Karl Barth on "Double Predestination"

At the moment, I can't document the following quote from Karl Barth. But it's just so juicy I had to pass it along:

If the teachers of predestination were right when they spoke always of a duality, of election and reprobation, of predestination to salvation or perdition, to life or death, then we may say already that in the election of Jesus Christ which is the eternal will of God, God has ascribed to man the former, election, salvation and life; and to Himself He has ascribed the latter, reprobation, perdition and death. If it is indeed the case that the divine good-pleasure which was the beginning of all things with God carries with it the risk and threat of negation, then it is so because the Son of God incarnate represents and Himself is this divine good-pleasure. The risk and threat is the portion which the Son of God, i.e., God Himself, has chosen for His own.

MacCulloch, Chapter 9

Chapter 9 in Diarmaid MacCulloch's survey of Christian history is called "The Making of Latin Christianity." It's the first of several chapters in Part IV which is titled "The Unlikely Rise of Rome."

MacCulloch explains that during the fourth century, the growing Roman emphasis on the antiquity of the Church, the centrality of Rome, and the primacy of Peter were all the result of a desire to gain respectability, "to show that Christianity had a past as glorious as anything that the old gods could offer" (294). To borrow MacCulloch's expression, Christianity was becoming "a religion fit for a gentleman," and by that he means a Roman gentleman. Along this line, I learned something very interesting about the Roman Catholic dogma of the primacy of Peter and the history of the interpretation of Matthew 16. MacCulloch explains:

One aim of the programme was to place a new emphasis on the role of Peter rather than the joint role of Peter and Paul in the Roman past. Moreover, it was in [Pope] Damasus's time that Peter came to be regarded not merely as the founder of the Christian Church in Rome, but also as its first bishop. Ironically, it was actually a North African bishop, point-scoring against his local Donatist opponents by stressing the North African Catholics' links to Rome, who is the first person known to have asserted on the basis of Matthew 16:17-19 that 'Peter was superior to the other apostles and alone received the keys of the kingdom, which were distributed by him to the rest'; yet significantly it was in the time of Damasus that this thought occurred to the North African, some time around 370 (p. 294).

Meanwhile, Jerome was advocating the idea that scholarship, what he was did and loved, was just as legitimate a monastic life as manual labor or being an hermit. He put an exclamation point on his statement when he produced what would become the Christian Bible for the next 1000 years, the Latin Vulgate.

Next, MacCulloch provides a very fine survey of the life and legacy of Augustine, "shaper of the western church" (pp. 301-12), and ends the chapter by telling the stories of important people associated with the rise and development of monasticism in the West:

The most significant early figure in this story is Martin, without whom the Christianization of Germany and missions into the British Isles would not have happened. "Eastern and Western monasticism combined fruitfully in the monk John Cassian" (315). And then there was Benedict whose "Rule" became the basis for the flowering of monasticism in the West for many centuries to follow, even up to the present day.

Rice Haggard, by Colby D. Hall

Hall, Colby D. Rice Haggard: The American Frontier Evangelist Who Revived the Name Christian. Fort Worth: University Christian Church, 1957.

It's been about fifteen years since I first read this book. But recently, I've looked at it again. For Stone-Campbell Restoration History buffs, here's a quick report:

This is the only book-length treatment of the life and times of Rice Haggard. Its author, Colby Hall, was for many years a teacher of church history at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth. I never met Hall. But his passion for the subject of Restoration History and his personal flair shine through on every page.

The book begins with a chronological table and two photographs of prominent Haggard descendants. (Unfortunately, we have no likeness of Rice Haggard himself).

Chapter I provides a historical backdrop. Hall takes the reader back to Rice Haggard's ancestor, James, who arrived in America in 1689. Chapter II outlines the religious context of Colonial Virginia, the original Haggard family home in America.

Chapters III and IV trace the lines of Nathanael and Edmund Haggard, both sons of James. Rice, the subject of the book, was the son of Edmund. The chapter on the line of Edmund Haggard goes on to tell of Rice's involvement with James O'Kelley and the Republican Methodist Church.

Chapter V reports the contribution that Rice made to the movement associated with Barton W. Stone and the Kentucky Christians.

Chapter VI gives an overview of the family and personal life of Rice.

Chapter VII provides a summary of the sources and the content of Rice Haggard's pamphlet, An Address to the Different Religious Societies on the Sacred Import of the Christian Name.

Two final chapters supply information about the Haggard family in the early twentieth century and the use of the name "Christian" among believers in Jesus. A bibliography, a diagram of the James Haggard family tree, and a general index round out the book.

Bibliographical Note:

Though the book by Colby Hall is the monograph on Rice Haggard, it is now supplemented and corrected by mainly one source: Roberts, R. L. "Rice Haggard (1769-1819) 'A Name Rever'd'," Discipliana 54 (Fall 1994): 67-81.

For a popular-level treatment of the life and significance of Haggard, with photos, see my article, "Rice Haggard: Unsung Hero of the Restoration Movement," Gospel Advocate 139 (March 1997): 26-31.

Better yet, to get the content of my GA article and more, check out the Rice Haggard posts here at Frankly Speaking.

Predestination and Early Christian Writers

Augustinian predestination is not the doctrine of the Church but only the opinion of a distinguished Catholic theologian. --as quoted in D. MacCulloch, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years, p. 308. MacCulloch cites G. Bonner, Saint Augustine of Hippo: Life and Controversies. 2d edition. (Norwich, 1963), pp. 394-95.

To see numerous examples of the early church's commitment to the doctrine of human free will as opposed to predestination, take a look at this page at the website of the Austin Graduate School of Theology.

MacCulloch, Chapters 7 and 8

Part III (= Chapters 7 and 8) of MacCulloch's survey of Christian history takes up the story of the early church in the south and east after the Council at Chalcedon (451). These movements were partly the result of a debate about the nature of Christ.

The formula from Chalcedon said that Jesus Christ was "one person in two natures," human and divine. Most everyone agreed that the reported claim of Nestorius--that within Christ there were two persons--was absolute heresy. But for believers in places like Alexandria, it was also wrong to speak, as Chalcedon did, of Christ having two natures. The detractors explained that as wine and water become indistinguishable when mixed, so the human and divine in Christ were indistinguishable and essentially one. This was the position of the Monophysite movement. (MacCulloch calls this "Miaphysite." Both terms mean "one nature").

With their center of influence at Alexandria, the Miaphysites dominated northeast Africa. From there and also from the east bank of the Red Sea, the faith traveled further south into Africa all the way to Ethiopia. As a way of expressing their differences with Chalcedon, African Christians adopted the language called Coptic. On occasion, leaders at Constantinople attempted to strike a deal, holding to the Chalcedonian creed while maintaining ties with the Miaphysites. These efforts ultimately failed until, eventually, the southern churches became so institutionally and culturally different from Constantinople and Rome that the two sides were practically irreconcilable.

Another group breaking with Chalcedon went in the opposite theological direction and in a different physical direction. The Dyophysites emphasized the separateness of the human and divine in Jesus. Thus the early church's christological debate provided three distinct options: Miaphysite (one nature), Roman/Chalcedonian (two natures in one person), and Dyophysite (the human nature of Christ is separable from his divine person). The Dyophysite movement took root, often as a distinct minority, in various parts of Asia traveling as far east as India, China, and even Japan.

In chapter 8, MacCulloch shows that the rise and conquests of Islam and/or the presence of indigenous religious traditions had the effect of cutting off Africa and most of Asia from Roman and Byzantine expressions of Christianity. Those believers isolated in the South and East were often persecuted and oppressed. Nevertheless, they held to their faith (regarded by the West as heretical). The result is that there are to this day many vestiges of Christianity in Africa and Asia. And MacCulloch is convinced that a large number of these have yet to be appreciated or discovered by the West. He remarks that in the centuries following the break up of these two Christian worlds, what is truly remarkable is

just how little Western Chalcedonian Christians knew about centuries of Christian struggle, scholarship, sanctity and heroism in another world. Western Christianity, heir to Chalcedon, Reformation and Counter Reformation, still has a long way to go before the balance is fully righted.

Western Christians have forgotten that before the coming of Islam utterly transformed the situation in the eastern Mediterranean and Asia, there was a good chance that the centre of gravity of Christian faith might have moved east to Iraq rather than west to Rome. Instead, the ancient Christianity of the East was nearly everywhere faced with a destiny of contraction in numbers, suffering and martyrdom which still continues (284).

To this point in the book, I think this is the most impressive and important section.

MacCulloch, Chapters 5 and 6

Oxford historian Diarmaid MacCulloch concludes Part II of his book, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years, with chapters 5 and 6.

The title of Chapter 5 raises a question: "The Prince: Ally or Enemy?" MacCulloch begins by tracing the history of the church's relationship to the Roman Empire during the second century. Here, he offers a good description of how, to the Romans, the boldness of the Christians seemed like a provocation, how their aloofness created suspicion, and how their distinctive use of political language represented an affront to imperial authority. The Christians worshipped none of the traditional gods. Were they atheists? In their assemblies, it was said that they ate flesh and drank blood. Were they cannibals? Suspicion and resentment sometimes resulted in the martyrdom of Christians, terrible ordeals that resulted in the church having even more heroes. One can only wonder why MacCulloch ignores one of the earliest and most-interesting episodes in the history of Rome's various encounters with early Christianity: the conflict over the Cult of the Emperor in the province of Asia during the reign of Domitian, the unmistakable back story of the New Testament's Book of Revelation.

In a section on the "Third-Century Imperial Crisis," MacCulloch describes how in that period the borders of the Empire were receding. Among the biggest problems was weak leadership and governance. As a result, imperial government was reduced to "a police state" (167). "From Persecution to Persecution" describes the organized attempts of Decius (mid-3rd century) and Diocletian (early 4th) to obliterate Christianity. Finally, in a section on "Kings and Christians," MacCulloch provides a good overview of the Syriac-speaking church in the east. Once again, he makes a few remarks indicating that he has a bit of an axe to grind. Having referred to the "sheer diversity" of early Christianity, he remarks that it serves as "a vital lesson to learn for modern Christians who wish to impose a uniformity on Christian belief and practice which has never in fact existed" (176-77). This section of the chapter includes a good description of the Syriac-speaking church in the East.

Chapter 6, "The Imperial Church," begins with a section on "Constantine and the God of Battles." MacCulloch describes the development of Christianity under the patronage of the emperor who established the city of Constantinople and who led to the development of the church's organizational structure. Next, the author discusses the rise of monasticism as a reaction to Christianity's greater accommodation to and acceptance from the larger society. And he tells the stories of Pachomius, who originated monasteries, and Antony, who retreated to the desert and became the original hermit. MacCulloch also relates the story of Arius of Alexandria who reportedly said of Christ, "There was when he was not." Christ was created by the Father! Eventually, Constantine summoned the bishops of the Empire to Nicaea in 325. Homoousios was the term used in the proceedings of the council to affirm that Christ was "of one substance" with the Father (214). The Council of Constantinople, held in 381, finally outlawed Arianism. But, suppressed, it flourished among the Goths and Vandals, who lived outside the borders of the Empire and who apparently adopted heretical positions as a way of opposing Roman power.

The later Miaphysite (also called "Monophysite") controversy did not deal with the earlier theological question (how God the Father was different from, but similar to, Christ). Instead, this controversy took up the question of how to describe Christ's divine and human nature(s). By this time, the new power-politics character of Christianity clearly shows. Antioch, Alexandria, Jerusalem, and Constantinople all vied power, not to mention Rome. In the debate over the Christological question, the Antiocheans were much more prepared to talk about Jesus's human nature than were the Alexandrians. Antioch had always given stronger emphasis to the literal sense of the Bible. By the year 400, the term Theotokos, "bearer of God" was already a common way of describing Mary. This was a result of the high Christology affirmed in the Nicean creed. Nestorius, Bishop of Constantinople, trained in the way of Antioch, rejected the emphasis placed on Theotokos. It should be balanced, he said, by the term Anthropotokos, "bearer of a human." The Council of Ephesus (431) condemned Nestorius. Finally, the Council of Chalcedon (451) proclaimed that the Father and Son are co-equal, and that the humanity and divinity of Christ are co-equal. In this way, Chalcedon was conclusive and definitive regarding both the Trinitarian and Christological controversies.

Graduation at the University of Connecticut

We decided to take some pics outside Chloe's apartment.

Chloe and Abigail

Just outside Gampel Pavillion

Congratulations and best wishes to the University of Connecticut Class of 2011!

Sunday Soccer

Here and there, I've posted a few photos of my soccer daughter, Abigail. She's still playing and had a game this morning in Rocky Hill. However, things are a little different these days: she's a teenager now and does not want her dad taking pictures of her. And since this Papa isn't quite ready to join the paparazzi, well, I didn't get the greatest photos. Here's the best I could do.

Last minute instructions from her coach before getting on the field.

That's her in the center of the photo. Rocky Hill didn't beat Berlin this time around. But they gave it a good try. 2-1 was the final score.

A Few Notes on MacCulloch, Chapter 4

Back to Diarmaid MacCulloch's book, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. I mentioned in an earlier post that when it comes to the New Testament and Christian origins, MacCulloch displays a penchant for finding disagreement or contradiction where there isn't any. More of this shows up in Chapter 4.

For example, MacCulloch claims that when Paul refused to accept financial support from churches he was working with at the time, he acted "contrary" to the teaching of Jesus who said that "those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the gospel." But why is it contrary if Paul, for the sake of his mission, chose to relinquished his rights?

In an attempt to bolster his point, he actually makes matters worse with a complete misreading of 2 Thessalonians 3:6. There Paul instructs Christians at Thessalonica to distance themselves "from any brother who is living in idleness." According to MacCulloch, Paul's rigid work ethic here runs counter to the example of "Jesus and his wandering Twelve." The author appears to have forgotten that he had earlier quoted Jesus to the effect that those engaged in a teaching ministry had a right to be supported. The idle Christians at Thessalonica had not left fishing nets in order to follow and to learn from Jesus. As 2 Thessalonians makes clear, assuming that the return of Christ was just around the corner, they had quit working altogether only to become a public nuisance, which is a vast difference. In the words of Paul, they had gone from busy to being busybodies. Not to mention that MacCulloch shouldn't be quoting Paul from 2 Thessalonians anyway since he earlier claimed that the Apostle didn't write it, labeling it one of the "later pastiches of the authentic letters" (see 97, especially note 53 which can be found on 1025).

Shallow reading of the New Testament turns up again in a discussion of Romans 16. Contrary to MacCulloch, in verses 1 and 2 of that chapter, sister Phoebe, a diakonos of the church at Cenchreae, does not receive a greeting from Paul. Instead, the Apostle instructs the Christian community at Rome to receive her and to give her any help she may need from them. The passage makes clear that Paul had given to Pheobe the responsibility and honor of delivering his Letter to the Romans, a bit of evidence that MacCulloch might have used to strengthen his point about the relatively-high status of women in at least some segments of the first-century church (116-17).

Again, I think that MacCulloch is a pretty good researcher and writer. And I still expect that, in later portions of his book, he'll be able to teach me a few things about Christian history. Until then, I'll say that in these early chapters he should have been more careful, not so quick to question the New Testament.

Rattlesnake Derby, Mangum, Oklahoma

My dad and I drove over to Mangum, Oklahoma this afternoon just to see what was going on at the annual Rattlesnake Derby there. . . .

It's just not every day that you see boxes labeled, CAUTION LIVE SNAKES

My dad. Back in the day, none of us had ever been to a rattlesnake derby. So he and my mom brought us to Mangum not long after we moved to Altus forty years ago.

Looks alive, doesn't it? Actually, it's stuffed. Didn't buy it though. I figured Michele wouldn't appreciate it on the coffee table. But what a conversation piece!

Here's a live one, . . . with lots of wire between me and him.

Again, not something you see everyday.

The First 100 Pages of the First 3000 Years

A few days ago, I started reading the newish book by Oxford church historian Diarmaid MacCulloch, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. It's a big book, over 1,000 pages long. What follows are a few of my reactions after reading the first three chapters, which take up about 100 pages.

Of course, nowadays authors are expected to come up with a title or a subtitle that intrigues and reels in the prospective buyer. The title Christianity doesn't create much of a stir. Here it's the subtitle, The First Three Thousand Years, that raises the obvious question. I thought Christianity was only two thousand years old. So what's the author up to? In the first few pages, you find out. MacCulloch believes that the Christian faith owes so much to its roots in (a) the ancient Greek tradition and (b) the history of Israel that it's no stretch to say that the Christianity sort of began about a thousand years before the time of Christ.

Those two strands of Christian pre-history take up the first two chapters of the book. Here, MacCulloch packs a lot of information into a few dozen pages. The reader can learn a good bit about how ancient Hellenism and Judaism shaped the world into which Jesus and his movement were born. At times, MacCulloch offers up some refreshing takes on well-known texts. A good example is found on page 50:

Around Abraham's rackety grandson Jacob are woven several engaging tales of outrageous cheating and deceit, and they culminate in an all-night wrestling match with a mysterious stranger who overcomes Jacob and is able to give him another new name, Israel, meaning 'He who strives with God'. Out of that fight in the darkness, with one who revealed the power of God and was God, began the generations of the Children of Israel. Few peoples united by a religion have proclaimed by their very name that they struggle against the one whom they worship. The relationship of God with Israel is intense, personal, conflicted. Those who follow Israel and the religions which spring from his wrestling match that night are being told that even through their harshest and most wretched experiences of fighting with those they love most deeply, they are being given some glimpse of how they relate to God.

Through the first two chapters of the book, MacCulloch's presentation is mostly good. But then comes Chapter 3, "A Crucified Messiah (4 BCE--100 CE)." Here the reader easily detects a zeal for debunking the Four Gospels that appears to have gone to seed.

For example, on page 79 MacCulloch says that “the Gospels agree on hardly any detail about Jesus’s infancy.” But the fact that Matthew and Luke report different traditions surrounding the birth of Jesus does not mean that they necessarily disagree. In fact, they don’t.

On page 83, we read: “The Gospels do not give a definite answer as to whether Jesus’s ministry lasted one year (John) or three years (Matthew, Mark, and Luke).” Here it’s hard to know where to begin. It is true that upon reading one of the first three Gospels one might guess that the public ministry of Jesus took up no more than one year. However, this is far from the notion that any of the evangelists state that one year was the time frame. On the other hand, the church derives its tradition that Christ’s ministry lasted three years from John’s Gospel, which mentions three Passover festivals (see 2:13, 6:4, and 11:55). Not only does MacCulloch insinuate a disagreement where there isn’t one, he also makes the confusing mistake of reversing the categories. Again, it is not the Synoptic Gospels, but rather John who establishes the three-year time frame.

Although it is not intended to contradict the Gospel accounts, one can only wonder about MacCulloch's discussion of the parable, Jesus’s favorite form of teaching. The author suggests that Jesus invented the device and adds that parables “emerge as a literary form in later Judaism only after Jesus’ death” (p. 87). He then asks, “Was this form of Jesus’s teaching so successful that it impressed and influenced even Jews who did not become his followers?” The entire section is unaware that instructing and convicting others by means of narrative metaphor finds its origin not in the teaching of Jesus, but in the Hebrew Bible, the Scriptural tradition in which Jesus stood. How did MacCulloch, the son of an Anglican priest, forget how the prophet Nathan revealed to King David the true character of his sin with Bathsheba?

There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup, and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him. Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him (2 Samuel 12:1-4).

Other examples from the Jewish Scriptures include Jotham's parable of the trees in Judges 9, the parable of the two sons told by the wise woman of Tekoa in 2 Samuel 14, and several others, like those found among the oracles of the writing prophets; for example, the story of the two eagles and a vine in Ezekiel 17.

These mistakes and misreadings in Chapter 3 do not inspire confidence in MacCulloch who otherwise seems to be a competent historian and a fine writer. So, anyone else out there who has read or who's reading MacCulloch? I'd be interested to hear your reactions. If not this book, then what are you reading these days?

Using "Fight Club" to Teach Buddhism: 2nd of 2

This is the second of two posts about teaching Buddhism using the 1999 movie Fight Club. So if you haven't read the last entry here, you might want to take a look and then come back. I recently used this material in my Introduction to World Religions course at Amarillo College, and the class session went pretty well. To repeat, this approach is based on Fight Club: An Exploration of Buddhism, by Charley Reed. The article appeared in the online Journal of Religion and Film in October 2007.

The Tri Kaya Doctrine

A major branch of world Buddhism--and certainly the one that is best known in the United States--is called Mahayana. The word means something like "the great vehicle." It's the inclusive branch of the religion. Mahayana is "great" at least because it includes many people who otherwise would not be Buddhist. Mahayana also refers to a better-than-you attitude towards Theraveda.

By contrast, Theravada Buddhism insists that to be Buddhist means to strictly follow the example set by Siddhartha Gautama, the man who came to be known as the Buddha. When you see a Buddhist monk with his head shaved and wearing what looks like a toga, think "Theraveda." When you remember that Phil Jackson, the coach of the Los Angeles Lakers, is a Buddhist, think "Mahayana."

One way for Christians to conceive of the distinction between Theraveda and Mahayana is to ask the question, "In what ways must a Christian be like Christ?" Jesus was a first-century Palestinian Jew who apparently worked as a carpenter until he began a public teaching and healing ministry that lasted for three years. At the end, he was arrested and charged by the authorities who had him executed. Throughout his life, Jesus lived in and observed the customs of Judaism, including synagogue worship and participation in major festivals in Jerusalem. He spoke Aramaic and could read the Jewish Scriptures in Hebrew. Jesus was baptized, once fasted for forty days, and washed the feet of his disciples. The particulars of his life go on and on. Question: how much must a person be just like Jesus in these and other particulars in order to truly be Christian? This is the sort of question that Buddhism has asked: how much must a person be like Siddhartha in order to be Buddhist? Theravada gives the conservative answer. Mahayana gives the liberal answer. My sense is that the relationship between Theravada and Mahayana is a little bit like the one between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism, sometimes debating and dismissing, but at other times complimenting and cooperating.

Within Mahayana there is a teaching called Tri Kaya, which means "three personalities." The term refers to the idea that the Buddha has three bodies: (1) the Nirmana Kaya, the "apparitional body" (2) the Sambhoga Kaya, the "state of perfect bliss" and (3) the Dharma Kaya, which is the body of "most excellent law" and, according to Reed, symbolizes "the enlightenment of Buddha nature." He also observes:

The connections between the doctrine and Fight Club are blunt: One can easily label Tyler as the Nirmana Kaya, Marla as the Sambhoga Kaya, and the narrator as the Dharma Kaya, but the actual meaning to the story of the film, once these connections are made, is what is more important.

Once a viewer looks through this lens, seeing Marla, Tyler, and the narrator as actually separate manifestations of one common thought, the movie really opens up to numerous possibilities. For one, if Tyler is the embodiment of Nirmana Kaya, then his leadership qualities in the film make a lot more sense, especially as a teacher for the narrator. In Buddhist teachings, the Nirmana Kaya is the idea of the historical Buddha, and is what is referenced when a particular person hopes to become more than just a bodhisattva, and has that internal characteristic about them. Also found in Buddhist teachings, is the idea that the Nirmana Kaya manifestation of the Buddha has compassion for all beings. In the film, Tyler too has compassion for all beings, wanting to free the "middle children of history," almost ignoring the narrator near the end of the film in order to flesh out the larger picture. The same holds true once seeing Marla as the Sambhoga Kaya. After this connection is established, one can then understand why, even though it appeared the narrator had nothing but distaste for Marla, both he and Tyler had romantic feelings for her. In Buddhist teachings, it is Sambhog Gakaya which is needed in order to achieve Nirmana Kaya, which ties directly to Marla being the catalyst for the narrator being forced to manifest Tyler.

The core "body" in Mahayana Buddhism is the Dharma Kaya, which is a constant, enlightened presence in the world which gives rise to the other manifestations of Buddha. In the movie, the narrator is the one tangible character who is sustained throughout, in almost every part of the movie from beginning to end. Dharma Kaya is also seen as the "pure" and "flawless" manifestation of the Buddha. While it may appear that the narrator is the opposite of that idea of Dharma Kaya, it is the conscience of the narrator that causes him to risk his life in order to save his city and nation from a terrorist attack, . . . and his new found self control allows Jack to provide meaning and prospective to his journey.

Tilakkhana

In addition to illustrating Tri Kaya, Fight Club can also be used to help students understand what Zen Buddhism (a branch of Mahayana) calls "The Three Characteristics of Existence." These are:

1. anicca, which means "change." Reed points out that the big change at the beginning of Fight Club involves the destruction of Jack's apartment, which explodes while he's away. Virtually nothing is left. Humans typically want for our worlds to arrive at an ideal state and then stay that way. Anicca is the word that reminds us that life never works like that.

2. dukkha, which means "suffering" or "pain." One doesn't have to watch Fight Club for very long to figure out that it's all about every kind of pain. The Buddha taught that to live is to suffer (the First Noble Truth). This includes physical pain. But the concept of dukkha includes what many people regard as something worse: emotional or psychical pain. Consider that many counselees say that they would rather be physically beaten than be verbally, emotionally abused. Jack encounters and endures big doses of all sorts of pain and suffering.

3. anatta, which refers to the concept of "no permanent self." As viewers of Fight Club eventually find out, a major theme of the film is identity. Anatta says that, in spite of my perceptions and desires, there is no permanent, immortal person, no enduring spirit. To think that a person, who once never existed and will someday be dead, has a unified, permanent existence is a little like thinking a car has such an existence. If the car is without its engine, or its tires and wheels, or without an interior, would it still be that car? What if you take the body off of the chassis? Is one or the other, or both, that car? And in that case, would the car have become two? What constitutes the car's permanent identity? At what point did it become a car? How much does it have to decay and come apart before it is no longer considered a car and ceases to exist as such? You could (and should) ask the same question about a human being who supposedly has a singular, permanent identity.