A Brief Process Theology of Disability

 A Brief Process Theology of Disability

My Thinking in Process 1

I have decided to do a set of blog posts which might at some point become one of my small books.  The idea here would be to discuss, first, what causes me to identify with process thought, and how I feel connected to it.  I believe my work qualifies as being part of the process tradition, even though I do have some substantial differences with other process thinkers.  These thinkers, people like Thomas Jay Oord, Jay McDaniel, Bruce Epperly and Chad Bahl are my friends.  I believe there is a lot of mutual respect because I have read and endorsed or quoted them, as they have with me. 

The differences do matter.  I believe sometimes process thought has ignored some issues to its own detriment.  It  is important to me that we be able to talk to other philosophers and theologians and have our thoughts be intelligible and accessible to them.  That is why I believe it is essential that process and open-and-relational thought be willing to subject itself to the rigors of Aristotelian logic. I wrote about this in A Brief Process Look at Logic.  This should not be optional, as far as I am concerned, because we have to be able to present our ideas in a way which  honors what my mentor, D. Elton Trueblood taught me, about the importance of coherence and correspondence.  Coherence means we do not contradict ourselves in what we are saying. We have an intellectual obligation to make sure what we are writing does not contain within it internal contradictions which betray it as not possibly true.  Correspondence means it has to fit with what we already know, or at least what we know with confidence.  Sometimes there are new, groundbreaking ideas which may seem to lack correspondence, but when we probe further we find that the new idea fits better with the rest of what we know than the previous idea did. Neither of these tasks is easy.

            To begin, I want to discuss what, in my mind, makes process thought process thought.  I think I have discussed this in several places, including my books.  To me the main aspects of process thought are as follows:

·       God is not omnipotent.

·       God is not omniscient.[1]

·       Reality is process, not static.

·       God is not coercive.

·       God is relational.

·       God cannot guarantee outcomes.

·       God neither wills nor permits evil, it just happens.

·       God is subject and therefore effected by what happens in creation.

Now there are areas where I have serious disagreements with my process friends and colleagues.  One of these is that I do reject outright the idea of creatio ex nihilo.  I do not believe it is necessary that something has always existed alongside of God for God to be relational.  As I proceed with these blog posts, I will be identifying areas where I think the metaphysics of many process thinkers is not in a coherent relationship with their ontology.  I have written about that in a series of three books on metaphysics.[2]  I do feel gratified that some of my colleagues who do not agree with me  here have said I present one of the strongest counterarguments to their position they have seen.

But I definitely want to begin this series on common ground.  I think that is important. The common ground is what makes me, in my view, a process theologian and not a classical theist. I will say, however, I do not view classical theism as my intellectual enemy although I have noticed some -process theologians and some classical theologians write in such a way that it seems like they view each other as suspect if not as enemies.  That causes me pain.  I do not believe process thought would have ever existed if it was not for classical theism. We owe classical theism a tremendous debt of gratitude, because without it, the clarifying call made by process would not have ever emerged.

One of my concerns is, if process thinkers do not embrace and use traditional logic to express their ideas, then the wider academic community will see process as insular and self-referent.  I rather doubt being esoteric will be a drawing card for many Christian intellectuals. This is important to note because process theology has so much to offer with regard to major problems such as the problem of evil.  I do not believe process thought completely solves this problem, but it makes an important and coherent contribution.  I think  that if we are not careful, we can come across looking like those who reject western medicine in favor of what they consider holistic. I had a relative like that who threw away her blood pressure medicine and ended up having a stroke!  We  do ourselves and those we hope to reach a major disservice if we believe we have the answers and they don’t.  I think we should be thinking, where possible, in complimentary terms rather than seeing our way as the way.  Sometimes we cannot be complimentary. For example, there is no room for compromise about who should receive basic human rights.  But where we can, the complimentary approach should be chosen.

This is why I write books like A Brief Process Look at Logic.  The very ideas which Whitehead offer in works like Process and Reality depend entirely on, and stand completely on the shoulders of, logical principles like the law of non-contradiction.  Two contradictory statements cannot both be true at the same time and in the same respect.  They can both be false, but they cannot both be true. I have had people in online discussions bristle when I say that but the very ideas of process thought are impossible without it.

If we reject the law of non-contradiction, then all sorts of intellectual mishmash and nonsense ensue. If there is no the law of non-contradiction, then two contradictory statements can both be true.  If that is the case, Whitehead cannot say reality is process and not substance, because someone could say,  “reality is substance and process at the same time.”  He could not say every actual occasion prehends every other actual occasion, because someone could respond with, “every actual occasion both prehends and does not prehend every other actual occasion at the same time.”

No one can consistently live like they believe that.  One person in a process discussion group became extremely irate with me for suggesting the law of non-contradiction is true. She said it is false. My response is her statement belies the fact that she believes it is true.  No one can ever say anything at all is not true if they do not believe in the law of non-contradiction.   As D. Elton Trueblood notes,

The logical result of the notion of something existing for one person and not for another would be a theory of the world in which all knowledge would merely refer to what is in the knower’s mind.  In that case, not only would God, and the material order be mere ideas in his mind, but also Henry would be nothing but an idea in John’s mind and John would be nothing but an idea in Henry’s mind.   We have not the disposition to argue with anyone who wants to travel that ancient road but it is not a road which leads to any profitable destination.  Certainly when [people] have worshiped God they have not supposed they were worshiping ideas in their own mind.  These would not be worthy of worship. We are not doing a service either to faith or reason by failure to make a sharp distinction between truth and falsity.[3]

My mentor was D. Elton Trueblood.  He was both a student of, and later a colleague of, Alfred North Whitehead, and highly praised Whitehead in his books, as did another 20^th century Quaker philosopher, Thomas R. Kelly.[4]  I think I can make a claim most current process thinkers cannot. I was mentored by someone who Whitehead actually mentored. I believe many of my friends and colleagues, coming through the John Cobb and David Griffin streams of thought, were mentored by Charles Hartshorne (a man who lived in three centuries, by the way).  Hartshorne was mentored by Whitehead.

            By no means does this mean my thinking is better than any of my friends. I do however, think it explains why my thinking is different from theirs. I wanted to begin this series of what I hope will be 10-12 posts here.  This is the foundation on which I do all my work.  In coming days I will write a handful of essays on where I agree with process thought (as noted above) and a few on areas where I do not think I disagree with process thought but I do disagree with some process thinkers.

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[1] I discuss this in my essay in Baker, Chris S., et al. Amipotence: Support and Criticism Volume One Edited by Chris S. Baker, Brandon Brown, Melissa Owens Stewart, and James Travis Young. SacraSage Press, 2025. 235-241.

 

[2] A Brief Process Discussion of Dualism, A Brief Process Reappraisal of Creatio Ex Nihilo, and How Well Do You Know Your Ex?:  Metaphysics in the Service of Caring.

[3] Trueblood, Elton. The Logic of Belief. Harper & Brothers, 1942. 29.

[4] See my Process Themes in Four Quaker Philosophers.

An Apostle and Two Bishops

 Many Christians today hold to “Sola Scriptura” — the idea that the Bible alone contains everything we need to know about our faith. But when you look closely at early Christian history, that assumption becomes much harder to maintain.

For one thing, the Bible as we know it didn’t exist as a bound collection until the late fourth century. And even then, the version many Protestants use today is actually shorter than the canon affirmed by the early Church.

But even more importantly, the Bible itself never teaches “Bible alone.”

What opened my eyes was a simple historical story — one that involves the Apostle John, the last of the Twelve to die, and two bishops who lived and worked within John’s lifetime: Clement of Rome and Ignatius of Antioch. These men didn’t just know about John. They knew him. They ministered in the same world he did.

And what they reveal about the early Church surprised me.

Ignatius was a disciple — a mentee — of the Apostle John during the years John ministered in Ephesus and throughout Asia Minor. This was the region of the seven churches addressed in the opening chapters of the Book of Revelation. Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea formed a tight network of Christian communities connected by well‑traveled Roman trade routes.

One of those major routes ran directly between Ephesus and Antioch. In the early Church, it was common for the apostles to ordain and appoint bishops and elders not only in their own cities, but also in other regions that needed leadership. Paul instructs Timothy to “appoint elders in every city,” showing that this authority extended to those whom the apostles themselves had ordained.

Because of this, it was not unusual for a leader trained in one city to be sent to another. When a major Christian center needed a bishop, the apostles or their closest associates often appointed someone from outside the city — someone they trusted, someone formed in the apostolic tradition.

Early Christian tradition holds that Ignatius, shaped by John’s ministry in Asia Minor, was appointed to serve as the bishop of Antioch — one of the most important sees in the ancient world and the first place believers were called “Christians.”

Antioch was the third largest city in the Roman Empire. To be bishop there was a big deal. It would be like being Archbishop of Canterbury or rector of the National Cathedral. To compare it to evangelical life, it would be like becoming pastor of the First Baptist Church of Dallas. Ignatius stepped into a very influential role.

Ignatius wasn’t a small‑town pastor. He stepped into one of the most prominent and respected roles in the entire Christian world.

At the same time, Clement, the author of 1 Clement, the first letter of Clement to the Corinthians, had become bishop of Rome. John would have still been alive when Clement became bishop of Rome.

Two things about this story intrigue me. First of all, when the churches had conflict, they appealed to Clement, not John, to settle their disuputes, and John never tried to pull rank on Clement and assert that he was an apostle but Clement was not. Evidently even John saw Clement, who held the bishop's seat once held by Peter, as at least an equal, and I think, because it was Peter's seat that Clement occupied, John actually deferred to Clement's authority, even though John was "the beloved disciple."

In Antioch, Ignatius developed into a major Christian leader in his own right. Other churches sought his counsel, and he left behind a remarkable collection of letters — nearly as many as St. Paul — written as he was being taken to Rome for execution. Among these is a letter addressed to the church in Rome itself.

What’s striking is the contrast in tone. When Ignatius writes to the churches in Asia Minor, he speaks with the confidence of a bishop: he rebukes, corrects, instructs, and commands. But when he writes to Rome, everything changes. His tone becomes deferential, almost reverent. He praises the Roman church as one that “has never envied anyone” and “has taught others,” acknowledging a status that no other church possessed.

Remember: Ignatius was bishop of Antioch, one of the most important sees in the ancient world — the first place believers were called Christians. If anyone could have said, “Rome, you should listen to us; we were Christians before you were,” it was Ignatius. But he never says anything of the sort.

Why? Because Ignatius understood apostolic succession. He knew that Rome was the see of Peter, and that the bishop of Rome was Peter’s successor. That alone gave Rome a unique authority in the early Church — an authority Ignatius recognized and respected.

And this is not happening centuries later. Ignatius is writing in the first decade of the second century, only a few years after the Apostle John’s death. His ministry in Antioch overlapped with both the final years of John’s life and the tenure of Clement as bishop of Rome. Ignatius knew the apostolic world firsthand, and he still wrote to Rome with a deference he showed to no other church.

The “Bible only” background I grew up with made sure I never heard any of this. In the circles I knew, church history simply wasn’t considered relevant. Looking back, that’s unfortunate, because it takes even the Bible out of its own historical context. It also ignores the long and careful process by which the Scriptures were recognized and canonized — a process that took more than three centuries. Instead, the Bible was treated almost as if it had dropped out of the sky fully formed, the way the Book of Mormon is claimed to have appeared.

The result is a version of Christianity that produces many saintly, loving, committed people — people I deeply respect — but who often have no idea of the true riches of their own heritage. They inherit the Scriptures without ever seeing the living, breathing Church that preserved them, interpreted them, and handed them down.

I liken this to something that happened to me personally. Back in 1998, when I was still a Quaker pastor in Iowa, my dad had a heart attack and underwent a second double bypass. We drove from Iowa to West Virginia to be with him as he recovered. While we were there, my dad kept noticing a woman coming in and out of a room across the hall who looked strangely familiar.

One day he stopped her and said, “You look just like my aunt.”

She asked, “Who is your aunt?”

Dad told her: “Emmy Scarbro.”

To his surprise, the woman replied, “That’s because Emmy is my half‑sister.”

My dad’s maternal grandfather had left his wife and seven or eight children — something that caused deep resentment in my grandmother — and had run off with a younger woman, with whom he had another large family. This woman in the hospital was one of those children. She had a family tree we had never seen.

It turns out my ancestors were Quakers, though I grew up Baptist. I had heard of the Scarborough–Haworth genealogical line in Quaker history, but I had no idea I was part of it. When the Scarboroughs came to Appalachia, the name was shortened to Scarbro, and somewhere along the way, that whole heritage was lost to us.

I had a lineage I didn’t know I had.

And that’s exactly how it is for many “Bible only” Christians. They are sincere, devout, loving people — but they often have no idea of the deep, rich heritage that belongs to them. A heritage that includes Ignatius, Clement, Polycarp, the Didache, the early councils, the canonization of Scripture, and the living tradition of the Church that shaped the very Bible they cherish.

When I first began learning all of this almost twenty years ago — and now having been Catholic for nearly fifteen — it changed my life. I began to see that Jesus really did appoint Peter as the shepherd of the entire Church, and that it makes sense that the unique role Jesus gave to Peter would be handed on to his successors. Not a role of domination, but of love, unity, and pastoral care.

And what struck me most was this: even before all twelve apostles had died, the early Church already recognized this. They didn’t use the word “pope,” but they clearly understood that the bishop of Rome carried the authority of Peter’s office. John deferred to Clement. Ignatius deferred to Rome. The pattern was already there.

Today, Pope Leo is the 267th bishop of Rome. We know every name in that line all the way back to Peter himself. That continuity — that living thread — was the single biggest piece that convinced me I had to become Catholic.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. The realization was strong, clear, and deeply moving. I knew what I had to do.

I became Catholic.

I believe that even today the pope — our Pope Leo — is a shepherd and pastor for all Christians, even for those who do not acknowledge his authority.

My Orthodox friends often say that the pope should be “first among equals.” I have no problem with that. Some popes have emphasized the “first.” Francis and Leo have emphasized the “equals.” Both matter.

Part of why this resonates with me is because of something very personal. I spent ten years in a cult where the leader claimed spiritual authority over every detail of people’s lives — who they should marry, where they should go to college, even where they should live. He claimed to have more authority than the pope. That kind of control leaves deep wounds.

But the pope is not a commanding officer. He is a shepherd. And I believe Pope Leo feels a genuine pastoral concern for all Christians, not just Catholics. People have asked me why, after being in such an abusive church group, I would ever become Catholic. My answer is simple: the pope and the bishops are nothing like that. Their counsel is general, not intrusive. They guide; they do not micromanage. They teach; they do not dominate.

I don’t agree with the Church on every issue. But I recognize the shepherd.

It also occurs to me that the early bishops of Rome exercised authority well beyond the boundaries of their own local church. This is significant, because it undercuts the later Orthodox argument that no bishop has authority outside his own see. The early Church simply did not operate as a collection of independent, autocephalous communities.

We see this clearly in the first century, when the church in Corinth appealed to Clement of Rome — not to the Apostle John, who was still alive — to resolve their internal conflict. Clement intervened decisively, and his letter was received with obedience and preserved as Scripture in some early communities. That alone shows that Rome’s authority was recognized far beyond its own city.

The church in Corinth appealed to Clement of Rome — not to the Apostle John, who was still alive — to resolve their internal conflict. And yet both Corinth and John were located in what is now considered Orthodox territory.

And this pattern continued. In the second and third centuries, the bishops of Rome intervened in disputes in Asia Minor, Syria, and North Africa — regions that today belong to the Orthodox world. Whatever one thinks about later developments, the historical record shows that the early Church did not see the bishop of Rome as merely “first among equals” in a ceremonial sense. His voice carried real weight, and churches far from Rome recognized it.

Some of the very places where Rome once exercised this pastoral authority are now part of the Orthodox communion. The idea that each bishop was completely independent simply doesn’t match the earliest evidence.

What kind of sword?

As the US wages war in Iran, I have been thinking about the things I have written and said over the past 43 years advocating for complete Christian pacifism, and about the well-meaning pushback I get from Christian friends.  One of the Scripture passages people use to tell me I am wrong is found in Luke 22:

35 He said to them, “When I sent you out without a purse, bag, or sandals, did you lack anything?” They said, “No, not a thing.” 36 He said to them, “But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one. 37 For I tell you, this scripture must be fulfilled in me, ‘And he was counted among the lawless’; and indeed what is written about me is being fulfilled.” 38 They said, “Lord, look, here are two swords.” He replied, “It is enough.”  (NRSVCE)

The comment in verse 36 is the one people throw out, suggesting Jesus is saying they should arm themselves. I think that is not the case.  Let's look at this verse.

The word for sword is μάχαιρα.  μάχαιρα means a dagger.  It is short, and is used for killing or fileting animals.  I get the impression what he is talking about is something like a fisherman's knife.  People might argue it is useful in self-defense. But it seems to me to be of limited use there and certainly would not be an instrument of warfare.  A military sword would be ῥομφαία. I think  it stands to reason Luke 22:36 does not sanction war.

Then he tells them the scripture must be fulfilled "he was counted among the lawless."  I think he is not talking about the disciples but about the Roman detachment which was coming for him.  I think he is saying let them buy swords. I don't think he meant for the disciples to do that.

The reason why I think that is in verse 38.  They tell him they have two swords, and he says, "It is enough."  The Greek there is ἱκανόν ἐστιν.  That can mean:

"It is enough."  Or, "It is sufficient."

I do not think this is what he meant though.  Two hunting or fishing knives are no match for a battalion. I don't think he is sanctioning the use of the μάχαιρα because when Peter uses one he rebukes him for it and restores the ear Peter had cut off. I really do not think this passage supports Christians bearing arms.  As Tertullian said, "When Jesus disarmed Peter, he disarmed every Christian."

ἱκανόν ἐστιν can also mean, "That's enough!"  Or "enough of this!"  Jesus  is really saying , "Cut it out."

Of all the translations on Bible Gateway it is about half and half.  Some opt for "It is enough" and some for "That's enough."  In The Message, Eugene Peterson went with,

They said, “Look, Master, two swords!” But he said, “Enough of that; no more sword talk!”

I think that is the right way to read this because when there is more than one possibility it makes sense to go with the one most consistent with what else we know that person, in this case Jesus himself, said.

I do not think  this passage sanctions taking up arms.