and in Berry’s case in seeking something
that isn’t too tied to “this world.” You
see it in Gillquist in his disgust with “parachurch.” Others within the EOC who converted with
Gillquist and are mentioned likewise had some negative motivations. These negative motivations were important,
but the motivations in and of themselves did not create the conclusions, for
the converts could have chosen any other number of possible solutions than
Orthodox Christianity.
AD: Your chapter on Alexis Toth
also discusses Josaphat Kuntsevych, and it has long been a question of mine as
to how each side should regard the other's saints, especially as one works
towards unity. To put it crudely, one church's heretic is another church's
hero. Toth, of course, was a former Eastern Catholic who became Orthodox and
was canonized by the OCA while Kuntsevych went the opposite route, ending up a
canonized martyr in the Ukrainian and Roman Catholic Churches. What are your
thoughts on these competing martyrologies? How should we regard them today--as
embarrassing emblems of nasty practices from the past we think we would never
do again today? Or should their holiness be considered primarily on its own
more individual and personal terms without regard to the ecclesial politics?
(This issue came up in the Byzantine-Oriental dialogues where both liturgical
traditions have canonized saints and anathematized heretics that are the direct
opposite of each other, and neither side seems to know what to do about that
since they do not want to simply abandon liturgical texts that have been prayed
for centuries.)
OH: Oh, wow. This is a tough one and one I will admit not
having thought about nearly as much as I probably should, even though I first
encountered this in a real way at seminary, when Dr. Bouteneff asked us the
same question in a class looking at Orthodox and Oriental Orthodox
relations. So, I can only tell you where
I’m at currently, which may not be my mature thought as I give this more
time.
I
would say that what makes this question seem difficult is our sinful desire to
hold grudges and identify with an imagined past. It seems to be easy to identify with our own
church brothers and sisters who were wronged in the past and then to retain the
accusation of abuse against the contemporary expression of the opposing
religious body. One might claim this is
a “sacramental” aspect to “church.” This
could be especially so in the case of Orthodox and Catholics. Something like: “My church is the body of Christ and
therefore I am mystically present with the past abused persons when I go to
liturgy/mass and therefore those past abuses are still meaningful and real.” At other times, it’s much less profound and
is simply a way of attacking the church you do not belong to simply because it
doesn’t agree with your church.
However
it is expressed, it seems to me that what is needed a reconfiguration based on
the fact that the Church is, indeed, the Body of Christ. If I believe my church is the Church (or at
least part of it) then I should see the past martyrs as being able to exist at
a level in which they can say “Father forgive them, for they know not what they
do.” This perspective should then be
combined with humility, such that we no longer think it pertains to us to
continue the violence (even if by way of rhetoric). If these are combined, we can then become
open to the fact that each church has canonized people who helped people
against abuse from the other side. That
is, we will realize our side sinned too.
Our side also helped create tensions and violence.
So,
to return to your examples: a faithful Roman Catholic should be able to say
that Toth was right to oppose the prejudice he encountered from Western Catholics
and a faithful Orthodox Christian should be able to say Josef Kuntsevych’s
murder was wrong, as were the subsequent exaggerations later told to “justify”
his murder. At the same time, each side
should hope that in a reunited church, a former Roman Catholic could say Toth’s
faith is now dogmatically acceptable (even if he himself was mistaken at times)
and a former Eastern Orthodox could say Kuntsevych’s faith is dogmatically
acceptable (even if he was mistaken at times).
Their faiths would be seen as
reunited. So, in that context, I really
don’t see the problem for canonizing both men.
In fact, I think reunion would require that both remain canonized. For a real, lasting peace never ignores the
difficulties, but reconciles them.
AD: I'm struck by the very
different ways in with Catholic and Orthodox immigrants in the last century
adjusted to the American context. Archbishop Ireland seems to be a paragon of
the Catholic attempt to prove, as strenuously as possible, that Catholics were
just like Americans--they spoke English, they were patriotic, they worked hard,
they tried to blend in; but Orthodox seem more content to have retained
indigenous languages and practices and more comfortable, perhaps, appearing as "exotic."
And yet, the main burden of your book is in showing just how very much Orthodox
did strive to become American through, as you aptly put it, the very American
"anti-traditional tradition." Tell us a bit more about what you mean
by that phrase.
OH: Yes, well, that gets at the
central irony running through this book.
Here you have this faith that many Americans would still categorize as
“exotic,” that has received many converts who have operated according to a very
American pattern, and on the basis of that American pattern have, in turn,
sought to evangelize other Americans.
That American pattern is one of anti-tradition (which could be called an
anti-traditional tradition). America has
a long history of religious mavericks who emphasize a part of their previously
received tradition in order to create something new. This has led to an increasingly diversified
and complex religious scene.
Restorationist movements embody this anti-traditional tradition by
emphasizing aspects of what they had received in order to recreate what had
once allegedly existed prior to that tradition that was given to them. So, it is “anti-tradition” in trying to
by-pass the received tradition but a “tradition” nonetheless by virtue of being
an ongoing way of doing religion in America.
One restoration bequeaths another.
What has happened in the case of many American Orthodox converts,
especially those I examined in my study, was that their very desire to find
tradition was undertaken in a manner that represented the anti-tradition tradition.
What
is more, these converts then used this approach to lead and/or attract other
converts. This is important to note
because some have taken such actions by new converts as simply perpetuating
Orthodoxy’s “defensiveness” in the face of American culture when, in fact, it
is evidence of engaging American pluralism.
One sees this in the case of Gillquist, for instance when he went on to
encourage other Christians to join the Orthodox Church by arguing the Orthodox
Church exists not merely as a non-denominational church but as a
pre-denominational church. It also
becomes a way of trying to present the Orthodox Church to America in a way that
Americans could appreciate it.
AD: In your discussion about the
reception of many former Evangelical Orthodox into the Antiochian Archdiocese,
it occurred to me that in some clear ways Met. Philip is precisely an
embodiment of your 'anti-traditional tradition," yes? I'm thinking here of
his handling of the Joseph Allen affair as well as his performing a
"mass" ordination for the EO clergy in one liturgy. Is that a fair
assessment of him?
OH:
Hmmm.
Interesting that you should ask this.
Not long after the book came out, a colleague and friend emailed me and
wrote that Metropolitan Philip came off looking more like a lone ranger than
this friend had previously thought.
I
should point out that Metropolitan Philip was not a focus of my study.
He did, however, play significant roles in
the conversions of Gillquist and the most of the former Evangelical Orthodox
Church and so he appeared with some frequency in the last two chapters of this
work.
He was connected to controversial
decisions that affected that group of converts, including that of their
ordinations and the remarriage of Fr. Joseph Allen, which you mention.
And, to be fair, he performed other actions
surrounding those decisions that were (and are) controversial in themselves and
this doesn’t even touch on Ben Lomond and fallout from that.
So, I can see how one might wonder if
Metropolitan Philip doesn’t represent the anti-traditional tradition, but I
would argue he does not fit the anti-traditional tradition as I set it out in
my narrative.
Whatever one might think
of his actions at times, he has not, from the sources I consulted, sought to
recover and reestablish a previous norm.
He may be a religious maverick, but he did not exhibit the intention to
reestablish a previous norm by establishing a new church or some larger church reform.
Indeed, the only common denominator I saw was
himself.
I suppose if one were to
broaden anti-traditional tradition far enough, he would fit, but then the
phrase would merely be a synonym for a religious maverick of any kind whereas I
wanted to highlight the founding of new denominations, religions, or reform
efforts.
Perhaps someday someone will
study his legacy, for all its complexities.
When that day arrives, I would encourage that scholar to consult the
sources I did in addition to other sources that are relevant and to seek to be
as unpartisan as possible, allowing the sources to speak for themselves.
AD: Your work shows, as you sum
up at the end (p.156) that many converts "prioritized an earlier
expression of Christianity and have identified the Orthodox Churches as
continuations of that earlier church." This gets at something I've been
thinking about more and more over the past year--and have discussed in my
reviews of the new collection, Orthodox Constructions of the West: how many
Eastern Christians (and in a different direction, but with similar methods,
many "traditionalist" Roman Catholics also) appropriate history. I've
heard it said that few of us read history on its own terms. Instead we
"plunder it for present political purposes." Do you think that's
generally true?
OH: That’s a great question
because suspect there will be Orthodox who are not yet prepared to allow the
historical evidence to be what it is but will believe that somehow I must have
slanted it so that things did not look as neat and tidy (and triumphalistic) as
might be found in books such as
Orthodox
America, 1794-1776 or
Becoming Orthodox. What I would counter with
is that we need to distinguish between plundering for our own purposes and
investigating to address current concerns.
One can cherry pick any period of history to “prove” nearly anything but
that is different from saying, “here is a topic that is important to us
today—what is its history, its back story and what can we learn from this”?
AD: Following this, have you set
out, or have other especially Orthodox historians set out, any basic
hermeneutical and historiographical guidelines on reading and writing about
church history? It's often seemed to me that some guidelines or ground-rules
like that would be useful in trying to talk about (and defuse the tensions surrounding)
controverted issues like, say, the Fourth Crusade or the Union of Brest and
similar issues.
OH:
You’re determined to turn this interview into
a book project of its own!
I actually
think that what is eventually needed is an Orthodox philosophy/theology of
history.
I actually have that as a long
range goal, sometime later in my career.
I’m not even close to that yet, but I suppose there are a few things I
could say.
I have outlined what I think
historical theology means (see attached
PDF).
I think the most important
element is the ascetic—the effort to remain dispassionate as one researches and
studies.
This is not easy, for any
number of reasons.
One might already
have a predetermined outcome one wants.
For
instance, I suspect this happens at times when we
want to canonize a particular person or particular kind of
person.
One might also be cherry picking
in order to defend a particular point of view.
This is an extreme version of the predetermined outcome.
Alternatively, one might simply be too
colored by one’s political or ecclesiastical allegiance.
Here, the historian may be looking at all the
evidence but the way in which it is weighed might seem questionable.
We all have perspective and that shouldn’t be
denied but I think the biggest lesson we need to learn is to go into historical
inquiry as an act of disciplining the soul and achieving dispassion.
It may be a never ending goal, but must be
our goal nonetheless, especially those of us who would ground dispassion in
theosis, which comes through Christ.
AD: Sum up your hopes for this
book:
OH: I have several hopes for this
book. First, I hope it provides scholars
a way to assess many Orthodox conversions, if not the majority of them. As a by-product, I think my thesis could be
applied to analogous situations within the church, as you suggested by asking
about Metropolitan Philip. It didn’t
work in his case, but maybe it could still apply in others. Second, I hope this provides scholars,
Orthodox clergy, and Orthodox laity with a more realistic view of some
important converts and convert movements.
Orthodox have developed a fair amount of mythology surrounding Orthodox
converts, a mythology that has often been wedded to triumphalism (talk about a
lack of dispassion!). This work clearly
breaks through that and in that way, I hope it can serve as an example of the
kind of historical inquiry Orthodoxy in America needs (whether internally, from
Orthodox such as myself, or externally).
AD: What projects do you have on
the go now? What will the next book likely be?
OH: In true fashion for one who could simultaneously
work on Sarapion and American Orthodox converts, I have three projects in
progress.
First, I am collaborating with my
friend and colleague Brian Matz on translations of texts from the ninth century
filioque dispute.
We hope to have a manuscript that we could
submit a year from now.
Ed Sciecienski
mentioned our work in his book, but Brian and I got distracted by our other
projects, so it will be nice to return to this and publish it.
Second, I am also working on a
project that develops a virtue ethic from iconography. This work is intended not simply as an academic
piece, but as something that will be easily accessible to clergy and interested
laity. I am not sure how soon I will
have something to a publisher with this project. It will depend on what this spring and summer
bring.
A third project I am working on
is more in-depth than the first two. It
builds from my convert book, taking up the idea of engaging American
pluralism. This project will be an
exploration of American Orthodox engagement with religious freedom. I believe this is a much needed area of
exploration and in the conclusion I will directly engage some Orthodox
political theology, and argue for an Orthodox-informed “Christian
secularism.” So, if I hope the first two
will be to publishers within a year or so, this one will likely take a couple
of years just to get into (rough) manuscript form. This one might take a little while but I hope
it will be worth it.