Teddi, Let Me Count the Ways

“I wondered,” said the Oyster Man referring to a comment from Teddi Pappas, “if it would not have been wiser to review your book after reading it?”

When I read Teddi’s comment, I imagined myself in a courtroom, a weary judge at the bench, barely paying attention, perhaps half asleep from an overload of tedious information. I am the defendant in this daydream. My attorney mirrors the judge’s lethargy, lacking any spark of enthusiasm or compulsion to object. The plaintiff’s attorney is Teddi, relentlessly pressing on, her words lifted from the comment she had made in this blog.

I can already guess that your book (which you had mused around the start of this year) would be about “Shroudism.” To me, that sounds a lot like equating authenticists with cult members –with the pejorative meaning (not as Henri de Poitiers meant in his letter.) For you to have someone involved with writing your book who is going to go on the attack regarding the Shroud’s authenticity (well, ’cause, let’s talk straight, that’s what you do), then this person is, likely, a pastor or even a priest. A scientist or academic in this more and more Godless society would wear it as a badge of honor to attack Shroud scholarship. So, it’s likely someone who likes to engage in “hit and runs.” I’m not really impressed by such people.

While there are rare occasions where, perhaps, a government official needs to leak information so that they can still remain in their position (and continue to get more information), or they are concerned about being imprisoned, co-writing your book does not come anywhere close to meeting the need for anonymity.

Moreover, this co-author (and probably a very non-Holy Ghost writer) seems inherently untrustworthy in that it would seem that he has strong opinions about Shroud scholarship, Shroud scholars and “Shroudism” (your coined word), yet he wants to hide his true views from the public. So, it would seem that he is a deceiver –and I think that such a person is, inherently, untrustworthy.

“Is that a question?” the judge asks.

Then, because she must, she makes it one. “Right?”

And in this daydream I imagine myself a brilliant poet and the words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning come to mind. And I mangle them:

How do I disagree? Let me count the ways:

I challenge thee in thought and word and deed,
In every quiet moment where our minds have clashed,
From the depths of reason to the heights of plea,
In every dream deferred and every ideal dashed.

In the silent stare where understanding fails,
Through each whispered doubt that logic trails,
I find my voice, both strong and soft, to speak,
To question, to dispute, in every word I seek.

I disagree in shadowed corners of the mind,
In arguments both fierce and kind,
In every heartfelt protestation, bold or meek,
In every clash of wills where truth we seek.

How was it that I ever gave the impression that what I was writing was anything like what has been alleged? Please forgive me if I ever gave that impression.

The book I’m working on, in a series of connected essays, reconstructs and, in some ways, summarizes an ongoing discussion between two men that started in 2010 in a Manhattan restaurant. I was one of those two men. I am the book’s sole author. The other person in the discussions with me is neither a co-author nor a ghostwriter. He will not even see the book before it is finished.

He is not an expert who feels that he can say much of anything about Shroud science or Shroud history. And so, he doesn’t. And at his request, for very good reasons, his name will not be disclosed in my book or here in this blog. Let me explain why?

His pseudonym is Oyster Man. It is from a fondness for Oysters. Unlike me, he believes the Shroud might be genuine. I am the one who harbors doubts and remains the sole non-anonymous author of the future book. I sought his views and his probing questions directed at me and I want to give them voice.  And you, the future reader, can join the debate and challenge me openly.

When the Oyster Man read in Teddi’s comment posted to this blog that . . .

1. “A scientist or academic in this more and more Godless society would wear it as a badge of honor to attack Shroud scholarship. So, it’s likely someone who likes to engage in ‘hit and runs.’ I’m not really impressed by such people.”
   
2. “So, it would seem that he is a deceiver –and I think that such a person is, inherently, untrustworthy,”

. . . he responded with dismay directly to me. “Please tell your fellow blogger to read the book.” I look forward to another book review after the book has been released. 

In the book, the Oyster Man and I discussed belief in God and the nature of miracles. We also discussed the varying interpretations of ‘incarnation’ and ‘resurrection’ that have existed within Christianity throughout history and in different parts of the world. We both believe, very much as C. S. Lewis believed, that incarnation and resurrection are the two greatest miracles. We both think resurrection means a bodily miracle. But we must acknowledge that there are many ways to define such all too simple words.  

For example, the word ‘resurrection’ is far more than a simple definition from Webster’s and more than a mere translation from ancient Greek. In the 1st Century, it derived meanings from various cultural contexts: Jewish versus Greco-Roman perspectives, intellectual factions within Judaism, and the dynamics between the Jewish diaspora and those centered in the Holy Land during the Late Second Temple period. The debate, even early on, revolved around two concepts: spiritual and physical.

What did Paul mean by ‘spiritual’? There are varying opinions on this. Whether this question has been resolved depends largely on whom you ask.

Some people think that the word bodily means the same as physical; others have a different opinion. “Nothing,” my scientist friend, Oyster Man, says, “demonstrates this better than our theological questions about transubstantiation. How can we say the eucharistic bread remains unchanged physically yet takes on the substance of Christ’s body?”  Those of us who believe so, do so on the basis of faith, not science.

As reported by the Catholic News Agency, “just 31% of U.S. Catholics [they=Pew Research] surveyed believe that the bread and wine used in the Eucharist, through a process called transubstantiation, become the body and blood of Jesus–a fundamental teaching central to the Catholic faith, known as the Real Presence.”

The article from CNA is here: Survey on Catholic belief in the Eucharist prompts calls for better catechesis.

Both the Oyster Man and I, though neither of us are Catholic, believe that the bread actually becomes the body of Christ in some form of substance that is not observable to science. Nothing happens physically. To many Christians that makes no sense. But to those who do believe it, we do so on the basis of faith. I for one, think that is something that is beyond scientific observation.

The Oyster Man and I had met, perhaps it was the fourth or fifth time, at a small oyster and seafood place in lower Manhattan, just blocks from Trinity Church, just off of Wall Street. The Oyster Man was preparing an oyster. With a small device that looked like a small chisel or miniature spatula, he carefully dressed the oyster with horseradish, hot sauce and lemon juice from a gauze covered lemon half. He looked directly at the hovering waiter, who had no idea what he was talking about, and said to him. “I don’t believe you can prove that the Shroud is real. And that is because if you could, you could prove the Resurrection of Christ. Miracles are beyond the reach of science. They are spiritual.”

“What do you say to someone who doesn’t believe in spiritual things?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, now speaking to me. “I mean maybe the Shroud is real in ways that are not observable to science. I’ve learned to take things on faith that I cannot believe scientifically.”

“Hmm,” was the best response I could offer.

Is this a man who is not to be trusted because you don’t know his name?

Later, I walked into Trinity. I lit a candle? For whom? I don’t recall. My mind was racing. What did St. Paul mean by spiritual?  What does resurrection mean?  Does transubstantiation have implications for how we see the Shroud?  Does the Shroud have anything to suggest, for those who think it might be real, that sheds light on the nature of the Resurrection?

Every time you dissect Christianity on the basis what people believe, you carve it up more and more. Keep it up and soon there will be more denominations of Christianity than there are Christians. Transubstantiation? Resurrection. These are just fleeting thoughts brought on my the quiet beauty of this church, the flickering candles .

What did the early church fathers think resurrection meant: Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp of Smyrna, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus of Lyons, Tertullian, Origen, Cyprian of Carthage, Athanasius of Alexandria, John Chrysostom, and Augustine of Hippo?

We might compare different perspectives, such as Gnostic and Orthodox. We might want to examine German-liberal schools from many centuries later. What of the revivalists and traditionalists in early America? What of the Oxford and Cambridge thinkers in England?

Today, N. T. Wright, an Anglican bishop and brilliant scholar, asserts that the events described in the Gospels occurred almost exactly as recorded—as he translates them—despite there being four different narratives. However, his lifelong friend and discourse companion, Marcus Borg, whose wife is an Episcopal priest, disagrees. Borg argues that nothing happened to the body in the tomb. According to a survey conducted by Notre Dame and Rice Universities, approximately one in four American Christians—from Catholic to Protestant to Evangelical–seem to align with Borg’s perspective. Adding further complexity, John Dominic Crossan, a Catholic theologian, has taught his students at the Catholic DePaul University that he believes Jesus wasn’t even buried. He taught there for 25 years before retiring.

It is interesting to note that Wright and Borg co-authored a book and debated the nature of the Resurrection. Wright thought that had there been a video camera in the tomb, you might have seen and then not seen the body.

Those contemplating their beliefs should be aware of the perspectives of others. Oyster Man shared with me that the pastor who guided him during his journey to Christianity wisely advised him to understand the various interpretations of concepts like resurrection. Failing to do so, the pastor warned, could imperil one’s faith when new information comes to light. Seizing on one explanation can later be seen as misrepresentation.

Should we not trust the Oyster Man? Should we think him a deceiver because we don’t know his name? I know him. I trust him. You know my name. Is that not good enough?

Though a scientist, he offers no scientific opinions in our discussions. “I have not studied any of the evidence enough to say anything about it,” he says. 

We carefully considered the Shroud of Turin, pondering its implications if it were authentic and if it were not. This seemed more important than the question of authenticity.

Shroudism? You say, “that sounds a lot like equating authenticists with cult members.” I really hadn’t thought of it that way. I guess one might see it that way, in the sense of membership-ism like baptism, Catholicism, and Protestantism. We might also see it as a philosophy like nationalism or pluralism. One might even think of the favorite word of every English teacher everywhere: antidisestablishmentarianism.  

I’m more concerned about the unwise testimonial use of the Shroud to try and convince people that the Resurrection really happened and that Jesus is who he says he is.  Some people might be swayed. For others, it might be a put-off.  My first impression some 23 years ago was that it was too UFO-ish.  The Shroud is still too controversial to be used as an evangelizing tool.  Suggest to many people that the image was formed by the Resurrection or by radiation or by radiation produced by the Resurrection, or that pollen means anything forensically, and they might say, “I’m out of here. Say no more.” 

Wait until the information is more credible.  It isn’t now. That is what I think I meant by Shroudism. Maybe I should think of a better word than Shroudism.  I just scanned 280 pages of rough draft, and I don’t see that I’ve used the word even once.

What more can I tell you about Oyster Man?  At the time of our first meeting, he was a recent convert from atheism to Christianity, somewhat in the same way that C. S. Lewis, Alister McGrath, and Francis Collins converted.  His wife did not convert.  What else?  He is a scientist. I said that. He is far more inclined to believe that the Shroud is authentic than I am. As I progressed towards skepticism about the Shroud, he tried to keep me from doing so. 

Years later, when I told him I wanted to write about our conversations in the form of a book, he said no. Then, after some arguing, he agreed so long as he could be anonymous.  “I can’t do that,” I insisted.

“You can. Just treat me like Cleanthes in David Hume’s “Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion,” he suggested. “Cleanthes was a theist. He didn’t really exist”

“I have never encountered a living soul, including me, who has ever read that,” I replied. “Maybe I heard of it. Maybe I was supposed to have read it. I can’t recall.”

“Then perhaps Phaedrus in his discussions with Socrates,” he shot back.

“Socrates is an app for the iPhone,” I said.

The Oyster Man, I had learned, spent much of each working day with his feet up on his desk, pondering what he called the quantum imponderable. And he was paid quite well for doing so.  He sat on two advisory boards. He still does.

Friends and family know about his interest in the Shroud. So, too, do some of his colleagues and perhaps one or two clients. But to put his name into print or out on social media, he believes, would be detrimental to his career and consequently affect his family. It could also jeopardize his wife’s career. It might also embarrass their children. The Shroud, in some circles, does have something of a ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ quality to it.

The Oyster Man tells us, “I’m a convert from nothing. I didn’t believe in God, but I did not not believe in him either. You could say I didn’t care. I would have never said that to anyone, but I wouldn’t deny it if you suggested it. Sounds awfully noncommittal, I know. But that is just the point. So why do you need to know my name?”

With a look of exasperation, he continued, “No, I was not agnostic, though my wife claims I was. To be an agnostic, you have to admit it, and I didn’t. My wife says I’m being punctilious. Oh, yeah, I say to her. She’s Jewish, culturally, she’ll say if pressed. However, if you press her enough, she’ll admit she goes to synagogue. But she likes the idea of being outwardly a cultural Jew.”

What some here certainly must realize, but perhaps in haste do not consider, is that there are reasons for being anonymous that are perfectly acceptable and honorable. The Oyster Man is not an expert in any discipline particularly important in Shroud science. But as a scientist, he knows quite a bit about many things. For instance, he believes radiocarbon dating is a very reliable and well-understood method of determining the age of certain materials within certain periods. The Shroud of Turin qualifies and is thus almost certainly from the Middle Ages. Yes, he knows that contamination and possibly other factors could affect testing results.  What has been proposed so far does not seem reasonable or credible to him. Yet he thinks something looks out of kilter from historical evidence. And so, as a foil, he asks questions. But he only asks questions.

“As a scientist, I cannot say the Shroud is real. There just isn’t sufficient, non-controversial evidence.  I have no hypothesis. I don’t know the facts very well. I mainly ask questions or ponder imponderables. Why do you need to know who I am? So you can dispute my ignorance?”

The Oyster Man has nothing to say very much worthy of consideration, and thus, he is nothing more than a literary device. In effect, he is like an imaginary friend. He is as Laertes is to Hamlet. He is a ‘some say’ protagonist.

This is not quite like standing up for one’s beliefs in the face of lions in the coliseums. And it shouldn’t be seen that way. Nor is it quite like braving the dunking chair in Lake Geneva or the racks in Spain. What were their names, those protagonists? Those foils?

The Oyster Man may believe that the Shroud is real. But he does not think it is possible to prove it. If you could then you could prove a miracle and you cannot prove a miracle by science—maybe by testimony, but not by science.  I tell him his logic is flawed. But he could nonetheless be right, he posits. And I must agree, he may be right.

“Why do you need to know who I am?” he asks. “So you can dispute my ignorance?”