Divine Tongues
Exploring Linguistic Pluralism and the Unity of God
by Pierre Bergounioux
“‘Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it dies,’ etc. (1 Cor 15:36). He says that in seed there is a species of resurrection, because the crop is produced from corruption. Nor would the thing be so difficult of belief were I as attentive as I ought to ne to the wonders which meet our eyes in every quarter of the world.
— John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion [1559][1]
“Here more than anywhere else, every language […] contains within itself a system of concepts which, because they touch, connect with, and complement each other in the same language, are one whole whose individual parts, however, do not correspond to any of the systems of other languages, perhaps not even with the exception of God and Being, the [original] noun and the [original] verb. For even that which is universal, although situated outside the sphere of specific characteristic traits, is still illuminated and colored by language.”
— Friedrich Schleiermacher, On the Different Methods of Translating [1813][2]
“There are two paths to losing oneself: isolating oneself within the confines of the particular, or through dilution in the universal. My understanding of the universal is one enriched by the particular, a deepening and coexistence of all particulars.”
— Aimé Césaire, Letter to Maurice Thorez, [1956][3]
Table of Contents
A. Theological Exegesis: Creation, the Relational Dimension, the Historical Significance
b. Genesis 10 – The Table of Peoples
c. Genesis 11 – The Tower of Babel
B. Sociolinguistic Readings of Babel
a. Patrick Sauzet and the “Immolated Language”
b. Caesar and God (Mk 12:17; Mt 22:21; Lk 20:25)
C. Refocusing the Question. A Thematic Exploration
a. Violence, Power, and Domination
c. The Relational Nature and Reality as an Imperative
d. The Multiple as a Counter to Idolatry
f. The Universal and the Law of Love
g. Interplay of Linguistic Pluralism and Religious Pluralism
A. The Theological Significance of Languages in Relation to the Word
B. The Ordering of Languages to God
a. Distinction between Logos and Language
b. Gift of Meaning and Language
III. Linguistic Diversity: Ecclesiological Implications
A. A common language or a common conversation?
b. Idealism, Platonism, absolutization
d. Challenging Western Exceptionalism: Multifaceted Universality
C. Redefining Catholicity: Exploring Theological Perspectives
Challenging Exclusivity and Rejecting Absolutism
IV. The Theological Challenge of the Stranger: The Brother as Grace
C. Deflection: Discovering an Alternative Universal Path
c. Christianity as An Anti-Model
A. Eschatology, Universalism or Ecumenism
B. Face to Face: God’s Self-Limitation or Self-Transcendence
c. Self-transcendence of God and the Future of God
C. This Displacement that Hope Operates
Introduction
The biblical narratives traditionally drawn upon to address the matter of language limit themselves to mentioning languages (and not language), and justifying the origin of their diversity. It is precisely the interplay between language pluralism and linguistic variation that forms the central concept of this study, which proposes to examine the theological implications of the question of minoritized languages[4].
The notion of minoritized language
I refer to marginalized languages as languages that find themselves relegated to the status of minority languages within territories that constitute their historical extension[5]. In this way, this study chooses to approach linguistic pluralism not as the mere coexistence of numerous languages, particularly those associated with geopolitical entities and widely spread national stereotypes, but rather as a linguistic pluralism universally linked to the persistence of indigenous languages, despite the homogenizing forces such as the market, governmental policies, and strategies for social promotion. These languages, which until recently could have constituted the main language of entire segments of society and which have quickly been reduced to languages in the process of extinction, appear to me as repositories of particular teachings, as unique illustrations for theology – that is, the field of study that aims to restate the fullness of the Christian message, the Gospel, in the present time. Above all, minoritized languages are not mere abstractions. They possess names, faces, and places. They are the names, faces, and places of individuals encountered, recorded, and sometimes frequented over decades.
Linguistic and religious pluralism
The parallel between religious diversity and linguistic diversity is ancient. For modern times, it can be traced back to Bibliander, Zwingli’s successor as professor at the Grossmünster in Zurich, and author of the first Latin edition of the Qurʾān[6]. In the twentieth century, religious pluralism took on the form of a challenge for the Church and theology, materializing in religious dialogue. Raimon Panikkar underlines the parallel between religious pluralism and linguistic diversity, and shows that it “makes little sense to say that one language is more perfect than another”[7] thus situating the question at the junction of languages and religions: “We cannot compare languages (religions) outside language (religion) and […] there is no language (religion) except in concrete languages (religions).”[8] As we can see, theology has not refrained from analyzing religious pluralism from a linguistic perspective. Conversely, contemplating linguistic pluralism in theological has the potential to further amplify the mirror offered to religious pluralism.
Sociolinguistic approach and religious pluralism
I have conducted my research by engaging with two significant lines of thought relevant to our subject. The hermeneutical theologian Claude Geffré's insights will assist us in identifying the points of intersection between the theology of religions and linguistic diversity. Additionally, we will make use of Patrick Sauzet’s analyses to explore a sociolinguistic interpretation of the Scriptures. As a linguist and specialist in Occitan, Sauzet provides a conceptual framework that addresses theological themes, including the concepts of “bare language”[9] and “sacrificed language”, and explores Babel as a symbol of indifferentiation. Furthermore, his work enables us to consider, throughout this theological inquiry, the issue of linguistic pluralism through the tangible example of a minoritized language, Occitan. This example offers a certain conceptual clarity[10].
Critical examination
In the absence of a clear framework for discussion between sociolinguistics and theology—and possibly without such a framework ever emerging—it may not be unwarranted to bring the subject of minority languages into proximity, if only for practical reasons, with several contemporary theologies: liberation theologies, Process theologies, contextual theologies, and even what American-Korean theologian Grace Sun Kim terms a theology of visibility[11]. Informed by theological exegesis, my aim is to examine the scriptural and theological ramifications of this plural, as well as the inherent dignity carried with this phrase ‘the languages’. The primary challenge lies in the still often punitive interpretation of Babel (Gen 11:1-9), which is further linked to the notions of universality (the pre-Babel language conceived as universal) and absoluteness (both due to the aspirations of humanity echoed in the narrative and God’s seemingly inaccessible response). The inclination of theology—and also philosophy—to more readily address the question of language than that of languages adds to the complexity. Approaching the phenomenon language through the lens of a generalized concept of ‘language’ can obscure a nuanced understanding of individual languages in their concrete reality. Languages are not just abstractions; neither are they mere contingent expressions. Dwelling on this for too long could pave the way for relativism[12].
In favor of the approach through languages, however, we should note that the punitive interpretation of Babel does not always reflect the perspective of theology, if at all. Similarly, Christian theology upholds the image of a personal and relational God, thereby contravening the concept of absoluteness[13]. Far from abstraction, Christianity presents itself as a religion of incarnation. Within such a logic, could ‘the languages’ potentially be acknowledged as a favored notion, if not at least as a notion in its own right?
The theologies mentioned above share a common emphasis on the action of the Spirit, having developed a strong pneumatology. Although endangered and bearing the marks of venerable relics and presenting the traits of venerable relics, minoritized languages express an ease, a vitality in grasping reality, in playfulness and laughter, reminiscent of the Spirit who “unites heaven and earth, penetrates and gives life to everything, so that God may be all in everything”[14], in an articulation of the world and reality that makes it possible to “overcome the dualism of matter and spirit.”[15] This is already the intimate experience of every speaker of any language, through language—an experience of intimate and elusive connection with an autonomous dimension. This connection between languages and the Spirit, in addition to the enigmatic divine intervention at Babel, invites us to ponder how languages relate to the persons of the Trinity—both to the Spirit and the Father, and also to the Son.
Does this community of three persons, so uniquely diverse, offer a special insight for the diversity we are examining? Can minoritized languages, languages that define the contours of a particular community—the linguistic community—and express a certain solidarity with the past, be connected to this driving principle that seeks to foster relationship and communion?
Furthermore, languages prompt us to reexamine, through the lens of pluralism, the question of the One and the Many, and, starting from the variational fact, the question of the Other and the Same. Indeed, despite pluralism or variation, language retains its unity, and the dialects themselves dialects maintain their distinctiveness while encompassing ever-evolving vernaculars.
Finally, what lies ahead for the languages considered from an eschatological perspective? On one hand, the Word urges us to relinquish our familial ties (Mt 8:22; Mk 10:39), that which fuels dissent, to focus on that which contributes to a project—the unity we are called to (Jn 17:21). On the other hand, when the Spirit breathes, it calls us to act. What resists, what is expressed though the persistence of languages that the world’s allurements have, over the centuries, beckoned to renounce, is a fundamental refusal not only to extinguish a light, but also to validate an injustice. To not surrender is to recall, with Jesus put to the test by the tempter—an etymological figure of dispersion—that it is written: “You will prostrate before the Lord, your God, and him alone shall you worship.” (Mt 4:5-8; Deut 6:13; 10:20).
Overview
To begin with, we will immerse ourselves in the passages found in Gen 9-11 and Acts 2:1-13, employing contemporary historical-critical exegesis. This initial step will provide a foundational understanding. Following this, we will engage with these passages from a sociolinguistic perspective with the aim of enhancing our comprehension. Further to this analytical phase, I will offer a succinct theological thematization of the identified elements. This presentation will serve as a bridge to a more speculative investigation of the intricate complexities and challenges, particularly in regard to the implications of diversity and linguistic variation for systematic theology. This investigation will begin by considering the interplay between Logos and Spirit (Chapter II). Proceeding further, we will examine the notion of universality (Chapter III). Moving forward, the theological implications of the linguistic fact will be scrutinized through the concept of “neighbor” (Chapter IV). Ultimately, we will consider the unifying dynamic between creation and hope (Chapter V).
Note 1 – A renewed interest in the language issue?
The ongoing discussions that shape the Church have not overlooked the language matter. In the light of current developments, even the very specific aspect we are considering appears to hold some significance. This is evident in the revisitation of the “Pact of the Catacombs: A Poor Servant Church”[16] within Roman Catholicism, which has brought the issue of linguistic diversity to the forefront. It is worth noting that this aspect was not so explicitly addressed, or at least documented, in earlier discussions among liberation theologie. The pact was signed by a group of bishops participating in the Synod for the Amazon that took place from October 6 to 27, 2019. The signatory synod fathers commit themselves in particular to “renew [...] the preferential option for the poor, especially for native peoples, and, together with them to guarantee their right to be protagonists in society and in the Church. To help them preserve their lands, cultures, languages, stories, identities and spiritualties. To grow in the awareness that they must be respected, locally and globally and, consequently, to encourage, by all means within our reach, that they be welcomed on an equal footing in the world concert of peoples and cultures.”[17] Pope Francis’ Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation, entitled “Querida Amazonia”, also takes up the question of languages in these terms: “‘Faced with a colonizing invasion of means of mass communication’, there is a need to promote for the original peoples ‘alternative forms of communication based on their own languages and cultures’ and for ‘the indigenous subjects themselves [to] become present in already existing means of communication’.”[18]An epiphany occurred.
Note 2 – Cultural Theory and Protestant Theology
Should we seek meaning in diversity, pluralism, even at the risk of leading to a theology of diversity which would only be a theologia naturalis dressed in new attire? The attention directed towards cultural mediations carries a theological counterpart. This is notably reflected by Paul Tillich’s Systematic Theology and the distinction he introduced within Western theology between the ‘Protestant principle’ and the ‘Catholic substance’. Claude Geffré presents the Tillichian distinction as “the refusal to identify any element of human or historical reality with God [described as a ‘Protestant principle’], and Catholic existence, [...] affirmation of God’s spiritual presence in all that is.”[19] Can Protestant theology address this matter systematically, beyond a contextual perspective? Can Protestant theology assert that with “the outpouring of the Spirit of the Risen One at Pentecost, it is permissible to think that the plurality of languages and cultures is necessary to translate the multifaceted richness of the mystery of God?”[20] Clearly, Protestant theology can indeed assert this, and it does refrain from doing so, as ill see, particularly through the lens of Amos Yong. not hesitate to say it as we will see, especially through the perspective of Amos Yong.
I. Babel to Pentecost
The reader of the Bible is immediately confronted with a God who speaks, from the very opening verses of Genesis. While this speaking God indirectly raises the question of the preexistence of language, it is not the question that these texts themselves initially seek to address. These texts also do not address the accession of humans to language: “The Biblical narratives do not specify a gift of language to humanity. No doubt they imagine that man shares language with God and animals. [...] Therefore, according to the biblical account, there is an original common language that is understood by humans, God, and animals.”[21] Whether God speaks, how language came to man, none of these perspectives appears to be the driving force behind the composition of the narratives that constitute the first part of Genesis (Gen 1–11). However, implicit within them is the idea of a common language shared among animals, human, and God. Thus, in the commonplace of the polemic against minoritized languages—one that wrongly portrays these languages as rudimentary, lacking grammar, and only used by speakers to communicate with cattle–the biblical myth forces us to reintroduce a significant figure: God. But can these texts provide a theological foundation for minoritized languages?
A. Theological Exegesis: Creation, the Relational Dimension, the Historical Significance
Before we proceed to the theological exegesis of texts that hold relevance for addressing minoritized languages from a systematic theology standpoint, let us underscore two contextual elements concerning the composition of the selected texts. Firstly, amidst the theological fabric of the Hebrew Bible, we find the theology of creation proper to the first chapters of Genesis and in the writings of Deutero-Isaiah. This theology of creation emphasizes a relational dimension: the diverse creation accounts within the Old Testament offer opportunities to “emphasize differing aspects of the Divine Character and […] the human response that is demanded by each one.”[22] Secondly, recent insights from biblical studies into the ancient Near and Middle East context shed light on these same creation narratives. These narratives are not primarily concerned with providing metaphysical explanations for the world’s origins or establishing a certain state of affairs (etiological narratives). Instead, their aim is to convey insights about the present and to engage readers in their contemporary circumstances. What Matthias Albani points out about Deutero-Isaiah also applies to Gen. 1-11: “The creation theology in Deutero-Isaiah is not an end in itself but the means to prove YHWH’s power over history.”[23] At this stage, let us note that the theology of creation suggested by these texts is not precisely the theology of a creatio prima or a creatio originalis, as is commonly understood. YHWH acts in history, in the present tense, and his action is also a political action. The depicted imagery reveals a God in action, indicating a purposeful undertaking behind this divine activity. In this theology of ongoing creation, the concepts of salvation and justice hold a unique significance, occasionally even encompassing the idea of a fresh creation (Isa 45:1-8). For now, let us take note of how the concepts of power and history intersect in the story of Babel, revealing the inherent force within humanity, which had already demonstrated its capacity for violence (Gen 4; 9).
a. Genesis 9 – The Flood
Recent research emphasizes the importance of reading the Babel narrative in its context, specifically in connection with the preceding chapter in the Hebrew Bible, known as the Table of Nations. However, the mention of a shared language between humans and animals prompts us to backtrack even further, all the way all the way to the time of the flood, quite literally. As Thomas Römer points out, “the flood event also represents a significant rupture, as after the flood, humanity begins to differentiate and speak multiple languages.”[24] One of these ruptures introduced with the deluge is the consumption of meat. Indeed, the initial creation narrative envisions a peaceful creation: on the sixth day, “God said: I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it; they will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” (Gen 1:29-30; NIV). The flood brings about a profoundly altered relationship with animals: “You will inspire fear and dread in every living creature on the earth and every bird in the sky, every creature that moves along the ground, and all the fish in the sea; they are given into your hands. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; and just as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything.” (Gen 9:2-3; NRSV). While the creation narrative had hitherto envisioned a vegetarian humanity, the blessing from Elohim upon leaving the ark accompanies a sinister change for one of the three parties involved, who still share a single language. According to André Wénin, “By uttering these words, Elohim shows that he now accepts violence as part of human reality. Just as at the beginning, he had integrated the elements of the primordial chaos into the harmonious universe (Gen 1:3-10), he will reshape his initial plan to accommodate this new factor of chaos, which this time emanates from humanity.”[25] Although the differentiation of languages occurs after the flood, it is worth noting that it does not appear to be related to this concession to violence or chaos.
Additionally, it is noteworthy that the distinction between language and speech remains blurred, while both are intertwined with the concept of food: “The biblical reader is promptly confronted with the theme of food. Two divine discourses, directed towards humanity, tackle this subject: the final statement of the grand creation account in Genesis chapter 1 and the initial command bestowed by Yhwh Elohîm in the Garden of Eden in chapter 2. In both instances, the Creator provides nourishment to human beings, albeit with limitations”[26] Let us return to our tripartite and monolingual relationship—animals, humanity, and God—humanity finds itself in a state of dietary dependence on its Creator, and its inclination towards evil, as mentioned in Gen 8:21, is now confirmed. God intervenes by setting boundaries: “You shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood” (Gen 9:4; NRSV), and the establishment of a law of retaliation: “I will demand from every person the life of the human who is their brother.” (Gen 9:5, NBS rev. trans.). Still, the confusion of languages bears no connection to the mentioned human malevolence or the intrusion of violence. On the contrary, Babel and the introduction of linguistic pluralism align with the logic of boundaries set by Elohim.
Furthermore, Gen 9 reiterayes that humanity has been made in the image of God (Gen 9:6b). The passage emphasizes this point significantly, as it calls upon the notion of imago Dei to provide a justification for the implementation of capital punishment: “Whoever sheds the blood of a human, by a human shall that person’s blood be shed; for in his own image God made humankind.” (Gen 9:6; NRSV). In other words, violence does not undermine the imago Dei; rather it calls for justice. Referring back to Gen 1, where the phrase “in our likeness” is notably absent between Gen 1:26a and Gen 1:27, André Wénin comments: “Certain Church Fathers already said it: if the image of Elohim is given to the human being, it is not yet in likeness, and its first task will be to resemble the image that has been deposited within it. Thus, the meaning of ‘let us make’ becomes clear: the human being is called to collaborate through their actions in the fulfillment of the one whom Elohim created in his image.”[27] Language, as emphasized by Thomas Römer, still does not play a discriminatory role. Language, shared by animals, humans, and God, is not what makes humanity in the image of God. Called to resemble God, humans are not called to find in a single language the path to this resemblance. Furthermore, the concept of power associated with language would contradict the narrative of creation, which invites us to see a Creator “strong in his own mastery”[28], not merely setting boundaries for his creatures but also self-limiting. The seventh day “underscores [...] the gentleness at the heart of the image of God. It is a law of gentleness that corrects the projections of an almighty God, often confused with our dream of omnipotence, that is, a God in our own image.”[29]
A fantasy of the origins that relies on the myth of a single language would thus face several significant obstacles, as revealed through biblical exegesis. Firstly, it cannot claim a privilege unique to humanity since the sole language is shared by animals, humans, and God alike. Secondly, the fundamental drive behind such a monolingual perspective, fueled by an insatiable thirst for absolute authority, exposes it as an idolatrous desire. It seeks to create a language in the image of humans, rather than embracing the received and shared Word. Thirdly, the very essence of creation involves ordering through the establishment of limits and boundaries. Therefore, the biblical narrative is not the right authority to invoke when denouncing linguistic pluralism as a source of chaos and disorder. Even before delving into the account of Babel, such an interpretation would be seen as a misrepresentation.
In the same way, minoritized languages are sometimes criticized by portraying them as a refuge for particularisms, a certain fetishization of the past, in short, a fantasy of the origins. However, if there is a fantasy of the origins, it seems to be more closely linked to the fantasy of a single language, preferably that of the homeland, rather than to an initial pluralism that its detractors are quick to present as identity fragmentation or sectarianism. Precisely, for the biblical scholar, “there is no theory about the origin of this single language; one could argue that according to the priestly author, its origins lie in the word of God the Creator.”[30] If, right from the opening verses of the Bible, God speaks, it is because the Word is primary.
b. Genesis 10 – The Table of Peoples
What about the chapter immediately preceding the story of Babel, which scholars like Thomas Römer and Albert de Pury suggest we should not to separate from it? Thomas Römer reminds us that before Babel (Gen 11), there is Gen 10, which describes the division of nations based on the descendants of Shem, Ham, and Japheth, the three sons of Noah: “Each one had his own country, his own language (אִ֖ישׁ לִלְשֹׁנֹ֑ו), and his own people, according to his clan” (Gen 10:5b; TOB rev. trans.). The exegete David Carr notes the drawback of translating the word גּוֹי as ‘nation’ due to its modern sense and prefers ‘people’. I follow this recommendation[31]. The account of the Table of Peoples (Gen 10) “divides humanity into three groups associated with the three sons of Noah, based on their geographical location and language (vv. 5, 20, 31).”[32] This distribution is further clarified by the last verse of the pericope itself: “These are the clans of the sons of Noah, according to their genealogies, in their [people]. From them, the [peoples] spread out over the earth after the flood" (Gen 10:32; NBS trans.).
If, as biblical scholar Markus Witte specifies, the structure of the text summarily represents “a sociogeographical differentiation based on families (mišpāchāh), languages (lāšôn), lands ('æræṣ), and peoples (gôj) (cf Gen 10:5, 10:20, 10:31)”[33], it is not possible to see it as an anachronistic attempt at sociolinguistics. Quite the opposite, as David Carr insists in his recent commentary: “Closer examination shows that the chapter seems composed to resist attempts to read it as an overview of known peoples, even as some portions of it—especially its non-Priestly portions—link in problematic ways with later discourses on slavery and race.”[34] In other words, Gen 10 relates the diversity of cultures to the diversity of languages, and it does so in a way that is of particular theological interest: “It should be clear that, in contrast to the Gen 1 depiction of the development of diverse plant and animal species, the humans of Gen 10 are not depicted in any way as distinguished from each other by physical type or species […] All implicitly bear the image of God transmitted from generation to generation (see Gen 5:1-3), while being distinguished socially from one another by a mix of geographical, ethnic-national, and linguistic features (Gen 10:20, 31 and the original form of 10:5).”[35]. Thus, the Table of Peoples already indicates that, despite the analogies, ecolinguistics and ecotheology are not reducible to each other. Regarding the question of the One and the many, human multiplicity is not depicted as a natural phenomenon.
This also poses a limit to natural theology. Human diversity is willed by God, even though the text, and more broadly Gen 1–11, bears the trace of tensions between, on the one hand, the postdiluvian narratives of the “deity (YHWH) causing human dispersion (פוץ hiphil Gen 11:8a, 9b; also נפץ Gen 9:19)”[36] and, on the other hand, the narrative of a God “at the origin of this process in Gen 10* by blessing humans and encouraging them to multiply (Gen 1:28; 9:1,7).”[37] Faced with these contradictions, Gen 10 appears to be the less motivated theologically or politically, the most impartial of the two[38]. From Gen 10 onwards, each people or group possesses its distinct language. The linguistic diversity among groups and the individuality of their languages, as depicted in Gen 10, stems from the divine will: “For P [Priestly source], linguistic diversity apparently constitutes a part of postdiluvian humanity. It is there from the beginning and does not seem to pose a particular problem.”[39] Linguistic pluralism finds a theological privilege here, namely scriptural justification, which religious pluralism does not enjoy, as religious diversity is not mentioned.
c. Genesis 11 – The Tower of Babel
Moving on to Babel. Albert de Pury leaves no room for ambiguity: “A narrator, a writer, or even an adapter could not be satisfied with the wondrous and, in any case, carefree portrayal that the priestly writing had given of the diversity of peoples and their languages. Therefore, he introduced here, to remedy it, the narrative of the construction of the Tower of Babel.”[40] This wondrous and carefree portrayal is the priestly version of Gen 10, and thus, it would be fitting to interpret Gen 11 as a deliberate response to counteract this sense of wonder and carefreeness. In the Babel narrative, “the multiplicity of languages is not seen as the outcome of an organic branching of human language, but rather as the consequence of a punitive blurring preemptively imposed (v. 1.9a). Similarly, the dispersion of peoples throughout the world is no longer understood as a response to an invitation to ‘fill the earth’ but as an expulsion inflicted by YHWH (v. 4b.8a.9b).”[41] The same redactor would have intervened in the previous chapter to correct its placidity: “As recent analyses show (Witte, de Pury, et al.), these fragments are not be attributed to an ancient Yahwist; they are additions and post-Priestly corrections, notably in Gen 10:8-13, 15-19, 21, 24-25, which seek to establish a connection with the curse of Canaan in Gen 9 and the Tower of Babel in Gen 11. In this way, the redactors seek to integrate the priestly table of nations into a new context that underscores the differences among peoples and interprets the diversity of languages as a divine punishment.”[42]
Let us keep in mind that until then, the question of language did not arise. With this post-Priestly intervention, what emerges is not merely a theology of language, but indeed an ideology of language[43]. David Carr thus titles his commentary on Genesis 11:1-9 as “Divine Prevention of Human Collective Power through Linguistic Confusion and Dispersion of Humans.” The power discussed thus far is that of the deity, a god capable of self-limitation. Humanity’s disposition to do evil or harm has been emphasized, and the concessions resulting from this realization have been accompanied by boundaries. Therefore, what becomes apparent with Gen 11:1-9 is the power of humanity, a power that Carr characterizes as collective. If one follows the thread of imago Dei, an inattentive reader might think that it is in this collective power that humanity is in the likeness of God. In fact, it is not humanity that will self-limit here, but rather God who will have to intervene. God intervenes against human collective power through two means: the confusion of languages and the dispersion of humans.
Distinguishing between the two notions of σύγχυσις[44] and διασπορά will provide valuable insights. The first, σύγ-χυσις, can be literally translated as con-fusion, while δια-σπορά means dispersion. However, even though these are two different phenomena, it is indeed the confusion of languages that leads to the dispersion of humanity. As previously mentioned, David Carr effectively captures in his translation the respective active and passive forms of the verb פוץ. Thus, it is rightly that the NBS translation appropriately renders verse 11.4bc as “let us make a name for ourselves, lest we scatter over the whole earth”[45], while Carr’s English translation aptly conveys the causative (hiphil) aspect of verse 11:8a: “And YHWH caused them to scatter from there across the surface of the earth.”[46] Ironically enough, the human strategy achieves the opposite outcome. Indeed, it is worth noting that dispersion is not solely a direct consequence of divine action, particularly in the context of Babel: “This process of specifically human scattering is anticipated by the humans’ worry about themselves scattering across the earth.”[47] To summarize, in Gen 10 (The Table of Peoples), human dispersion—and thus linguistic diversity—is portrayed as the consequence of God’s injuction to multiply. In the following chapter, human dispersion continues, but takes on a distinctively human dimension. Human dispersion is no longer exclusively tied to the divine command to ‘multiply’, but also stems from human anxiety about their own dispersion.
Just as the humans of the narrative worried about their dispersion, today, some may harbor concerns about a forced uniformity and reunification of humanity, one not at the intiative of God. Babel has thus been interpreted as a critique of imperialism, a reading with roots dating as far back as the Second Temple period[48]. However, some commentators argue that this interpretation leans more towards eisegesis than exegesis and should be discarded. They contend that “although the text shows signs of composition during Judah’s Mesopotamian domination […], it does not reflect or critique imperial power”[49]. This deserves special mention because, as we will later explore, sociolinguists, speakers of minoritized languages, and advocates of diversity have all identified a positive interpretation of Babel as a critique of particular forms of imperialism. A segment of contemporary exegesis invites us to be more cautious, though. Here as elsewhere, the text should not be instrumentalized, even if it is to rightfully illustrate “how colonial empires have damaged indigenous linguistic communities or with a focus on a perceived threat to ‘traditional values’ posed by some form of ethical relativism”[50]. At the very least, should we conclude that the narrative invite us to equate the will to power with the best humanism, warrior imperialism with pacifist universalism?
Caution is still required if we read the Babel narrative as a critique, not necessarily of cultural homogenization, but of the establishment of a global community. It is not without reason that David Carr concludes his commentary on the narrative in this way: “Looking to the future, one might ask whether this passage’s deep skepticism about global human cooperation might not be particularly problematic in a time like this where central issues, such as climate change, require the global community to find a common language to address profound challenges to the ongoing life of the ‘children of the human’ on ‘all the earth.’”[51] In the face of the pressing challenges confronting humanity today, the lesson of Babel appears to be one of profound subtlety, warning against both the pitfalls of uniformity and the forgetfulness that, despite its dispersion, humanity retains a common past – and a common future.
To remain faithful to the text and the insights of biblical scholarship, one should also not overlook “the passage’s prominent description of a deity concerned to protect divine prerogatives by disrupting human community.”[52] Given these insights, What then remains? Readings, especially those from contextual theology, “have made important contributions, balancing past readings of the passage as a story of ‘crime and punishment’ with sensitivity both to the text’s complex portrayal of humanity’s efforts and the way YHWH’s response here is not depicted as a punishment of human disobedience.”[53] While the confusio linguarum leads to the dispersion of humans over the earth, it is not a punitive consequence of disobedience. Rather, it is part of a broader process of limitation and demarcation that is evident throughout the text of Gen 1–11.
In conclusion, what can we glean from this? There are perhaps at least three remaining key points to consider. Firstly, as highlighted by the commentator, the story calls for a continuous process of rebalancing. This involves rebalancing the dynamics between the Creator and his creation, as much as it entails reevaluating the interpretations, all of which often go beyond the literal meaning of the text. Secondly, in line with the creation narratives of the Ancient Near and Middle East, this rebalancing should be understood as contemporaneous with the myth’s readers. In other words the myth is not designed to maintain its relevance across time and context, but this is indeed its primary function as a creation narrative. The story of Babel, as previously suggested, is not merely an etiological narrative explaining the origins of languages, but a tool crafted to address the present time. As such, it prompts us to reflect on the self-centered tendencies of the deity, the potential destructive power of humanity even in their noblest intentions, and the inherent ambivalence of language—both sacred and cursed. Thirdly, this process of rebalancing is not achieved through a single language, but through the plurality of languages and linguistic variations. Languages themselves become a means of rebalancing, a form of divine mediation. In the final analysis, is it worth noting that divine intervention, as it does not stem from human disobedience, is therefore non-retributive? For now, let us conclude with these points.
d. Acts 2:9-13 – Pentecost
Let us now turn to Pentecost, and first recall why these two episodes are often compared: as commentator Carl Holladay points out, Pentecost appears as a reversal of Babel, both because Luke uses language reminiscent of Gen 11:1-9, and because at Pentecost, languages are no longer confused. Everyone, though speaking in their respective language, understands each other: “God undoes at Pentecost what had been done at Babel.”[54] Craig Keener even considers that “such an approach would certainly fit Luke’s theme of mission transcending cultural and linguistic barriers.”[55] However, can we still read Acts 2 as an anti-Babel in light of recent contributions from the exegesis of Gen 11?
Pentecost marks the advent of the Spirit. But, what is the nature and purpose of the Spirit in the book of Acts? “In Acts the Holy Spirit is God’s surrogate presence. By presenting the Spirit as the empowering presence within the church, Luke reinforces the theme of providential guidance.”[56] The term ‘empowering’ allows us to identify the concept of power, a key notion in the narratives and theology of creation. Notably, here again, God intervenes through languages. I emphasize ‘languages’ and specifically use the definite plural form. God intervenes through “the languages", not simply “certain languages”, and, at any rate not simply through “language”. Pentecost is the gathering of the apostles who begin to “speak in other tongues” (ἤρξαντο λαλεῖν ἑτέραις γλώσσαις; Acts 2:4b). Is it verging on overanalysis to emphasize the use of ἄρχομαι, to begin? Certainly not: “Luke’s account of Pentecost is depicted as an inaugural event.”[57] Simultaneously, what can we comprehend from this heteroglossia (heterolalia)? Keep in mind, divine intervention calls us to act. We find a similar movement to what Hebrew syntax invited us to see. Just as the confusio linguarum caused the διασπορά of humans, in Luke the Holy Spirit impulses the speech of the apostles and the main characters (Peter in Acts 4:8; Stephen 6,5,10 and 7,55; Agabus 11,28 and 21,11; Paul in 13:9-11 and 20:23; Apollos 18,25). “The Holy Spirit not only prompts people to speak, but also directs their movements.”[58] Moreover, the Spirit “is poured out not only upon duly designated representatives like the apostles but also among believers. This democratization of the Spirit receives great emphasis in Acts.”[59] Now, this empowering presence finds its programmatic expression in the miraculous event of Pentecost, a manifestation not of speaking in tongues (glossolalia) but in other languages (heteroglossy). The question is whether the ‘miracle’ lies in the extraordinary capacity to comprehend one another despite the myriad of languages, resulting in the relativization of languages, or do languages themselves assume a pivotal role in the unfolding of this remarkable event?
First and foremost, the miracle, generating awe and serving as a sign of divine intervention, lies not so much in the tongues of fire that separate and descend upon the gathered group (Acts 2:3), but in the amazement of the crowd drawn to the commotion : “And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.”(Acts 2:6; NRSV). What was, from the group’s perspective, a form of heteroglossia (speaking in another language) became, for the multitude, the wonder of hearing the apostles speak in their own idiolects (ἤκουον εἷς ἕκαστος τῇ ἰδίᾳ διαλέκτῳ λαλούντων αὐτῶν; Acts 2:6b). With the text’s support, we will use the term ‘idiolect’ here. Language pedagogy has not overlooked the significance of the adjective ἴδιος and the lexicon of Acts 2:1-13. We encounter ἴδιος in ἰδίω–μα, meaning “peculiarity; idiom (peculiarity of a language),”[60] or ἰδιώ–της, denoting “a simple particular, as opposed to public functioning; hence idiocy (which is too particular),”[61] and finally ἰδιωτισμός, signifying “1) a language specific to an individual; 2) idiomatic expression (a particular turn in language).”[62] In a way, this root would suffice to encapsulate the ambition of this thesis, which is to focus not on language but on idioms, encompassing both what resists translation and what translators can choose to retain from the source language. I contend that Pentecost is not the disappearance of languages in favor of the message, but that the message itself resides in the reverence for what makes each language unique. Between Acts 2:4 and Acts 2:6, a shift in perspective is organized, moving from the possessive (“loqui eorum linguis”) to the reflexive (“lingua sua illos loquentes”) and eventually otherness or alterity (the Vulgate logically translates “loqui aliis linguis”). The miracle lies in the fact that each one heard the apostles speak in their own dialects, in their speech in its most particular form. In sociolinguistic terms, Pentecost is somewhat the victory of hyperlocalists. Under the influence of the Spirit, the group speaks in these forms of speech that Dante defines as follows: “[The speech] with which small children become familiar, through the influence of their surroundings, from the first moment they begin to distinguish sounds.”[63] Indeed, in a cosmopolitan city, especially during a pilgrimage, what would be the strangeness of hearing foreign languages. Indeed, in a cosmopolitan city, especially during a pilgrimage, what would be the strangeness of hearing foreign languages spoken? Certainly, the occurrence of hearing foreign languages being spoken in a diverse environment is nothing out of the ordinary.
There is, of course, a tension in the text. The audience who came to observe the scene is described as residing in Jerusalem (εἰς Ἰερουσαλὴμ κατοικοῦντες; Acts 2:5), a detail that seems to dismiss pilgrims[64], but also as originating from “all the peoples who are under heaven” (ἀπὸ παντὸς ἔθνους τῶν ὑπὸ τὸν οὐρανόν; Acts 2:5). All in all, the passage describes a dual movement, one centrifugal corresponding to the gathering and the other centripetal related to the mission.
Precisely in the context of the Lucan work and the historical context in which the kerygma manifested itself, the question of language is not overlooked. The Lucan work, adhering to the standards of ancient historiography, is not insensitive to the linguistic question. Verisimilitude, a Thucydidean principle[65], leads Luke to adhere to a certain linguistic realism: in his discourse at Pentecost (Acts 2:14-41) or in his sermon at the Temple in Jerusalem (Acts 3:17-26), “Peter speaks in a Semitic-influenced Greek, close to that of the Septuagint, […] whereas Luke places on the lips of Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus in Athens, a speech of Attic classicism, replete with optatives and figures of speech, and developing an argumentation steeped in borrowings from Stoic thinkers.”[66] The astonishment of the gathered crowd not only relies entirely on the dialectal and sociolinguistic factors, but it is explicitly stated as such: “Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans?’” (Acts 2:7; NIV). The issue of diglossia[67] is also noted by Keener, who points out that “Far more problematic, Luke provides no implication that diglossia was in view or that one should expect the disciples to have spoken only Hebrew on this or another occasion.”[68]
Regarding the Pentecost event, Carl Holladay recalls that Galilean Aramaic is mocked in the Talmud through the story of a Galilean “who vent to the marketplace in Jerusalem and asked to purchase an amar. The merchant replied: ‘You stupid Galilean, do you want to ride on (a donkey = ḥamār)? Or something to drink (wine = ḥamar)? Or something for clothing (wool = ʿamar)? Or something for a sacrifice (a lamb = ʾimmar)?’”[69] The potential diglossia likely experienced or encountered by the historical Jesus is another noteworthy aspect to consider[70]. It is quite significant that the question of the language spoken by the historical Jesus is closely followed by the question of his possible illiteracy[71], which relates to the relationship between writing and culture. Even today, it is estimated that 70% of cultures worldwide are oral[72] and belong to what UNESCO defines as intangible cultural heritage (ICH)[73].
Finally, one aspect of language is the sense of belonging to a culture, even among non-speakers. In his book Jesus of Nazareth: Jew from Galilee, Savior of the World, Jens Schröter highlights that “the consciousness of a distinctive Jewish identity that arose in the Maccabean period, which was oriented to the covenant and law and directed to the Jerusalem temple, remained alive, as did the Jewish traditions emerging in this period that found expression in writings of an apocalyptic or sapiential character.”[74] This dimension of what belongs uniquely to each individual or culture, and which is expressed particularly intimately through language, does not seem foreign to what the Pentecost narrative conveys.
Pentecost and Ecclesiology
If Pentecost is the foundational reality of the Church, then this reality is experienced and lived through language pluralism and linguistic variation. The Pentecostal theologian and missiologist Amos Yong puts it this way: “In fact, the ecclesial people of God were founded by their one experience of the Spirit amidst the plurality and diversity of their particular tongues and languages on the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2). The same Spirit who enabled cross-cultural understanding and koinonia in the early church is the one in whom all humankind also lives, moves, and has its being (Acts 17:28).”[75] It is, therefore, crucial not to overlook the material dimension and the fundamental experience of the Spirit by reducing languages to mere tools for theological elaboration. “From this ecclesial reality that spans languages, cultures, space, and time comes the pneumatological imagination—the capacity to apprehend the Spirit, to speak the Spirit’s languages, to experience the Spirit’s reality, and to engage reality spiritually—which is thereby intrinsically one only in and through its plurality.”[76] What languages retain as their own, even what is unique to them, should not hinder the formation of community but rather become a condition for genuine sharing. True communion requires each individual to contribute what is uniquely theirsFurthermore, κοινωνία is not a community limited to acquisitions, where only what begins with the community is held in common, but a universal community where individual possessions are shared. What belongs to one is intended to become the possession of others. What is mine is meant to become yours. This does not imply that everyone has left behind, outside the community, what was originally theirs. Amos Yong holds both ends of the question here: on one hand, an ecclesial reality that spans languages and cultures, and on the other, a reality that is not one in spite of variety but whose essence (intrinsically) is to be one “in and through its plurality.” Plurality appears here as one mode of expression of the One.
In the end, does Acts 2:11-13 allow for a favorable interpretation of minoritized languages? Let us recall that three or four languages would have sufficed for the group of 120 to understand each other: Koine Greek, Aramaic, Hebrew, and possibly Latin. This context significantly deviates from that of the typical monolingual society. To this plurilingual context, one would have add dialectal diversity and diglossia to have an accurate view of the linguistic landscape. Similar to the Babel narrative[77], some interpretations have attempted to see an anti-imperialist undertones here, but the text resists such an interpretation. Undoubtedly, the message of this passage is theological. It aims to inaugurate a new era, that of the Church, under the guidance of the Spirit. Nevertheless, Pentecost appears convincingly to commentators as an anti-Babel event. Languages once again assume a central role in a process initiated by God to act in history through humanity. This historical dimension, embedded in Luke's own project, pays careful attention to languages and linguistic variation, not as part of a political agenda, but as a means to achieve the verisimilitude demanded by the canons of ancient historiography. Through the agency of the Spirit, the group of 120 speaks in different dialects and languages, yet they understand another. As mentioned earlier, “they may speak different dialects, but their language is no longer confused or confounded.”[78] Intercomprehension is a gift of the Spirit. Or, rather, the Spirit transforms languages into dialects, making them accessible to interdialectal understanding. And as God's gifts abound, this intercomprehension reaches the most intimate perfection, granting each person the sense of hearing their own their own language (dialectal variant). While Acts 2:4-11 may not explicitly address whether empowerment should be understood as leveling or eliminating cultural boundaries to proclaim God's word, or whether there is a revalorization of these boundaries, the Pentecost narrative primarily teaches us that the Spirit leads to the proclamation of the Word, not despite the irreducible nature of languages, but precisely by refusing to diminish what is unique and distinct about them. The Church, under the impulse of the Spirit, is not founded on the abolition of otherness, nor does it merely offer perfunctory respect for otherness but, instead, effectively reveals otherness as intelligible and familiar.
B. Sociolinguistic Readings of Babel
We have observed that historical-critical exegesis may not readily offer support for minoritized languages. However, we have definitively identified powerful elements, both in isolation and in synergy, that unequivocally fortify the case for a contextual interpretation that acknowledges and values diversity: 1) the texts’ focus on languages instead of language; 2) their consideration of multiplicity and variation; 3) their their emphasis on the relational nature of divine creation and action. Examining the Scriptures from a linguistic standpoint will offer yet a different perspective. To that end sociolinguist Patrick Sauzet’s insights provide an alternative lens through which to interpret the texts, taking into account their sociolinguistic implications, the ramifications of multiplicity and variation in the realm of sociolinguistics, and the relational dynamics of divine intervention. Let us now examine a few examples of how Sauzet’s reading sheds light on these matters.
a. Patrick Sauzet and the “Immolated Language”[79]
Patrick Sauzet’s perspective offers a dual approach to reexamining the discussed question: one focusing on monolingualism and the other on sacrificial aspects. Both aspects relate to the dichotomy of violence and power, as we connect the narratives of the Flood (Gen 8:31–9:7) and Babel (Gen 11). As Thomas Römer has noted, until Babel, the question of the status of language does not arise; language is singular and shared among animals, humans, and God. Adding the concepts of idiolect and heteroglossia during Pentecost, we engage in a similar conceptual endeavor that Patrick Sauzet invites us to consider. In his view, the Babel myth is not merely misinterpreted; it frequently projects an interpretation diametrically opposed to its intended message: “The Babel myth is often misunderstood, in my view. Disorder is seen in the confusion of languages. In reality, it is monolingualism, through the construction of an ever-taller tower (a fitting image of mimetic competition), and the accompanying excessive ambition, that brings about divine punishment. The confusion of languages and the dispersion of peoples mark a return to a peaceful and diversified order. If Babel represents Babylon, the myth likely highlights the risk of disintegration within the violence of a vast empire where mimetic prohibitions tend to fade, including linguistic ones. Only small, differentiated communities remain sheltered from such crises. Small is peaceful.’”[80]Patrick Sauzet reintroduces the question of imperialism, and maintains, as previously discussed, that “linguistic diversity, encompassing different languages and dialectal variations, should not be perceived as disorder.”[81] Moreover, valuable insights into the interplay between diversity and geographic dispersion are offered, beginning with how “homogeneity is only found within the smallest groups. Dialectal differentiation ensures linguistic order by solidifying the communal identity of each group.”[82] By examining these sociolinguistic phenomena, we can better grasp the dynamics of differentiation. Of potentially greater import, Sauzet also notes that perhaps “the perception that a language gains legitimacy only through its most distinctive characteristics”[83] is at play. The most characteristic features of a language, those that make it most recognizable, can be perceived by both non-speakers and speakers as the most authentic. Beyond the confines of linguistics, this phenomenon resembles a societal tendency to equate, for example, in the religious domain, orthodoxy with radicalism, with the most extreme positions or the most radical environments appearing, to the uninitiated, as more in line with doctrinal principles and dogma.
However, diversity and differentiation do not negate the presence of norms, as illustrated by Patrick Sauzet’s dynamic definition of language: “Language is, on one hand, the internalized competence of speakers, more aptly referred to as grammar. On the other hand, it is a social institution that makes it a collective symbol, an object, and a tool for regulation. Regardless of its degree of rigidity, the norm lies at the heart of established language. It embodies it but does not solely define it: as a measure, the norm brings together practices that deviate from it. An established language, in a sense, is the space for the reception of a norm, where conformities and deviations converge. As an institution, language is interconnected with all the institutions of a society, serving as both a means and a reference point. The suspicion of conflict beneath linguistic order can, therefore, be linked to a broader suspicion of the presence of violence within any institution.”[84] The distribution of languages, along with the phenomena of variation and differentiation already mentioned, is thus intimately connected to the management of violence.
Additionally, the linguist introduces the contemporary concept of ‘nation’ in the context of the Babel episode. For the sake of clarity, we had chosen the term ‘peoples’ over ‘nations’ to translate גוים or ἔθνη from Gen 10. Perhaps we can elaborate on this concept here by using the political concept of a nation-state: “In a sense, the nation is a Babel, a pre-divine confusion, a monolingual Babel.”[85] In his revisitation of sociolinguistic exegesis, Patrick Sauzet thus elucidates the connection between monolingualism and a notion of the nation that could foreshadow that of a nation-state, both united in a cult of what the linguist characterizes as ‘indistinction’. Indistinction emerges as a suitable concept in the context of a priestly theology of creation associated with delineations. Dis-tingere literally means ‘to separate, divide’. The indistinct, therefore, is the non-differentiated, the confused in the sense of undifferentiated. The confusion introduced by God is thus a confusion that establishes not confusion but clarity. Divine σύγχυσις (confusio) serves the purpose of distinctio.
The divine act of blurring challenges the sacralization of the political sphere, particularly the tendency to elevate the state monopoly on language as a political tool. Sauzet argues that the separation between religion and the state can be interpreted in two opposing ways: “On one hand, it can imply a relativization and desacralization of the dominion of Caesar, distinguishing it from the realm of God. On the other hand, it can transfer to the state and the nation the absolute and transcendent character of religion, relegating religion to the ‘private sphere.’ Secularism, depending on interpretation, can either enable an absolute state or accompany a more modest state”[86]. Whereas the Table of Nations presented a dispersion of peoples as a consequence of the confusio linguarum, Babel urges the blurring of cultural and political dimensions. “The misalignment of the linguistic and, therefore, cultural order from the political order contributes to the desacralization of the political realm. The excess of Babel (of the unilingual Babel constructing the tower) is that of simplicity: one state, one nation, one language.”[87]. Babel’s totalitarian pretension once again recalls the notion of imperialism, which, however, was difficult to discern in these texts, especially in historical-critical exegesis. An anti-imperialist interpretation of Babel resurfaces as a sociolinguistic reading, along with the concept of the absolute. While God self-limits, human institutions demand absoluteness for themselves, thereby dismissing linguistic and cultural distinctions. Furthermore, the connection between Babel and imperialism resurfaces in the context of a theological interpretation of the narrative. This connection has been extensively analyzed by John Dominic Crossan in God and Empire (1989).
b. Caesar and God (Mk 12:17; Mt 22:21; Lk 20:25)
We have retained an argument in favor of the notion of imperialism in John Dominic Crossan's historical analysis. But, to begin with, First and foremost, let us recall how David Carr underscores the ancient interpretations of Babel as a critique of the Empire[88]. Crossan, on the other hand, reminds us that the phrase “Son of God” refers to a historical reality. In Jesus’ world, which was situated on the fringes of the Roman Empire, the expression “Son of God” unequivocally referred to the Roman emperor. Crossan emphasizes this point in his work titled God &Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now (2007): “There was a human being in the first century who was called ‘Divine’, ‘Son of God’, ‘God’ and ‘God from God’, whose titles were ‘Lord’, ‘Redeemer’, ‘Liberator’ and ‘Savior of the world’. [...] And most Christians probably think that these titles were originally created and uniquely applied to Christ. But before Jesus ever existed, all those terms belonged to Caesar Augustus.”[89] Crossan’s argument revolves around the early Christians attributing these titles to Jesus as a way of denying them to Augustus: “They were taking the identity of the Roman emperor and giving it to a Jewish peasant. Either that was a peculiar and a very low lampoon, or it was what the Romans called majestas and I call high treason.”[90]
Crossan's demonstration in God & Empire (2007) continues in his recent work, Render unto Caesar (2022), as he examines the synoptic episode of rendering tribute to Caesar (Mk 12:17; Mt 22:21; Lk 20:25). Asking that what is Caesar’s should be given to Caesar and what is God’s should be given back to God implies that Caesar is not God: “Caesar and God are not identified.”[91] In other words, Jesus reintroduces distinction. However, precisely, “If Caesar and God are neither identified nor equated, how are they associated, accommodated, adapted, assimilated, or acculturated to one another in the actual world in which I all live?”[92] Crossan believes that these five verbs “represent the classic slippery slope toward full acculturation,”[93] which he defines as “a deep integration into the surrounding culture so that you swim in it smoothly, unconsciously, and without critical thought in it—like fish.”[94] The words of the former priest and historian of religions are particularly severe on this matter: “Acculturation is the drag of normalcy, the lure of conformity, the curse of careerism that can—under certain leaders, in certain circumstances, at certain times and places—turn some of us into monsters, many of us into liars, and most of us into cowards.”[95] The entirety of Crossan's historical argumentation cannot be reproduced here, especially regarding the Romanization of Gaul. We will focus on what the man of faith and historian acknowledges regarding the New Testament’s treatment of the theme of acculturation, which he describes as “the question of divine rule and human acculturation.”[96] The pressure to conform (the drag of normalcy), the temptation of blending in (the lure of conformity), and the negative repercussions of excessively career-driven behavior (the curse of carreerism) are associated with modes of indistinction (normality, conformity) or temporality (routine or excessive professional ambition) that inevitably lead to hardening, habituation, can be better described as the acceptance of the unacceptable. Acculturation means speaking, living, and thinking in the language of the master—in lowercase, the language of the world—rather than the language of the Lord.
According to Crossan, the New Testament addresses the question of acculturation in two contradictory ways: 1) by demonizing acculturation in the Book of Revelation, and 2) by canonizing it in the Lucan-Acts diptych. “Granted that dichotomy”[97], the historian wonders about “radically criticizing acculturation as the way forward for Christian faith—and human evolution.”[98] This contemplation regarding the potential for presenting an unwavering and resolute challenge to acculturation finds resonance in the study of the historical Jesus. Crossan skillfully contrasts a peace attained through coercion and subversion, exemplified by Caesar, with a peace rooted in justice, emblematic of God’s divine order. This reflection finds alignment with a hypothesis put forth by Adriana Destro and Mauro Pesce concerning the historical Jesus, which suggests that Jesus “proclaimed the imminent judgment by God, [a transformative event that would overturn] the prevailing unbalanced interactions that paradoxically appeared to be the established considered social order.”[99]
Yet again, what will be the primary lessons we extract from Crossan, Carr, or Destro-Pesce offer on this matter? Does the usage of the locution ‘the language of Caesar’ accurately characterize the subversion of languages reduced to instruments of power and authority, which are unable to fully embrace the relational dimensions of creation? Does this subversion of language differ from the intrinsic ambivalence of language, or is it merely one aspect of it?
c. Cain and Abel
After discussing power, we now venture deeper into the subject of violence and its emergence. In our previous exploration, we focused on the divine concession, granted after the flood, in response to human inherent violence, allowing humans to eat meat. By doing so, we deliberately omitted the initial striking manifestation of violence in the Genesis narrative: the haunting tale of Cain and Abel (Gen 4:1-16). This ‘foundational couple’ represents one of the implicit figures of diglossia[100]. With the biblical narrative as a backdrop, Patrick Sauzet applies the Girardian model to linguistic dynamics and continues to raise questions about the sacrificial dimension. On his part, John Dominic Crossan argues that according to the biblical tradition “civilization began immediately with fratricide”[101], specifically the “murder of a shepherd by a farmer on his own farm.”[102] And since Cain is the founder of the first city (Gen 4:17), “Cain, the introducer of violence, is, moreover, identified as the father—or grandfather—of sedentary culture or ‘civilization.’ [...] This story corresponds neatly with the understanding that agricultural surplus eventually led to an increase in individualism, aggression, warfare, and greed.”[103] The obsolescence of one naturally leads to its elimination, which is a commonly invoked argument against minoritized languages. Like Abel, languages are deemed mortal and destined to fade away. However, rather than obsolescence, the narrative seems to highlight redundancy. This is clear when considering the case of another foundational duo, namely the French-Occitan pair: “The foundational relationship between these two languages, with the dominance of one resulting from the elimination of the other—under the disguise of a fundamental equivalence—underscores the perception of the Occitan situation as a hidden conflict. For an actual linguistic conflict to arise, both languages must assert their inherent dignity and claim equal status. Yet, the outcome is predetermined: to advocate for the linguistic dignity of Occitan is to fundamentally challenge the solidification of the French language as institution.”[104] The rise of one language, as the tale goes, necessitates the suppression and diminishment of the other.
Thus, Sauzet highlights not only the the recurring theme of “the pairing of the two languages,”[105] but also the mirror play associated with this pairing. One language could have suffered the fate of the other, as per the essential theme of “random election.”[106] We always exist as the other of the other, but in the case of French and Occitan, one partner achieves personal freedom or liberation by submitting the other partner to ongoing captivity or a hostage-like situation. The effect may be less radical than in the case of Cain and Abel, but both models share an inaugural dimension: “The reduction of Occitan is not a marginal effect of the rise of French but lies at its very foundation.”[107] One should note the distortion of reality associated with a deliberate strategy of exclusion, where the dominant language may present itself as threatened[108], or the subjugated language is declared dead even when it is still very much alive[109]. The crime guarantees a rewriting of reality: the disappearance of the other resolves the issue of alterity. Moreover, the denial of alterity renders the physical disappearance of the other futile, as they already have no existence in the hegemonic world. Confronted with this distortion of reality, God intervenes to restore the real by asking, “Where is your brother Abel?” (Gen 4:9).
The stark reality is that this fraternal violence, in the narrow sense, does not remain limited to the familial dimension. This fraternal violence reverberates universally, affecting not only the individuals involved but also the very fabric of existence. Because it is violence between humans, it constitutes “an offense against God, and a way that humans pollute the ground on which they depend.”[110] Thus, ecological concerns overlap with the issues related to the interplay of violence and power, to which issues of domination[111] have been added. However, it is crucial to recognize that it is not solely Cain's impulsiveness or anger that leads to the desecration of the earth, but rather the loss of relationship and dialogue with God[112]. Even as the narrative expands to encompass the vastness of the cosmos or the potential destruction of the earth, the fundamental element of relationship remains at its core.
In the narrative of and Cain and Abel, pollution is the lamentable outcome of a grievance stemming from the respective sacrifices of the two brothers and how these sacrifices were received by God—an act that is intended to have the exact opposite effect. Sacrifices in the context of the Old Testament aim to sanctify the sacrificial victim (sacrum facere)[113]. The sacrificial nature, especially one where one of the founding pair sacrifices themselves, is identified by Patrick Sauzet in the centralizing rhetoric of Abbé Grégoire: “Grégoire asks the people of the Midi, the Occitans, to sacrifice their language for national (linguistic) unity (‘Our brothers from the Midi [...] have renounced and fought political federalism; they will fight with the same energy against language federalism’).”[114] In contrast to the sacrificial logic of the Old Testament, here “the refusal, often violent, to use the term ‘Occitan’, the clear designation of this language, follows the sacrificial logic. The sacrificed one is unnamable, taboo.”[115] Patrick Sauzet concludes: “The hypothesis, therefore, is that the French language is also established through sacrifice. The elimination of other languages is not a consequence of the success of French, but its precondition.”[116]
However, this sacrificial dimension must be nuanced, whether we consider the sacrificial logic of the Old Testament or understand sacrifice as self-imposed deprivation. In this case, the sacrificed one is the other of the founding pair. There is no renunciation or self-effort, but rather the execution of the double. Otherness is not endured; it is liquidated. Furthermore, and most importantly, the biblical sacrificial logic is not adhered to. Among the sacrifices mentioned in the Old Testament, two sacrifices appear particularly significant in relation to our discussion: the sin offering (Lev 4:1–5:13) and the reparation offering (Lev 5:14-26). Here, we find the priestly tradition and its concern for the relational dimension: the names of these two sacrifices indeed refer to “the breach in the relationship they serve to restore.”[117] They introduce the notion of acknowledgment. On one hand, these sacrifices “imply recognition of the committed offense.”[118] On the other hand, sins “committed deliberately and as a challenge to the Lord are excluded”[119] (Num 15:30-31). The execution of the double does not meet these Old Testament criteria. Here, theological exegesis allows us to unequivocally reject sacrificial justifications and contribute to the rightful recognizing the victim as such.
c. Language of the Poor
Ultimately, challenging the sacrificial dimension allows us to restore the reality of evil. Linguistic hegemony mimics or perpetuates social and economic domination. As Jacques Dupuis suggests, the profound contradiction between God and the poor, who endure oppression from the rich, is vividly manifested and embodied in Christ[120]. It is therefore not surprising that speakers of minoritized languages often find that a ‘language of the poor’ resonates more deeply with them when it comes to celebrating the kenosis of the Word[121]. They are sensitive and receptive to the deeper meaning and significance behind the actions of the Son who purposefully sought the company and friendship of those who were socially marginalized, or subjected to social disdain. From this perspective, minoritized languages offer an intimate and familiar understanding of the Christian message, where, in the words of Aloysius Pieris, “Jesus is [...] the defense pact between the oppressed and Yahweh.”[122] This brings to mind passages such as Mt 19:24 or the Anabaptist emphasis on separating the Church from structures of political or economic authority. If it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God, what can we conclude about a Gospel proclaimed in the language of the rich, or at the very least, a language that appears so due to the prestige associated with it, or because it can be ascribed a power on par with that of the wealthy, given that prestige derives from authority?
Christopher Rowland emphasizes this point in relation to liberation theology: “When viewed from the underside of history, from the poor and the marginalized, the message of the kingdom looks rather different from the way in which it has been portrayed by those who have had the power to write the story of the church and formulate its dogmas and social concerns.”[123] Thus, as the theologian from Oxford further highlights, liberation theology “forcibly reminds us that the contemporary theological enterprise cannot escape critical reflection on its assumptions and preferences.”[124] However, strikingly enough, linguistic dominance is rarely exposed as one of these assumptions or preferences. This is partly due to the elusive nature of linguistic dominance, as Patrick Sauzet points out: “What remains opaque [...] is linguistic dominance itself. Not its deployment in the practices of society, not its historical emergence and development (all sociolinguists seek to describe this), but its very ability to establish itself in language usage, to (dis)organize it.”[125] Ultimately, alongside the themes of violence-power and domination, it would be pertinent to add the theme of subversion. In this context, ambivalence seems to be related less to language itself than to the power dynamics to which it lends itself.
C. Refocusing the Question. A Thematic Exploration
a. Violence, Power, and Domination
In contrast to the ancient philosophical discourse on the power of language and the language of power, exegesis underscores the preexistence of the Word, an agent of performative and creative potency, the attribute to a transcendent God who initiates and perpetually reestablishes a relational dynamic with his created beings. Divine power, unlike human power, is characterized by self-imposed limitations, while the power that humans aspire to often result in a perpetual descent into cycles of violence and struggle for hegemony. The biblical narrative does not directly link violence or power dynamics to language (e.g., God’s engagements with humanity in Gen 11). Instead, it merely explain the emergence of languages as a consequence of these power dynamics. The confusion of tongues is not inherently tied to human disobedience but is associated with the clash between the Creator and his creatures. Language diversity and linguistic variation serve to avert the threat of chaos by organizing the dispersion of humans across the Earth. This dispersion is still evident today and divides not only among different peoples but also within social groups themselves. These delineations bear a profound connection to power dynamics and intimately engage the intricate language phenomenon. Indeed, linguistic variation extends beyond phonology, morphology, prosody, or any other element that can distinguish one speech from another. Speakers of languages resulting from a process of homogenization remain sensitive to a wide range of variations, including the social implications of specific usages, intonations conveying a line of thought, and nuances of superiority or contempt. “Language is an integral part of social life, with all its ruses and iniquities, and that a good part of our social life consists of the routine exchange of linguistic expressions in the day-to-day flow of social interaction.”[126] Language routinely serves as the arena for enacting social strategies. Models of prestige and models of power tend to overlap, and the ability to humiliate, disdain, or elevate oneself socially—or appear to do so—is linked to the adoption of the master's language. The theological implications of such a construct are far from neutral. What does it mean when one speaks, or when one’s Church exclusively speaks, in the language of the dominant, and the language of the dominant presents itself as the language of the Lord?
b. The Language of Caesar
This de-escalation of the confrontation between divine power and human power through linguistic pluralism, as well as within language itself, through the fragmentation of power relations, finds a historical translation between dominant languages, languages of acculturation to the world, languages of Caesar, and, on the other hand, the Word that constantly calls for the pursuit of peace not through force but through justice. Does the existence of languages of Caesar, languages that assert strength, uniformity, an ideological[127] pursuit of unity through linguistic cohesion, suffice to grant a theological status to the languages affected by these linguistic conflicts? Is it possible to say of each language what Geffré says of each religious figure: does each language retain “something irreducible to the extent that it may have been inspired by the very Spirit of God”[128]?
c. The Relational Nature and Reality as an Imperative
Rather than a God detached from his creation, exegesis reveals a God in an intimate relationship with humanity. This relational dimension finds its most practical expression in the dialogical dimension. When transposed into the sphere of religious discourse, this dimension emerges as one of the prerequisites for accessing the universal[129]. The analogy between linguistic pluralism and religious pluralism invites us to de-absolutize hegemonic languages, just as religions are called to come to terms with “the consequences of their historicity.”[130] The relational nature of this paradigm may unsettle those in positions of power, as it challenges the absoluteness of their hegemony. Yet, it is merely a reminder of reality, not only as a condition for peace—rooted in justice—but also as an interesting call to perceive reality as it is, rather than through the distorted lens of the dominant parties.
d. The Multiple as a Counter to Idolatry
The multiple reveals itself as an expression of the divine will. God, in fact, cannot condemn the diversity of languages: “God does not condemn the plurality of languages and hence of cultures, because this is rather a return to the original condition willed by God.”[131] The multiple manifests itself as a mode of expression of the One, whether it is through nature or, particularly, through humanity. God does not wish to be idolized or fetishized as the One. This understanding does not contradict the essence of the Shema Israel (Dt 6:4). While God demands exclusive worship (Ex 20:3), he also prohibits all forms of idolatry. The question, therefore, is whether idolatry arises from worshiping another power—real or supposed—other than God, or if there is a mode of worship—idolatry—that God prohibits, even if he is the recipient of such worship. We see in the V’ahavta section[132], which immediately follows the Shema, an indication of how God expects to be worshiped: “You shall love”. Certainly, the verse Dt 6:5 continues with “with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might”, and this ‘all’ suggests the idea of absoluteness. However, this verse is, in fact, a call for each individual to love God in their entirety, with their whole being. Idolizing God would mean worshiping him in the mode of the One, abandoning one’s heart, soul, and strength. On the contrary, it is in the multiplicity of hearts, souls, and strengths that God calls for worship to be rendered to him. Patrick Sauzet’s analysis, when considering the sacrifical dimension, invites us to see how humanity, in its quest for absolutism, is tempted to sacrifice itself, even at the expense of the Creator’s work. Against this absolutist aspiration, God reveals himself as a power—the all-power— capable of self-limitation.
The theology of religions presents a particularly clear appreciation for the multiple. This is notably the case with Claude Geffré, whose theological exegesis of Babel and Pentecost aligns with the ideas previously discussed. Geffré’s thoughts closely resonate with those of Occitan sociolinguistics: “What God condemns is a linguistic singularity with the idolatrous ambition of replacing the one true God with a monolithic humanity that makes itself into God.”[133] Placing Claude Geffré’s exegesis in the context of his commitment and theological work in the service of the Word, particularly through interreligious theology, we can discern a theology of linguistic pluralism that is all the more invigorating and comforting because it is grounded in Scripture: “The dispersion of languages has always been interpreted as a punishment in response to the pride of those who wanted to build a single tower that would rival the unicity of God.”[134] Linguistic singularity or unilingualism cannot be a response to the unicity of God. Homogenizing forces are inherently idolatrous, as they seek to reduce God. To sacrifice the multiple is not an act of worshipping God. And God cannot be invoked to condemn diversity. The unicity or uniqueness of God is not in question. God is One. But God does not desire to be worshipped as an idol. He can be worshipped within and through the multiple, embodied in the remarkably distinct figure of Jesus of Nazareth.
e. Incarnation and History
“The God of the Bible blesses multiplicity, just as he blesses the human condition as historical and fleshly.”[135] What more can be said after an assertion that perfectly encapsulates everything this study aims to convey? One could conclude here. However, this appreciation of diversity is achieved through “the complete singularization of universalism in the person of Jesus.”[136] God reveals himself in a unique manner in Jesus, while also making himself known in history. While the multiple serves as a mode of expression of the One in history or through creation, it does not make itself known as multiplicity; it reveals itself through the particular, a particular that, due to his significance, is not an illustration of the universal—the incarnation is not an avatar—but rather the sign that the universal must be understood from this particular standpoint. In this sense, Jesus Christ is indeed the concretissimum universale, and not the concretized universal. The universal does not invent the concrete nor negate it, but through the incarnation, each person, each unique and singular expression of the concrete, is united with Christ. The universal, understood through this gathering of individuals, is not a fusion of the concrete in the crucible of the universal but appears more as the anointing of this concrete, which is the human person, “elevated until unity.”[137]
Furthermore, it is worth noting that Claude Geffré uses the pluralism of languages as an argument to justify, in the fullest theological sense, religious pluralism: “If the plurality of languages and cultures is blessed by God, should I not also say that the plurality of religious traditions is recognized and even willed by God?”[138] The theologian extends his exegesis to cultures as well: “With the outpouring of the Spirit of the Risen One at Pentecost, it is permissible to think that the plurality of languages and cultures is necessary to convey the richness of the Mystery of God.”[139] The emergence of the notion of mystery here will lead us to examine the question more specifically from a Protestant theological perspective.
f. The Universal and the Law of Love
The narratives of the Table of Nations and the Tower of Babel are framed by two events in which God’s relationship with humanity has a universal significance, namely the covenant made with Noah (Gen 9) and the calling of Abraham (Gen 12). The question of the universal is accompanied by limits: “One can perceive in the failed realization of the Tower of Babel a critique of a false conception of universality. Israel must refrain from achieving universality through conquest and hegemony.”[140] The framing by the Table of Nations and the Tower of Babel thus situates these narratives within a historical and theological logic, “the ever more explicit universalism of the law of love,”[141] of which the incarnation is the perfect manifestation.
g. Interplay of Linguistic Pluralism and Religious Pluralism
The connection between the issues of linguistic pluralism and religious pluralism[142] almost makes the issue of languages seem a non-issue from a theological standpoint. With the exception that, as we have seen in the theological exegesis of the Table of Nations, linguistic pluralism enjoys a scriptural justification that religious pluralism does not. What link does our theological exegesis allow us to establish between the diversity of languages and religious pluralism? Could the dispersion of religions be the consequence of the confusio linguarum, just as the dispersion of peoples is? André Gounelle reminds us that Karl Barth himself makes the connection between Babel and religion: “Barth sees in religion an attempt by human beings to grasp hold of God, to seize and domesticate him instead of submitting to him and serving him, to imagine him instead of listening to his word, to make oneself righteous instead of recognizing oneself as a sinner. The Tower of Babel could symbolize religion: its builders want to ascend to heaven by their own means, whereas the Bible teaches us that God descends among human beings.”[143]From this perspective, religious or linguistic pluralism is an invitation to contemplate the oneness of God rather than constructing him based on a purely human conception of unity. Geffré puts it prophetically: “Theologians will increasingly have to intellectually endure the enigma of a plurality of religious traditions in their irreducible difference.”[144] One must be aware of this distinction, one of the many distinctions made possible by the convergence of the issues of linguistic pluralism and religious pluralism: the great diversity of languages and linguistic variation do not have to endure the theological enigma of their plurality and irreducible difference. These are willed by God and have a scriptural justification that religious traditions, sometimes not so kind towards linguistic pluralism, do not enjoy themselves.
The existence of languages in their most irreducible form, and most irreducibly subject to variation, can be harmonized with a theology of creation concerned with combating chaos[145], engaging human history, and contributing to the creation of a new world or a perpetually renewed world. Religious traditions, on the other hand, find themselves confronted with the mystery of their plurality, the question of their contingency, and their historicity.
h. A Theological Inquiry
Is theology pertinent, or even equipped, to address the matter of marginalized languages? Viewed from the perspective of the theology of religions, the question of linguistic pluralism seems remarkably simple and clear. First, and not least of its advantages, linguistic pluralism benefits from a scriptural justification that is sorely lacking when addressing religious pluralism. This is, in any case, the judgment of Claude Geffré, whose experience and practice of interreligious discourse compel us to lend an ear: “We will have a hard time finding in the Bible an answer to the question of the plurality of religions.”[146] If I reiterate this point, it is because, subsidiarily, the question could be: Is it possible to address the issue of minoritized languages from a Protestant theological perspective? In this regard, offering a scriptural justification may, at first glance, appear to be an asset in Protestant theology, even if the latter has dispensed with the notion of scriptura sola[147].
Another potential stumbling block was the risk of veering into natural theology by attempting to too clearly identify in minoritized languages a locus of God’s action. Similar heistations are echoed in the distinction already mentioned in our introduction between “Catholic substance and Protestant principle.”[148] Geffré, drawing on Tillich’s insights as a theologian of culture, knows to navigate between Catholic and Protestant theological frameworks: “Whether in the Dogmatik of 1925, in the Lectures that followed his seminar with Mircea Eliade, [Tillich] constantly meditates on Christianity as a non-absolute religion that nonetheless testifies to the final revelation. It is permissible to affirm the Catholic resonance of his theology insofar as he maintains an equal distance from the hubris of dialectical theology and the neo-liberalism ready to sacrifice the christological norm to facilitate interreligious dialogue.”[149]. Geffré takes on the words of Tillich’s former assistant, who saw him as “the most Catholic of Protestant theologians.”[150] When considering minoritized languages, should one speak of natural theology or theology of history, thinking of Geffré’s phrase summarizing the thesis of the Catholic theologian Edward Schillebeeckx: “God never ceases to narrate himself in history”[151]? Indeed, the questions posed by Catholic theologians like Edward Schillebeeckx, Jacques Dupuis, or Claude Geffré regarding religious pluralism do not seem to apply as strongly to linguistic pluralism. When they ask “if this factual pluralism does not lead us back to a principled or legal pluralism that falls under God’s mysterious plan,”[152] in the specific case of linguistic pluralism, Scripture provides an anser. It speaks in favor of a linguistic pluralism de jure, as mentioned earlier[153]. Could a point of convergence be reached by considering cultures as an extension of languages and, subsequently, religions? Claude Geffré, in any case, links cultures and religions, placing them both under the sign of ambiguity. However, ambiguity, commonly associated with language, does not scripturally apply to languages[154]. It is crucial not to import into the biblical narrative what pertains to other creation stories: “The biblical accounts do not specify a gift of language to man. [...] In Atrahasis, language appears as an ambiguous gift bestowed upon men by the gods.”[155] Ambiguity or ambivalence may perhaps be sought through notions other than language alone, such as the one and the multiple, or the other and the same. This is what we will explore after studying the relationships between language, languages, and the Word.
II. Language and Theology
Redefining the Connection between God’s Word and Language
While languages trace their origins to the Tower of Babel, the primordial language or the true source of language–although both terms are somewhat inadequate, as we will see–can be found in God. Robert W. Jenson thus asks: ““How does our discourse ever get started? Speech presupposes language, but language presupposes speech; seemingly, there must be a first Speaker, in whose address the distinction of speech and language does not obtain.”[156] However, this inquiry still maintains two elements of the fantasy of the origins, tracing back to the creator himself, and in doing so, substituting languages with the concept of language. Yet, the single and common language shared by animals, humans, and God is merely implicit in the biblical text. What is primary is the Word rather than language. Based on revelation, God’s mode of expression is neither the One nor the Multiple, nor even language itself, but the Word. The quest for immediacy that underlies the search for a unique, primordial language clashes with the reality of the Incarnation, which is the particular expression, in time and space, of the Word. The theological status of languages arises within this fundamental relationship. Here, they are not subordinated to the notion of language or to any hierarchy that would bring language closer to God while distancing so-called local languages. These genealogies aim to say less about the past than to point to this absolute present, incarnated in the man from Galilee.
First, we will inquire into the theological significance of languages in relation to the Word, seeking to understand their inherent status, before examining how some theologians connect languages more closely to particular persons within the Trinity. Lastly, we will explore how to describe the relationship between languages and the Word through three types of relations: the intra-Trinitarian dynamics among the divine persons, communion as the relationship to which humans are called among themselves, and the relationship between God and humans.
A. The Theological Significance of Languages in Relation to the Word
Thomas Aquinas represents an intriguing perspective on the nature of languages, reflecting both ambiguity and appreciation. On one hand, in his arguments related to the gift of tongues, he acknowledges the role of languages as a means of communication, which carries the risk of relegating them to that status[157]. On the other hand, Aquinas recognizes the theological value of languages, as demonstrated by God’s intentional choice for the apostles to speak in all languages. Languages find here a justification and thus a valorization as a mediating element. Thomas’s argumentation anticipates the questioning raised by Calvin[158], and sheds light on the debate surrounding diversity, linguistic or otherwise. God did not disregard dialects, nor did he aim to make his victory obvious. However, the Angelic Doctor’s argumentation leans towards reducing languages to their nature as tools of communication. Languages were not eliminated, but what was accomplished through languages could undoubtedly have been achieved through a single language conveying a simple message. This understanding of languages is at play among those opposing linguistic diversity or whoever argues that language is merely a communication tool.
The appreciation of linguistic diversity is nonetheless evident in Thomas’s argumentation[159]. He views languages as a remedy for idolatry, which is associated with Babel (Gen 11:7). If the gift of tongues is no longer manifest in our times, it is because—echoing Augustine—the Church now speaks all languages[160]. This aspect of Thomas’s argumentation emphasizes the importance of understanding the language of others. Thus, it is not just that the apostles could make themselves understood by everyone, but that they themselves could closely comprehend the language of those around them: ““It was the perfection of their knowledge to be able not only to express themselves in any language, but also to understand what others were saying to them.”[161] Following Thomasss argument, it should be added that Pentecost represents not only the choice to make one language comprehensible, even that of the apostles, but rather the choice of a universal understanding of dialects and local variants by the apostles.
One more intriguing aspect arises when Thomas compares glossolalia and the gift of prophecy, pondering which of the two charisms is superior, he assumes the superiority of prophecy based on two criteria that imply an ambivalent but overall positive understanding of language. Firstly, prophecy is unambiguous[162], whereas language remains a place of ambiguity. Secondly, the fact that glossolalia does not pertain to human intercomprehension or utility[163] is not in its favor. Intelligence and utility, far from being signs of inferiority, are presented as arguments in favor of prophecy. Could they also be arguments in favor of language? This is what Thomas suggests: “Through the gift of prophecy, humans are ordered to God according to the Spirit, which is nobler than being ordered to him through language alone.”[164] Human beings are indeed ordered to God through language, but to a lesser degree than if it were through the Spirit. This does not aim to grant language a broader status or role than that of a communication tool. On the contrary, prophecy is deemed superior to glossolalia because it “speaks to humans.” The ordering to God in prophecy lies in the fact that through it, the Spirit turns humans “towards God and their neighbor.” But what about this ordering through language, albeit less perfect, that Thomas incidentally invites us to question?
B. The Ordering of Languages to God
Thomas Aquinas’ concept of the perfection of prophecy hinges on two elements: the driving force behind mediation and its orientation. Implicit in this is that only the Spirit can perfectly direct humans toward God and their neighbor. Following this logic, a theological status of languages could be evaluated based on a particular action of the Spirit through languages and their orientation toward God in service to others. On the other hand, the Pentecost narrative already portrays languages as originating from God. They are described as flowing from the Spirit. The intelligence and utility described by Thomas establish the conditions for the edification of the Church, which can be understood as directed toward God and one’s neighbor. Ambiguity in language is not at play here, even as the plurality of languages is added. While prophecy restores immediacy, at Pentecost, language seems to retain something of its mediation. During Pentecost, those present are ordered to God according to the Spirit in language in a manner that is distinct from prophecy.
a. Distinction between Logos and Language
The Logos, the “self-manifestation of God both in the universe and in history”[165], serves as a reminder that God always manifests himself in space and time necessarily through particularity, and any attempt to manifest God as an absolute or abstraction falls into idolatry. The prologue of the fourth Gospel proclaims: “the Word was God” (θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος Jn 1,1). The term ‘Word’ reminds us that God is a personal God. His Word is a personal usage. Through the word Logos, theology refers to Christ. Therefore, the term cannot be understood, in a Christian context, as “language was God”. Once again, the notion of language is absent. The Word is not, for example, a personal usage in the sense that it would detach itself from language understood as an innate communication faculty of a species, typically humans. Nor is it the personal usage of a language that is acquired and practiced. At most, if one keeps in mind, however, that the Logos points to the Incarnation, the concept of Logos would harmonize with that of a universal grammar (UG), which has always been destined to take shape in concrete reality. The analogy emphasizes that the manifestation of the Logos can only occur in time and space.
First, let us note that this self-manifestation notably occurs through the singularity of a language, that of the author of the fourth gospel. The unspeakability of God is marked by a tension between the author’s need to invent his own language and the necessity of resorting to the common language. In this polarity, one can find something akin to Ferdinand de Saussure’s distinction between “the force of intercourse and parochialism.”[166] Saussure refers to the force of intercourse as that which “forces men to communicate with others.”[167] It presents itself as a “principle of unification”[168]: human exchanges lead to the homogenization of language at the expense of local variants. Parochialism is the opposite principle: if not hindered by the force of intercourse, it would “give rise to endless linguistic diversity.”[169] Saussure does not mention it, but one could formulate the reverse observation: if not counteracted by parochialism, the force of intercourse would create in language a unity or cohesion with no trace of what has been unified and suppressed. This is how Jules Ronjat could say that the common or koiné language is a “currency without an imprint operating as a global standard.”[170] Similarly, the Johannine language reflects the particularistic element of a theology or school, the Johannine school, while expressing itself in the koiné represented by post-classical Greek. The extension and cohesion of theological language here are made possible by a decoding key presented in the prologue of the Gospel (Jn 1:1-18): “The preamble is a control instrument for decoding. It directs reading, defends the text against misunderstanding and erroneous interpretations”.[171] Zumstein thus situates the prologue at a “metalinguistic level”[172], which aims to establish “the hermeneutical framework in which this story should be read.”[173] Just as we emphasized in the introduction the variational aspect, we can also highlight here the tendency of language to become singular, not only in dialects but also in speech, specifically the unique usage that the author of the Gospel of John makes of the language.
Hermeneutics never interested in a disembodied language, detached from the context of enunciation. Language is not a language of pure intellect, precisely because intellection must provide for this work of giving body back to the context of enunciation—which is properly speaking a work of re-incarnation—while ultimately aiming to offer renewed meaning for the targeted era and reception context. Minoritized languages, laden with particularism, bear the traces of these two principles in action, elements of intercourse as well as the spirit of the local, providing an additional wealth of information. Like a history of thought manual, they help remind us that statements are bound to schools, eras, and, in short, their contexts of enunciation and reception. They may even have an advantage in that, thanks to the bias that places them on the particularistic side of the spectrum, they expose themselves as belonging to this incarnation, whereas the use of the notion of language, detached from particularities, obscures these contextual elements, sometimes turning the koinè into nothing more than the imposition of a parochialism presented as a common language[174] or an undisclosed parochialism.
Furthermore, the prologue of John’s gospel places the concept of Logos in relation to God. We encounter the relational dimension previously discussed, which we emphasize here to completely detach the notion of Logos from that of language understood as a degree of abstraction from languages. The relationship is no longer situated, as in the creation narratives, between the Creator and his creatures, but between the Father and the Son[175]. There is indeed a degree of abstraction since the prologue invites us to ponder the relationship between the two divine persons. Nevertheless, the incarnation prevents us from regarding this relationship as one between two abstractions: the divine and language, the One (the Father) and the one (language). The relationship cannot be understood as one between the One and the multiple. The Trinitarian dogma is explicitly about the triune God, three times one. At most, we can recognize that the incarnation imbues the notion of Logos in a way that prevents it from being seen as a proto-original language or language that can completely abstract itself from its conditions of enunciation and all contingencies. Certainly, the divine person is not subject to contingency, but inasmuch as God desires to manifest himself in contingency, it is not appropriate to reintroduce any claim to approach the Logos through the absolutization of certain languages.
The linguistic dimension is therefore not so much implied by the notion of Logos as it is by the relationship presented in John 1:1: “If something of God is to be perceptible, it is his dimension of Word. This leads to three consequences. Firstly, the God of the prologue is a God who communicates. Secondly, he communicates in articulated language. From the very beginning, God is perceived as the Logos, which means which means discourse, interpellation, the gift of meaning (rather than as force, power, mystery, etc.).”[176] I would like to highlight this gift of meaning in connection with linguistic pluralism, especially as articulated by Zumstein, where the gift of meaning is distinguished from both force or power on one side, and mystery on the other.
b. Gift of Meaning and Language
The gift of meaning, intrinsically tied to the relational dimension of the Word, aligns quite well with a definition of the language of intercourse as a language in which each party makes an effort towards the other’s language, without completely renouncing their own. In no case could the relational dimension be satisfied with one party abandoning their language in favor of another that imposes its own. The gift of meaning, therefore, stems from one of the two parties—starting with God—communicating. Articulated language should not be understood as a superior or more refined language but as one that retains a trace of the one who communicates. The act of translation indeed involves not only transcribing into the target language but also retaining elements of the source language. Minoritized languages, especially those that still experience dialectical variation, undergo this exercise of making themselves understood and meeting their interlocutor at a middle ground. Considering languages at this sociolinguistic level is not about lamenting their lack of abstraction or ambiguity. Rather it involves intersecting with the debate on what constitutes the objectivity of claimed objectivity or the assumed and expressed subjectivity. Additionally, the notion of an effort,even if asymmetrical, between the two parties, between the communicating God and humanity, does not align well with Protestant theology. The middle ground is indeed the Logos, Jesus Christ, in whom God not only communicates but also brings humanity to the middle point.
In the context of the gift of meaning, the reflection on the of language primarily seems to primarily concern the status of language and, consequently, languages as medium. While God communicates through the spoken Word, certain language theories have emphasized the fundamental inadequacy of language to either capture the idea of or account for God. Augustine, in particular, highlighted the inherent ambiguity of language to the extent of questioning it as a efficient means of teaching[177]. More recently, Eberhard Jüngel has addressed the issue not so much of the inadequacy of language, as he reframed the issue in relation to the dialectic of God’s presence and absence: the general theological question revolves around the relationship that God has with human language, that is, “the relationship of human language to a God who can be thought only as one who speaks out of himself”[178]. The Word of God is simultaneously something beyond human language and yet chooses to express itself through human language. Jüngel thus reformulates this dialectic, which encompasses both the veiling and the unveiling of God: “In what way can we say of human language that it allows God to speak?”[179] In the context of our research, the question could be to reintroduce the notion of pluralism here and, in any case, based on scriptural testimony, to refute any veiling attributed to linguistic pluralism. The ordering of languages to God and, consequently, their theological status, therefore requires a thorough examination of the relationship between the Logos and the Son, in other words, an exploration of the economy of the Word and the Incarnation. This attempt to distinguish the Logos from the Son is encountered notably in the sphere of theology of religions, in order to account for religious pluralism. . While the Logos, like Christ, manifested uniquely and centrally in Jesus of Nazareth, it is not prohibited from manifesting itself again and elsewhere. The communicability of God could take other forms, without renouncing the unique and central event of Jesus Christ. While Jesus Christ is the Word of God, a Word of God can nonetheless be heard in other religions. This attempt to distinguish the Logos from the Son is encountered notably in the sphere of theology of religions, in order to account for religious pluralism. In comparison, linguistic pluralism would be satisfied with the perfect alignment between the Logos and the Son, the Word incarnate in a very particular man, and linguistic pluralism that not only allows the Word of God to be heard but is prepared by it—if one were to see in the choice of the Twelve a prefiguration of Pentecost. In this logic, we would conclude here that there is a theological status of languages closely associated with the Word, materially, factually, participating in the process of unveiling (the gift of meaning) rather than veiling, while we would view philosophical reflection on language as having a more metaphysical tendency, a more speculative approach than one tied to revelation.
c. The Spirit
After emphasizing that languages—including, and perhaps even more specifically, minoritized languages—can be connected to both the Father, who is the Creator and communicates, and the Son, who is the Logos and the gift of meaning, we now turn to the third person of the Trinity, more spontaneously perceived by theologians as the most fitting person when considering languages in their pluralistic dimension. The theologians rely on scriptural testimony in this regard. We will therefore revisit the concept of the gift of tongues. While the Logos leads to an exploration of the relationship between the Father and the Son, the Spirit presents itself more as the “animating dimension”[180] that operates at the level of the human person, as well as in relationships between human persons. This is highlighted by Amos Yong when he describes a Spirit that coordinates the personal and interpersonal dimensions. While we have emphasized how languages—and not just the concept of language itself—are related to the first two persons of the Trinity, the notion of languages takes on a particular resonance when discussing personal and interpersonal dimensions. To explore the interplay between languages and the Spirit, we will examin the three paradigms proposed by Amos Yong[181] to analyze the third person of the Trinity: the personalistic paradigm, which aligns with the Pauline notion of charisma; the naturalistic paradigm, which relates to the concept of thought-forming organ; and finally, the pluralistic paradigm, which corresponds to the notion of effusion.
1. The Personalist Spirit: Charisms
If the Spirit reveals itself as an animating force, directing self-awareness towards interpersonal relationships[182]—which can be translated as the Spirit’s orientation towards others and the understanding of oneself through the knowledge of God—Paul even went so far as to describe precisely how God operates through humans. To that intent, the apostle employed the concept of charism. The articulation between the one and the multiple takes the form of diversity and sameness: “There are diversities of the gifts given by grace [διαιρέσεις χαρισμάτων], but the same Spirit [τὸ δὲ αὐτὸ Πνεῦμα]. There are different kinds of service [διαιρέσεις διακονιῶν], but the same Lord [ὁ αὐτὸς Κύριος]. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work” (1 Cor 12:4-6; NIV rev. trans.). The use of the concept of charism thus provides an opportunity to articulate the diversity (διαίρεσις) of implementation and the same, the master builder. Under the verb ἐνεργέω (to be at work) lies the ultimate purpose of divine action, which is οἰκοδομή (edification). The gift of tongues, the diversity of gifts, is not an end in itself but a means. In this logic, the multiple is not the mode of expression of the one, but one possible mode of expression among others. However, when it comes to divine action, it is not forbidden to underscore the alignment between content and form. Consequently, the emphasis on diversity is as important as the celebration of the charism and ministry. The notion of διαίρεσις can mean division, distribution, and difference[183]. The word thus encapsulates: 1) division in the sense I have seen in Genesis 10–11 as the organization of creation; 2) distributive action; 3) the valorization of difference. The distributive dimension, which best summarizes the concept, appears not only as a mode of action of the Spirit and an expression of distributive justice, if not its celebration. This triad, which characterizes the Pauline notion, also harmonizes, once again, with a conception of Universal Grammar (UG). The same not only finds expression through variation but also reveals in variation a reflection of a justice that we are called to build. Language, through and within its diversity, with its diverse expressions and variations, is a prefiguration of the world to be constructed.
2. The naturalistic Spirit: the formative organ of thought
Amos Yong describes, through the second proposed paradigm, the Spirit as a naturalistic approach might conceive it. The theologian characterizes the naturalistic approach as monistic[184] and associates it with the Cartesian revolution. The naturalistic logic appears to be reductionist in that the diversity celebrated through the personalistic understanding of the Spirit becomes, through the naturalistic approach, the manifestation of phenomena, or even mere epiphenomena. Something is lost, and it is worth questioning the cost of such reduction, as Yong does: “Is the price of such naturalism worth it if in the end the many spirits are no more than epiphenomena, reducible to the machinations of the material world?” [185] The relationship between the naturalistic Spirit and languages evokes the Humboldtian notion of language, whose function is to be the “organ that gives form to the content of thought” [186]. This rationalistic approach is ambiguous. Theologically, it ventures into speculation by seeking to specify, in an almost mechanical manner, the link between, on one hand, the productions of the human mind and the Holy Spirit, and on the other hand, the possible interaction between the two. Conversely, from the perspective of minoritized languages, the Humboldtian proposition tends to support the validity of diversity. The corollary of the Humboldt’s definition is indeed that “the essence of language consists in pouring the material of the phenomenal world into the form of thoughts.”[187] The reductionist attempt is caught off guard: what was once an epiphenomenon reducible to a higher scientific rule becomes a phenomenon, an object of science, and worthy of science. This idea of language mediating and shaping perception could, in a second step, extend to diegetic analysis, and more broadly to semiotics. Linguistic diversity in itself accounts for a larger system of meaning than the messages it conveys. There is an echo of this expansion from sociolinguistics to semiotics in theology. Liberation theologies, and more recently contextual theologies, have emphasized the need for narratives rooted in different realities and traditions: “Liberation theology has thus given prominence to themes neglected in the mainstream Christian tradition. It has been important to retrieve ‘alternative stories’, whether neglected or buried.”[188] The naturalistic approach to the Spirit, in its most compatible expression with theology, would thus tend to confirm a theological status of languages as a phenomenon in which the Spirit manifests itself, but also as a phenomenon that allows for the contemplation of the Spirit, or rather as a phenomenon in which the Spirit surfaces in the human spirit. Any impoverishment of diversity becomes a missed opportunity to rejoice in a manifestation of the Spirit.
3. The Pluralistic Spirit: The Outpouring as Reenchantment of the World
Amos Yong relates the naturalistic paradigm to the theme of the disenchantment of the world[189]. A pluralistic pneumatology would, by symmetry, be one of the re-enchantment of the world. For our part, we have seen that the personalist dimension of the Spirit may not be that of a personalist cosmology, but rather that of the articulation between personal dignity, interpersonal relations, and a prefiguration of distributive justice. We have also seen that a naturalistic dimension of the Spirit, with all its limitations, can reverse the reductionist bias. The pluralistic dimension should, in turn, be the expression of the Spirit in its fullness, in its abundance. In this sense, the reductionist dimension draws the consequences of the reductionist reversal. We have chosen to speak of ‘effusion’, a term that allows us to bridge the gap between Babel (confusio/σύγχυσις) and the outpouring of Pentecost. In line with the primary sense of ‘effusion’— the act of pouring out a liquid—the pluralistic paradigm is one of greater fluidity: “Contemporary pluralism thus accentuates how various cultural-linguistic frameworks function to enable their adherents to imagine, engage, and interact with a spirit-filled world.”[190] This model is not only cosmic but also finds expression at the local level, in the city. It has a concrete translation and aspires to serve as a model for living together. This dimension, which is also that of the pluralism of the Spirit, reintroduces a degree of naturalism in which languages can find their place. In this context, transcendence and immanence blend in a panentheistic logic. Languages, at the intersection of the spiritual and the contingent, embody, at the most intimate level of human experience, the spiritual dimension of reality. Seeking to reduce the diversity and the play of linguistic variation here amounts to rejecting a fundamental experience of this confusion/effusion that replicates in the human person’s innermost being the fabric or cosmological process.
As we can see, considering languages from the perspective of their materiality, their expression over time, and their propensity for constant variation is not a departure from abstract thinking. Instead, it constitutes an exploration into the realm of creative division, distributive justice, and the embrace of diversity. In the logic of this approach, languages are, at the core of human experience, ordered towards God in their capacity to enable his creatures to experience not only the world to be constructed but also realize how this future world is not a static and definitive creation but already fundamentally inscribed within the cosmic fabric. Languages, especially minority languages, therefore express something significant about this world by allowing for communication that preserves diversity without assuming the reduction or erasure of differences. This potential invites each individual not only to exchange disembodied messages but also to engage in mutual communication and to welcome the one who communicates himself.
III. Linguistic Diversity: Ecclesiological Implications
The valorization of linguistic diversity has not only an ecclesiological translation. The Church, in turn, should encourage and value the reality, the diversity of languages in their uniqueness, which constitutes the foundational experience where the Church has been able to grasp itself as a reality. Indeed, as we have seen in our theological exegesis of Acts 2, the reality of Pentecost is experienced and lived through linguistic pluralism and variation. Amos Yong speaks of cross-cultural understanding and koinonia made possible by the same Spirit[191]. The concept of κοινωνία (‘communion’, ‘participation’) should serve as an opportunity to dispel ambiguity, particularly concerning what we should expect from or mean by ἡ κοινὴ διάλεκτος, which can be a source of theological and linguistic ambiguity. Is the koinè the common language? What does it mean for the Church to have a common language?
A. A common language or a common conversation?
Postclassical Greek is referred to as koinè due to the Hellenistic phrase: ἡ κοινὴ διάλεκτος, meaning ‘the common dialect’. Recalling this is to underscore the dialogical dimension[192] not only as the aim of the common language but also as the condition of its development and persistence. It immediately dismisses the idea that the common language could originally be the language of one of the parties. Furthermore, it rediscovers the distributive dimension, present in κοινωνία, as encountered in the biblical notions such as διαίρεσις (division, distribution, difference), διάφορα (Rom 12:6), and διασπορά (Gen 11). The prefix dia- is contrasted with the prefix syn- (σύγχυσις, Gen 11), and the notion of fusion, either explicitly as in Gen 11, or through the metaphor of effusion in Acts 2. However, if the action of pouring a liquid is evoked by the root χέω, it is always to completely dismiss (the intensive being one of the values of the prefixes syn- or cum-) fusion or the fusionary. Here we find the distinction made by certain languages between mixing and blending, between merging and communing. The distinction between fusion and communal sharing finds an illustration in the Church: why does the Church, fundamentally multilingual and marked by diversity—from birth—find itself entangled in a narrow conception of unity? Certainly, the Church remains fundamentally multilingual, and the work of translating the Bible serves to preserve languages. However, does the Church not succumb to the idea of a common language for communication, which may entail the imposition of one of the parties involved? The confusion between language and tongue is again made apparent. The educator Pierre Escudé reminds us that “languages primarily serve to conceptualize (more than to think) and to do (more than to communicate).”[193]
Languages, under the guidance of the Spirit and in service to it, serve to engage with reality. This spiritual engagement with reality, involving conceptualization and action, aligns both with what theology understands about the Spirit’s call to action and with what Amos Yong refers to as “pneumatological imagination.”[194] Languages serve the purpose of conceptualization, not in spite of their variety, but precisely through their plurality. This reality, which is also the reality of the Church, must be harnessed to manifest the work of the Spirit and the edification to which we are called. The Church’s work of conceptualization already takes place, and has always been taking place, in this encounter, in this dialogue, in the interlanguage[195]. However, the Church should not endorse three things: 1) the sealing-off or gatekeeping of languages in favor of national constructions, 2) the establishment of a hierarchy of languages based on the assumed universality of one language or its greater aptitude for abstraction, or 3) turning a blind eye to the eradication of languages by the dominant language, often becoming the language of national Churches.
B. Universalism
I will use the term ‘universalism’ to refer to a doctrine or ideology that regards the universal as an ideal to be achieved. In contrast, I oppose the concept of ‘the universal’ as an existing reality. Universalism runs the risk of imposing its own values on other cultures, presenting them as values meant to be universally adopted. At the ideological level, I see this as akin to what Pierre Escudé describes as presenting a parochial mindset as a force of intercourse[196], making the language of one community appear as the common language par excellence. We will examine the conceptions that may steer the Church towards universalism and why this is problematic.
a. Unitarian conception
God is one. Is the Church one? Is unity the mode of being of the One? The multiple is the way in which God encounters human beings[197]. In alignment with the correspondence between God and the Church, can we be tempted to see in multiplicity the manner by which the Church, too, is called to encounter human beings? Indirectly touching upon the Church’s universalist aim, the question of universalism has been raised, particularly in connection with the theology of Paul, maybe more so by philosophy than by theology itself[198]. Alain Badiou, for instance, invites us to perceive Paul as the founder of universalism[199], with the philosopher suggesting that Paulss thought revolves around the notions of the one, the universal, and the particular, where the one and the universal stand in opposition to the particular. Michel Quesnel sees in Badiou as representing one of the two philosophical readings of Paul[200]. Alongside Giorgio Agamben, Alain Badiou represents embodies “the paradigm of a universalistic Christianity.”[201] The exegete finds the antithetical pairing of unicity-universality and particularity to be a fruitful interpretative model for Pauline thought. Judaism and paganism are seen as worldviews where peoples and conditions (Greek, Jewish, male, female, free, slave, etc.) coexist: here, the multiple is the expression of a “Christ-less regime.”[202]. This would contrast with a regime in Christ, a world where “the particular has lost its legitimacy.”[203] The singular event of Jesus Christ is unifying. Michel Quesnel follows Alain Badiou in adopting the concept of the singular[204]: “Unlike the particular, the singular establishes the universal.”[205] The concern of this philosophical approach is to combat all relativism, aiming to preserve the unique character of truth. Alain Badiou adds a caution about the political implications of relativism and its ideological origins[206]. However, assimilating reconciliation with the foundation of universalism may be a reduction that is unsatisfactory from a theological perspective. The appealing interpretative model of Pauline thought is ineffective, or at least disappointing, when considering the kerygma. Can the Incarnation be paralleled with the celebration of a homogenizing universalism, a universal that no longer bears any trace of the particular contribution? Would Pauline rhetoric, fond of paradox, lead us to view the Incarnation as an invitation to disembodiment, to abstraction in the name of the uniqueness of truth? This overlooks the fact that, in response to Pilate’s question, “What is truth?” (John 18:38), which is distinctly Greek or Roman, Jesus does not reply.
b. Idealism, Platonism, absolutization
The Jesus who does not answer Pilate declared: “I am the truth”. This truth that the philosopher seeks to safeguard from relativism, was abandoned by his disciples, humiliated, and crucified. However, can the cross be seen as the transition from the particular to the universal, with the crucifixion of the diglossic Galilean Jew, and the resurrection as the advent of the universal? Of course, such an interpretation is entirely impossible in Christian theology. It is also unsatisfactory from a philosophical standpoint. Celebrating the multiple does not entail claiming privileges or a hegemonic status for the particular. The introduction of the notion of singularity here appears more like a clever maneuver. Singularity, within the realm of the unique, and particularity, within the realm of the multiple, seem to differ solely through this assertion—the claim of particularity to some form of superiority over other particularities. In reality, minority languages—the multiple expressed at Pentecost—are not a claim to any form of hegemony but rather a refusal to be homogenized, obliterated, to not be recognized precisely as a person, as singularity. One might argue that Christian universalism precisely recognizes the person and addresses the narrow communalism, and indeed, that is commendable. But is it not overlooking a bit too hastily that the liberation from identity-based communalism should apply to all identity-based communalisms, including the majority ones? National narratives, patriarchal models, imposed languages all give rise to various forms of identity-based communalism unless one equates the universal with the majority and the particular with the minority. In reality, the Church was established at Pentecost by the ruaḥ, precisely through the inclusion of all languages, and even today, the Church strives to speak them all, to communicate in all tongues. It is in this, among other things, that the Church is catholic, not through a claim to embody any majority fact where natural theology sometimes seeks its justification.
Despite the significant impact of the Greek thought on the Church’s teachings and the contribution of Platonism on Christian theology, the latter markedly diverges from philosophy on the question of truth. While philosophy tends to adopt an apologetic stance defending truth as an absolute, theology proclaims a crucified God, a God who self-limits, a God who does not wish to be worshipped as an idol. This invitation to de-absolutize encounters humanity in its personhood, where social and historical reality finds its place to the extent it does not hold individuals captive. However, this invitation is not an invitation to join a majority reality whose merit would be, at best, to subsume particularities.
c. Dualism
The second line of philosophers identified by Michel Quesnel “reflects from the Pauline conception of the body.”[207] It seems significant to mention, in order to challenge it, the implicit dualism inherent in the distinction between the universal and the particular. After all, the body is the natural realm of the particular. The body can only exist within time and space. Even after death, it remains confined by time and space. The universal, therefore, would pertain to the soul. The hegemonic languages would be those that come closest to an unembodied principle. The particular, on the other hand, would belong to the body, with minoritized languages to be placed alongside it. This application of the body-soul dichotomy to languages is quite common. One may celebrate a language’s ability to express both the concrete and the abstract, even rendering the abstract into the concrete, and presenting the concrete imbued with the power of abstraction. However, in response to this, it is perhaps worth emphasizing that dualism, while indeed an aspect of patristic thought, is fundamentally more Greek than scriptural.
When Paul speaks of the “pneumatic body”(1 Cor 15:44), not only does the phrase σῶμα πνευματικόν refer to a state of the body after death, but the opposition between soul and body expressed in 1 Cor 15:35-58 is again irreconcilable with any form of dualism. It intimately links body and spirit, and through its eschatological nature, sheds a retrospective light on the earthly body in the context of the heavenly ideal. The soul, on the other hand, is confined to its most material and perishable definition. Dieter Zeller, drawing parallels between 1 Cor 15 and Rom 2, puts it this way: “What both passages have in common is the conception of the ‘soul’: it is the principle of a life that is limited to the earthly.”[208] Here, the soul is understood as the principle that permeates the body during life, while the Spirit is what permeates the same body after death: “The pneumatic body, also called spiritual body, is not constituted by ‘spirit’—any more than the mental body consists only of a soul—but it is completely affected and permeated by the Spirit of God. Of course, this has consequences for the nature (ποιότης) of the body.”[209] Scriptural emphasis on the body, whether as the entirety of a life or in anticipation of a resurrection of this body, constitutes another strong anchor in the realm of the particular or the singular. By refusing the ultimate rationalization or abstraction of the body, Scripture cautions against hastily conflating the universality of Christianity—its catholicity—with philosophical universalism. The continued significance of the body after death is yet another call to respect its place in the economy of salvation. As Pierre Bühler reminds us: “Salvation is realized through sensory realities: the Word is spoken; the sacraments are consumed; acts of faith, love, and hope are carried out in communities of very visible people.”[210] The inherited language is doubtless one of these sensory realities. And the society shaped by a language is by no means one of the least visible communities.
d. Challenging Western Exceptionalism: Multifaceted Universality
Can theology of religions advocate for Western distinctiveness? In the words of Claude Geffré, “the Church [...] has a much stronger awareness of the historical particularity of Western culture, the very culture that underpinned Christian theology for two millennia.”[211] Such a statement appears to overlook the cultural diversity within Europe, reducing it to a unique and beneficial dialogue that does not align with the actual cultural diversity: “Just as the Gospel, in its call for universality, overcame the duality between Jew and Greek, it must now surpass the duality between the Western and non-Western.”[212] I will focus on the second part of the assertion, noting, however, that Europe is not synonymous with the entire West, and cautioning against applying a Western identity to the entirety of Europe. Not all Europeans and European cultures, especially when considering indigenous, marginalized or minoritized cultures, can be equated with the history of Western thought. The fact that these cultures have suffered from the imposition of Western thinking should deter us from equating them with it. The tertius quis, “namely the other non-Occidental who is neither Jew nor Greek”[213], could very well be Basque, Frisian, or Salentine. Ignorance of their own linguistic and cultural diversity, despite being valued by the same theologians of religions, risks approaching other cultures as homogeneous, monolingual blocks. Indeed, one should question what Claude Geffré refers to as the “happy marriage between Christianity and Hellenism.”[214]
There are strong reservations, even from the perspective of religious pluralism, when it comes to questioning the hegemonic element, namely the Western dimension of theology: “We must not, under the pretext of inculturation, promote a form of cultural regionalism that would turn Christianity into a religion that depends on a culture each time.”[215] Understandably, tensions arise. The prayer of Chinese theologian Hua Wei—“May the Spirit of God help the global Church in China to not be ‘Christianity in China’, but to be ‘Chinese Christianity’”[216]—highlights the intertwining of linguistic and cultural questions. This prayer can be interpreted in two completely contradictory ways. Acculturation can be a sign of full and complete adherence to a culture, in this case, Chinese cultures. In this sense, it rejects the imposition not of Christianity but of the Western reception of Christianity. However, acculturation can also be a rejection of the universal scope and univocity of the Christian message. It is easy to imagine that Hua Wei calls for the former, not the latter. Similarly, the call to “maintain the unity of the human spirit”[217] against a polarization between “dangers of regionalism” and “increasingly undifferentiated and one-dimensional world” is easier to follow than Claude Geffréss seemingly essentialization of certain cultural figures. It is difficult to comprehend how some segments of global theology could represent no more than a regional curiosity, which could lead the human spirit, no less, to its disintegration and erosion, while only Western elboration would ensure the integrity of theological thought.
The dynamics that permeate contemporary theological and ecclesial matters carry significant sociolinguistic implications. Missiology stands out as the first field to acknowledge a shift in the mission’s direction. This is demonstrated by a brief synthesis of recent research on the challenges faced by missionaries, as put forth by Amos Yong: “While no one should minimize the contributions of Christian missionaries, especially in preserving the languages of indigenous cultures (Sanneh 1989), we also should not turn a blind eye toward the many ways in which non-Western ways of life were devalued. […] Christians in the majority world who were once the objects of missionization are now engaged in massive efforts to reevangelize the Western world (e.g. Währisch-Oblau 2009). […] On the other hand, there is also the sense that Christianity’s contemporary theological formulations remain dominated by Western cultural forms and expressions perpetuated by the missionary movement (Rah 2009).”[218]
A theology of local experiences, respect for the living rooted and its vitality, once again echoes Gen 10–11 and Pentecost, showcasing the work of the Spirit in diversity and variation. This need for justice, for a catholicity (by which I mean Christianity as καθολικός) that is not tainted universalism, calls us to invention and the new—which is sometimes the discovery of existing riches that need to be preserved – to hope, therefore, an imagination working under the command of love for creation.
C. Redefining Catholicity: Exploring Theological Perspectives
The notions of catholicity and κοινωνία thus require clarification in relation to what Geffré presents as the Church’s natural vocation to universality[219]. There is a step that cannot be so easily taken between what, on the one hand, the Church’s vocation as a response to God’s universal will, and on the other hand, questionable universalism. God’s universal will pertains to salvation, not homogenization, which was condemned from the outset by the destruction of Babel. Regarding 1 Tim 2:4-6 (“God desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all”; NIV), Geffré reminds us that “on the one hand, we affirm God’s universal will, but on the other hand, we affirm that there is no salvation outside explicit knowledge of Jesus Christ.”[220] Hence, universality finds its ultimate purpose in the sphere of salvation. Moreover, this universality is linked to God’s will. This is one of the reasons the invisible Church is universal, as it reminds humans of their radical equality in the eyes of God. Based on this, to conclude that there is a divine will for the construction of a universal Church achieved through homogenization and the destruction of particularities lacks a solid foundation
Against the eschatological discourse that envisions the realization of an infrangible community[221], with its unitarist implications, it is important to remember that the Church “was born universal”[222]. The Church is inherently universal from its inception. Theologians speak of proleptic universalism. However, it might be more prudent to avoid confusion associated with any notion of universalism and instead focus on God’s universal will, the fundamental equality of humans before God, and the shared dignity among all? Notably, liberation theologians have made great use of the Pauline vision of the body of Christ in which all have a role to play[223], while the use of the notion of universalism has led to interference, blurring the catholic dimension of the Christian message. Theologians engaged in grappling with the complexities of religious pluralism have identified the links between the Church’s catholicity and the absolutization of Christianity. Some, like Hans Urs von Balthasar, have considered, in fidelity to the Christian message itself, renounce speaking of the non-catholicity of the Church in its historical dimension[224]. It is not to say that Balthasar renounce the historical catholicity of the Church, but in the context of interreligious dialogue, he recognizes the question of catholicity as a stumbling block. Our approach, by distinguishing between universalism and catholicity, tends to present the latter as an inherent reality (and not an ideological construct) capable of recognizing how particularities can be seen as belonging to the same and therefore contribute to a sense of unity. It is the insistence on homogenization and the demand to relinquish the particular, seen as an obstacle to unity, that distorts the true essence of unity as a result of integration.
Challenging Exclusivity and Rejecting Absolutism
If Christianity and exclusivity[225] are rightly perceived as antithetical, then it should be inconceivable to grant to languages that stem from the nation-state a status that the Church refuses for itself. Theologians of religions express this sentiment ins these terms: “We must not confer on Christianity a universality that belongs only to Christ.”[226] In any case, the articulation of imagination, creativity, and hope should allow us not only to restore humanity to its rightful place, not as an abstraction, a universal that can be shaped and molded according to ideology, even if it promises the salvation of creation, but to listen to the Spirit—the principle of vivification, the catalyst for difference, novelty, and justice. Pierre Gisel,thus sees the renunciation of totalizing and homogenizing fantasies as a contemporary challenge[227].
If the injustice experienced by speakers of minoritized languages cannot be detached from certain theological implications, such as the understanding of unity, universality, or a certain dualism, and if questioning these doctrinal understandings is legitimate, it can nevertheless be observed that there is a certain decoupling between orthodoxy and theological style. As Oxford theologian Christopher Rowland point out: “Doctrinally, liberation theology does not deviate much from the theological mainstream.”[228] Following this line, liberation theologies have been able to develop a discourse that upholds diversity and respects particularities without renouncing reference to the universal and without leading to a certain relativism. Similarly, the insistence of liberation theologies on the agency of the Spirit independently of ecclesial institutions, has not undermined the commitment of many theologians and actors of this movement to the Roman Church. It is also our position not to see a contradiction between the universal and the particular, and to call, as Aimé Césaire does, for a universality that is “enriched by all particulars, a deepening and coexistence of all particulars.”[229] An orthodox approach to this matter leads us to avoid setting up a dichotomy between the universal and the particular, just as it also leads us not to confine the work of the Spirit within or outside the church. This is what Robert Jenson reminds us of. If the activity of the Spirit cannot be confined solely to the Church and its representatives, we nonetheless also acknowledge that the Spirit is also God as “the power of the future”[230], and as such, actively at work within the Church.
IV. The Theological Challenge of the Stranger: The Brother as Grace[231]
“The tyrant of spirits would change our tongues
Forcing us to pray in a foreign one:
The spirit that grants tongues calls on us
To pray only in our mother one.
It is to hide the candle under a bushel,
He whose speech is not intelligible is a barbarian to others,
But I see far worse in extreme ignorance
For he who lacks self-knowledge is a barbarian to himself.”
— Agrippa d'Aubigné, Les Tragiques (1615)[232]
The manner in which God encounters the human being, and how the incarnation allows us to see God in our neighbor, resonates particularly with minoritized languages, as encountering the other cannot entail imposing a language upon them. Let us keep in mind, as already determined, that it is through the Spirit that God encounters the human, particularly in the post-Pentecost era.
A. Self as Stranger
The charge of inauthenticity faced by speakers of minoritized languages is deeply rooted, among other things, in two implicit assumptions: 1) language serves for communication, adhering to a purely utilitarian view; 2) the same is best capable of understanding the same. The first implicit assumption raises questions about utilitarianism but also deserves to be denounced for its sociodarwinian undertones: hegemonic languages here assume the status of the fittest. If they prevail over minoritized languages, it is because the process of natural selection has chosen them as the most adaptable—the fittest. It is quickly forgotten that minoritized languages still survive to this day, often under conditions that unequivocally demonstrate remarkable adaptability.
It seemed particularly relevant to us to confront these two implicit assumptions related to language with another notion, that of the neighbor, and particularly with the notion of the neighbor presented in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:25-37). To the question "τίς ἐστίν μου πλησίον; (Who is my neighbor?)" (Lk 10:29) is answered: your question should have been: “To whom have I been a neighbor?” You are a neighbor, or have been a neighbor, to whomever you have shown ἔλεος (compassion). The neighbor is not the recipient of ἔλεος, but rather the one who has demonstrated ἔλεος (Lk 10:37). This understanding of the neighbor challenges the utilitarian dimension of human exchanges. Additionally, neighbor conceived in this way disrupts the understanding of the binary of the same and the other. The notion subverts these two implicit assumptions: 1) through the very movement described by the notion. According to the parable of the Good Samaritan, it is not a matter of considering the other as a neighbor but rather of approaching[233] the other, and thus making oneself a neighbor, becoming a neighbor. This is a movement that speakers of languages that have maintained a strong dialectal trait, even though it is a dynamic and a disposition not exclusive to them, intuitively know. Everyone knows how to adapt their language level to their interlocutor, or at leat feel that they should. Adapting one’s language to the understanding of the interlocutor may even be characteristic of a conversation. 2) The notion is also subversive in that, stemming from a religious commandment, it disrupts the face-to-face encounter between the same and the other by introducing the wholly other. It is possible, therefore, to pose the question not in terms of the universal (a language that would be valid at all times and in all places) or the common (a common language) but in terms of the third party. One could already rejoice in not being condemned to a circular face-to-face encounter, but the possibility of the third party introduces that of mediation. Introducing the wholly other in connection with the neighbor, at least in Christian theology, opens up new problems. Firstly, the wholly other can be understood as an absolute third party, completely alien to the binary of the other and the same. If it is wholly other, it is "“neither that which binds nor that which divides.”[234] Secondly, this wholly other can, of course, be understood as one of the metaphors for God, and its figure is thus reflected in the figure of the one whom we are called to become a neighbor to[235]. Finally, the notion of the same is ordered towards the knowledge of God[236], thus tending to deny the self its dimension of same.
Minoritized languages are the languages spoken by those who have not completely transitioned to the respective hegemonic language. Those who have abandoned their language, often for the sake of social advancement, find themselves in a transitional space between the culture they wish to embrace and the heritage they now consider foreign. It should be added that this phenomenon is not always conscious. In this sense, the idea that one is also one’s own stranger takes on a very concrete and intimate dimension. The theologian Pierre Bühler gives the question a broader scope, but his assertion applies perfectly from a sociolinguistic: “"I must face the fact that I am also my own stranger. Therefore, if I am willing to address the stranger within me with due consideration, I am equally prepared to extend that same consideration to the stranger in front of me.”[237] This “thematization of alterity from the perspective of the self”[238], as articulated by Pierre Bühler following Paul Ricoeur, fits particularly well with linguistic pluralism, firstly because linguistic pluralism approaches language not as an abstraction but in how the language manifests itself; secondly, because, in a phenomenological sense, a link can be established between the irreducible singularity of the self on the one hand, and the fact that in this irreducible possibility of singularization while remaining within the framework of a larger language, local languages and dialects are no different from other natural languages. This well-worn dialectic of the other and the same is illuminated by the theology of creation mentioned earlier. The challenge of the stranger reminds us not only of the relational dimension but also of the futile pursuit of self-knowledge that is not primarily a knowledge of God, here through the figure of the stranger.
We had already encountered this movement of returning to oneself through the other, and we had said that the new—the novelty of the Spirit—is what restores, but also what manages to surprise from what is most familiar, most intimate. One thinks, in particular, of Eisik’s fable[239]. The circulation between the self, the other, and the same calls for the logic of return: in contrast to “Greek philosophy, which claims that only the similar can recognize the similar, there is another logic, a biblical one, that claims that the dissimilar recognizes the other in its alterity.”[240] The radical non-reciprocity that leads to diglossia is an extreme example of refusing to recognize the other in its alterity. The hegemonic other not only does not recognize you in your alterity but outright denies it.
Can the love of enemies go so far as to sanction one’s own disappearance? Against such an idea, François Jullien asserts that "for the tolerance between cultural values to emerge [...], it should not be based—and it simply cannot— on the mere expectation that each individual or civilization diminishes the significance of their own values, moderates their commitment to them, or even relativizes their positions [...] each making an effort and softening their conceptions.”[241] This refusal is necessary precisely to maintain otherness and reject fusion, which is a mere negation of the neighbor, negating that the neighbor even ever was. However, Jullien does not advocate the creation of new inclusionary groups hostile to the hegemonic group. On the contrary, the philosopher calls for intercomprehension and collaboration: “Such tolerance can only come from shared intelligence: each culture, each individual, making themselves intelligible in their own language to the values of the other and, consequently, reflecting upon themselves from those values—and thus also working with them.”[242] He summarizes his point as follows: The solution, in other words, lies not in compromise but in understanding.”[243] However, this understanding drifts away when the other’s language is considered subordinate or optional. Understanding necessarily requires intercomprehension, which entails a return to natural languages understood as dialectal languages, glacier languages carrying the sediment of years, rather than languages abstracted in advance, claiming to account for reality from a reductionist position of detachment.[244]
The Other as Self
Ricœur’s perspective on alterity is remarkably illuminated by a letter from Hölderlin that Ricœur cites in his opening lecture at the Faculty of Protestant Theology in Paris: “What is one’s own must be learned as well as what is foreign.”[245] For Hölderlin, indeed, the spirit only attains self-awareness by passing through the other in a dual relationship of polarity and equality between the proper and the foreign, recognizing the foreign that each individual carries within themselves because we are never identical to ourselves[246]. This prevents the adoption of the self as the norm and failing to recognize one’s own radical alterity or profound otherness[247]. By redefining the boundaries of otherness, Hölderlin initiates a reversal of the polarization between the same and the other and allows for its transcendence. Through diglossia, the minoritized language opens itself to the other at the cost of its annihilation, while the hegemonic language erects its monolingualism—an anthropological particularity—as a principle of openness and universality. However, is it precisely being open to the neighbor, to the other, to deman the privilege of a one-way conversation for one’s own language alone? What Geffré calls the “articulation between the universality of the Christian message and the plurality of religious and cultural traditions”[248] is deeply rooted in a reciprocity that severely condemns those who do not recognize the other, their alterity, and consequently their language. On the contrary, it is essential for Christians to acknowledge their need for the neighbor. Geffré summarizes it this way: “In contrast to any imperialism in matters of truth and religious experience, the aim for each Christian community and for Christianity as a whole is to be a sign of what they lacks.”[249]
B. The Prophetic Function
Just as dialogue with other religions responds to the commandment to love one’s neighbor, the place we give to languages and cultures must also reflect this same commandment. The notion of a supposed universalism or reliance on a common language cannot serve as a disguise. Claude Geffré discerns on this subject a prophetic function: “The stranger possesses a prophetic function for a deeper comprehension of one's own identity.”[250] This prophetic dimension must, of course, guard against provincialism, possessiveness, or any other inclination related to narrow-mindedness. The inherently dialectical nature of languages, a characteristic maintained more than elsewhere by minoritized languages, precludes uniformity and compels us daily to hear our language spoken in varied manners or to rediscover our history through distinct yet evocative representations.
This notably involves rejecting a sense of ownership—at any rate, any possessive mindset—and, on the contrary, welcoming new speakers[251]. The demands of equality and reciprocity advocated in religious dialogue apply to minority languages up to this stage of their evolution: “Becoming a legitimate speaker of a threatened language within the framework of revitalization projects is a fundamental issue, as the success of these projects often depends on their ability to generate new speakers of these languages.”[252] The dual movement of Pentecost, both centripetal and centrifugal, reverberates not only ad extra by “engaging in both rootedness and surpassing rootedness, in the local and transcending the local”[253], but also ad intra through respect for linguistic variation, even up to hyper-localism[254] or the collision of a revitalized practice by neo-speakers influenced by other languages or the hegemonic language.
C. Deflection: Discovering an Alternative Universal Path
That there is another universal than the universalism mobilized against minority languages, the speaker of one of these languages experiences it when encountering speakers of other minority languages. It is also the experience of any individual belonging to a social group victim of oppression when they recognize some or all of the issues they face in those of another oppressed individual. What place should be given to the notion of neighbor, or even to a theology of the neighbor in the face of dominant universality? This section explores the concept of deflection as a transformative experience that leads to the recognition of an alternative form of universality, the process of deflection that speakers of other marginalized languages, they undergo, and eventually, the significance of deflection and its impact on shaping notions of the neighbor, and eventually the potential for a theology of neighbor (plesiology) in countering the ideologies of the “domineering universal”[255].
a. The Althusserian Model[256]
The adjectives ‘minoritized’ and ‘hegemonic’ refine a model of thought that draws from a materialistic framework. This materialistic foundation itself makes an intensive use of Paul, or the concept of Christianity, to explain both its own understanding of the universal and its definition of ideology. We turn here to the analysis of Julia Christ, which aims to disentangle universalism from universality, “ driven by the intuition that the universal one combats and defends is not one.”[257]
A Materialist Approach Revisited
In the previous chapter, we encountered the idea of a universality that would be the solely reflection of the prevailing forces. The question of domination arises from the fact that “particular representations impose themselves as collectively shared representations.”[258] The Althusserian model departs from this analysis to pinpoint the ideology itself, which, as a “non-historical reality”[259], explains on its own “the coercive relationship of institutions towards actors, and not the fact that it is the ideology of the dominant.”[260] Christianity appears here as an exemplar of this ideology, which has “the function of constituting individuals as subjects.”[261] This is the mechanism which Althusser calls ‘interpellation”: “assign[ing] individuals [to] a place and ensur[ing] their identification with that place.”[262] This model would lead to an imitatio Christi-imitatio Dei, understood as an acceptance of one’s place in the world, or “a love for what is.”[263] Julia Christ further highlights an approach borrowed from political economy, “a model where the identification of all individuals with a quality commonly reserved for God, namely omnipotence, produces a social order where the concrete universality, the result of spontaneous syntheses, imposes itself in the form of a dominant content.”[264] These models of universality use a thematic Christianity, reflecting a materialist worldview and, to put it plainly, in total contradiction with the Christian message, which precisely rejects identification with places, incarnates in a man who accepts deviating from his path (Mt 15:21-28), and does not forget the self-limitation of divine omnipotence. I wish to study the notion of neighbor in this context, but it is necessary to first recall the expectations of materialist models because of their underlying assumptions.
b. The All Operator
Jean-Claude Milner effectively elucidates the implications of the thematization of Christianity as a figure of universalism within the materialist argument. He does so through what he calls the ‘operateur tout’ (the all operator)[265]. Milner, a prominent proponents of the theory of the Jewish Name[266], indirectly revisits the thematization of Christianity as a figure of the universal[267] while retaining the thematization of the Jewish Name as an impediment to homogenization. The philosopher and linguist, drawing from Tacitus[268], demonstrates that “through their rituals and customs, the Jews prevent (or are perceived by the Roman historian as preventing) a consistent treatment of all men. They make the use of the ‘all operator’ impossible.”[269] The implications are profound: what threatens the homogenization of a culture presented as inherently homogeneous can only exist as a counterexample: “When truth is defined as Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus (‘what is always, what is everywhere, what is by all’), how is a Jew possible within the realm of truth? The answer is clear: he is not, except as a support for falsehood and all inadequacies, between things and intellect.”[270] This demonstration describes the mechanisms of a trial for inauthenticity, casting suspicion on minoritized languages, accused by nature of being unable to contribute to the common work, the common good, or the collective ‘we’. Minoritized languages are instrumentalized to work as deterrents, representing what must be avoided.
c. Christianity as An Anti-Model
In contrast to the materialistic approach, Jean-Claude Milner reverses the terms in a way that brings us back to the self-limitation of God's power: “A theory is true only if it is not all-powerful.”[271]
1. The refusal of What Is
The mechanism of interpellation described by Althusser can find alignment with a notion of Christianity as Christendom—a societal model entrenched in conservative values that seek affirmation and reinforcement through Christianity. However, it encounters a profound challenge when confronted with a Christian theology that portrays a God of initiative, a God who uproots and sets in motion. This disruptive God transcends not only natural laws but also religious norms and social conventions.
2. The potential for deviation
I have discussed the encounter between Jesus and the Canaanite woman (Mt 15:21-28). The most captivating interpretation, where Jesus agrees to reconsider his plans, is rejected by exegesis. However, it does indeed confront the overbearing ‘all operator’. As Pierre Bonnard points out: “[Jesus] must be engaged [...] in the secular history of a particular nation [...] his particularism being the guarantee of his universality.”[272] It is precisely because Jesus’ mission is embedded in the history of the chosen people that it carries universal significance. In either case, the pericope remains a reflective moment. The pivotal Mt 15:27 marks a turning point[273], as Mt, through the voice of the Canaanite woman, expresses an adherence to salvation primarily in favor of Israel but also contemplates a ripple effect of this initial gift benefiting the Gentiles. Whether Jesus changes his plans or not, the encounter with the other still appears to be an occasion for self-reflection.
3. Self-limitation of God’s power
Lastly, the model described by Althusser relies on an identification with an all-powerful God that can draw upon a long theological tradition in favor of God’s omnipotence, but nonetheless overlooks its fundamental corollary, God’s self-limitation, which makes room for the creation. The identification made possible through interpellation reflects a fusion-like understanding of the relationship with God, disregarding theology or religion as mediation—a space maintained between God and his creation to enable a genuine encounter. Religion does not call for, nor should it call for, an imitation of God or his mediators, but rather for the recognition of this very impossibility. It is through such instances that humans recognize their misery and appeal to God. At most, the imitatio Dei finds its place in self-limitation, which should lead human beings to approach others, to become neighbors, which means not occupying all the space. This distance, which guards against fusion and allows for genuine encounters, involves not easily comprehending the other. The non-homogenization of languages ensures that the other remains an enigma, escaping practical understanding that is also appropriation. If the other is not the Ganz Andere (wholly other), they are not however reducible to the same. Empathy cannot extend to the point of self-forgetfulness, of abandoning one’s own language. Preserving what is distinct is also a struggle to avoid dispossessing the other[274]. Kenosis, in this context, involves returning to the explicit understanding of the parable of the good Samaritan and de-objectifying the other, whom we have grown accustomed to calling a neighbor, at the risk of appropriation.
The other is neither another version of oneself nor an opportunity to assert oneself before God; in short, they are neither my neighbor nor, in a very literal sense of what relates to me, my relative [275].
C. The Brother as Grace[276]
Ultimately, the imitatio Dei within the context of this unidirectional act of compassion for the other (wherein we turn ourselves into neighbors and allow the conventional neighbor to ‘simply’ be the other) could consist of saying, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer invites us to do: “You are a sinner, a great, unholy sinner. Now come, as the sinner that you are, to your God who loves you. For God wants you as you are, not desiring anything from you—a sacrifice, a good deed—but rather desiring you alone.”[277] According to Bonhoeffer, this is what the grace of the Gospel proclaims, and it is something we can proclaim for both others and ourselves. For the other whom we are invited to approach, this proclamation of grace is valid because welcoming other is not conditioned by any knowledge of their person or qualities, but simply because they are loved by God as they are. For ourselves, the announcement of grace is valid because it acknowledges that we are all sinners and that as such, we can form a community of sinners. Unity and communion are not ordered towards holiness or perfection. For languages, the implication is that the essential knowledge and resulting communion is the universality of sin. Any attempt to subordinate the community to a common language or a universal reference is thus denounced as a pre-Babel restoration. Brotherhood comes first. It does not rely on any homogeneity except the universality of sin and belonging to one master (Mt 23:8). Here again, the face-to-face encounter between the other and the same is rejected because Christ has not only revealed himself in the other (Mt 25:40), but fundamentally because, following the incarnation, the other has taken the place of Christ. Bonhoeffer expresses this as follows: The brother now stands in the place of Christ[278]. Bonhoeffer justifies this in a narrow sense of a community accessed through confession, but we reserve the right to understand his statement in a broader and truly universal sense, precisely because of the universality of sin.
To acknowledge oneself as a sinner and to recognize in the other someone subject to the same condition, both movements posed as a necessary condition (confession), is to refuse to have a convenient idea of the other, to project anything other than this fundamental projection. It is to renounce elective affinities that would want communities to be based on piety, for example, as Bonhoeffer suggests. Finally, it is to renounce judgment passed on the other and on oneself because confession is an admission of vulnerability. Now, we think of minoritized languages as languages of vulnerability.
Languages of vulnerability versus utilitarianism
Recognizing the impossibility of attributing to the other an identity based on absolute continuity, a conformity to a supposed identity, implies acknowledging that “what is practicable lies perhaps in acknowledging that all the attempts at identification, which form the substance of those narratives of interpretive value with respect to the retreat of the self, are doomed to failure.”[279] In this regard, the dialectical dimension of languages outside processes of standardization/homogenization plays a vital and intimate role in embracing and promoting alterity.
If we accept that knowledge of God is primary, self-knowledge is secondary—and even more elusive, as it involves recognizing oneself as wretched/sinner—the dimension of conformity only makes sense in relation to divine will, not in the illusory preservation of sameness. It is not about conforming to oneself, but to what God desires for his creation (1 Th 4:3a). Indeed, God liberates from the tyranny of the same, and this is why it can be said of him that he makes “all things new” (Rev 21:5). A corollary of the apophatic apprehension of the self[280] in the equation ‘self as another’ is the apophasis of the other, and thus the desirable apophatic apprehension of the other.
The other is encountered solely as irreducible. Whether they approach us, as in the case of Levinas[281], or whether we become their neighbor, the other reveals themselves as irreducible to our own experience. At least, that is how they should reveal themselves. However, what more commonly occurs in encounters is subjecting of the other to the scrutiny of our own experience, our own understanding of the world. Instead of being irreducible, the other is imbued with our convenient understanding of them. Thus, the other is always missed.
The question of mediacy resurfaces when we consider that it is only in the other that we can allow ourselves to be approached by the Other, or even approach the Other. Here, we must refrain from ascending from the said to the Saying, but rather welcome the other as a theophany, better yet receive the other as grace, for themselves and not as a mediator or viaticum. However, there is a tension between this possibility of encountering the Ganz Andere in the other and the possibility that the Ganz Andere is entirely present in the other. On a philosophical level, Ricœur identified this tension in Levinas: “How can I reconcile the plea [...] for the irreducibility from ‘the Saying to the said’ with the discourse [...] on proximity?”[282] Can we imagine that this irreducibility from the Saying to the said, for us from the Other to the other, is conceived as a link of continuity between the honor of God and the dignity of the other? This irreducibility of the other, this encounter that is never more than an approximation, this fleeting proximity offered by the encounter, is often experienced as a “disturbance”[283]. In the encounter with the other, much reminds us of the wholly Other. The other is also imbued with our convenient understanding of God, he too is always missed—at least intellectually—and he too disturbs. The difference is this: it is God who approaches and God who makes himself known, certainly according to the logic of veiling/unveiling, but he makes himself known in an unveiling that admits no ambiguity.
Certainly, God makes himself near, especially in the figure of the other. And undoubtedly we are invited to make ourselves neighbor of the other. should this, however, go as far as what Ricœur labels an “obsession for the neighbor”[284]? God does not desire to be worshipped as an idol, let us reiterate. Ricœur emphasizes that “Levinas’ text is violently anti-theological”[285] in this regard. The irreducibility of the other must safeguard them from becoming an object of obsession, fetishized, reduced to a function of unsettling, disturbing, or representing God. The call to responsibility towards the other, to which the Gospel invites us, does not entail the abolition of the other’s freedom.
What are the implications of a theology of the stranger, the other, or a plesiology for—drawing from Levinas semantic choices—the defeated and vulnerable speakers of minoritized languages? We believe that Levinas’ contribution here is to enable empowerment and a renewed sense of dignity. Minoritized languages seek to express something about their responsibility in the world. They are experienced as a testimony and readily illustrate Levinas’ invitation: “In the trauma of persecution it is to pass from the outrage undergone to the responsibility for the persecutor.”[286] Of course, we are here moderating Levinas’ thought to retain only the accommodating part. Despite its compatibility with a reading of the Christian message (turn the other cheek; Mt 5:39) and the admiration that this obsession for the neighbor arouses, I cannot fully embrace Levinas’ invitation to such perfect passivity. The absolute patience demanded by Levinas seems possible to us only in the conclusive fruits it produces: a situation of absolute passivity where the “the persecuted one is liable to answer for the persecutor.”[287] While this conclusion suggests a desirable resolution, the notion of passivity, especially when qualified as absolute, appears to contradict the reasoning itself. Enduring, especially in the manner described by Levinas, does not seem to us to be a form of passivity.
In the tragic context of minoritized languages, akin to the examples contemplated by Levinas, an irredeemable element emerges: equality cannot be restored[288]. The injustice suffered by speakers of these languages remains irreparable, rendering the notion of forgiveness irrelevant. Instead, the focus shifts to the pursuit of justice and the reestablishment of their languages’ dignity. This theological aspect retains its presence, albeit in an apparently anti-theological manner, aligning with our understanding of fundamental theology: without justice towards the marginalized (Mt 25:31-46), one cannot truly access God. The radical effacement of God behind the figure of the other is only a resounding confirmation of God’s intention to manifest as concrete universality. This manifestation, far from contradicting John 14:9b (“Whoever has seen me has seen the Father”; NRSV), powerfully underscores the imperative need for God’s self-imposed limitations, even—dare we say—from God’s own perspective. Ultimately, the ethics of responsibility is expressed in an absolute that places compassion, that is, justice, not as a mere prerequisite, but as the beginning and end of the knowledge of God.
V. Creation and Hope
"Senhor, destacatz ma lenga"[289]
— Mistral, Miserere [1845]
Up to this point, we have chosen to disregard the warning of 1 Cor 13:8, which was, nevertheless, selected as the original French title of this study: “Tongues will cease.”[290] Can the scriptural justification for the benefit of languages presented by this research withstand a gloomy and often confirmed prediction? In line with the longstanding tradition of theology, which has continuously celebrated the diversity of creation, we have directed our attention to depicting linguistic diversity as a profound blessing, reflecting God’s will and ignited by the Spirit. However, the question remains: How can we reconcile the notion of diversity with the eschatological horizon? Does the resort to languages, including through their very dispersal, have a purpose or even hold significance in light of the grand gathering of God’s people, which should constitute the last days? “Tongues will cease”, declares Paul, likely “replaced by something more perfect, where communication no longer requires language.”[291] We would like to respond, drawing from our previous discussions, that communication does not solely hinge on language, or that the fundamental function of languages does not reside solely in facilitating communication[292]. We could further note that language was not specifically chosen by God as the means to communicate himself, and the ultimate purpose of the Word far surpasses conventional communication. However, framing the question in terms of the ultimate end of languages should remind us of the profound significance of the intimate, of which languages are a beating heart, as well as the vulnerable and potentially contingent aspects that cannot be easily disregarded, even when acknowledging the “priority of God’s future.”[293] This reluctance to surrender is not mere stubbornness, but an expression of the profound connection between the Word, faith, and love—it is rooted in hope. Does the experience of the riches of the Spirit within the realm of linguistic diversity emerge as an indirect consequence of existence, or does it offer here and now a glimpse of the perfection that anticipates the world to come?
A. Eschatology, Universalism or Ecumenism
Eschatological Universalism
First, it is essential to clear the ground for an eschatology marked by the seal of universalism. It is not the same thing to consider the ἔσχατον (the last) as part of the priority of God’s future and to see it as a final recapitulation, a conclusive culmination that extinguishes the vibrant diversity of creation. The former perspective keeps eschatology within the theology of creation, where Godinitiates and animates his creation. In contrast, the latter perspective regards the diversity of creation as a sign of limitation or contingency, a mark of finitude seen as imperfection. These two approaches are not contradictory. Finitude is undeniable when we consider the world, and its contingency in relation to God is equally clear. Yet, we must ponder whether the same holds true for creation, which, although distinct from the world, carries its own significance. The mark of universalism—let us be clear, not the true essence of universality, but the ideology of a uniform universal—can be identified in various notions associated with eschatological discourse. These notions become problematic as they impact the present, casting shadows on the future of diversity, including the majestic kaleidoscope of linguistic diversity.
1. Convergence and Contingency: Exploring Christian Eschatology
The first problematic element is the notion of convergence. The image that we are journeying towards the same end, towards the same ἔσχατον, already suggests the idea that we should meet again at the end of the road, the metaphor of “universal convergence” [294], which, for example, is expressed by Teilhard de Chardin through the image of the summit. The path taken would be insignificant as long as we reunite in God. The τέλος of the journey would retrospectively justify the process. However, from a purely internal theological perspective, posing the ἔσχατον in these terms is problematic. First of all, in Christian theology, it is God who comes to meet humanity. Second, the notion of convergence tends to be understood as homogenization. Linguistic diversity, through eschatological discourse, faces the criticism it endures from common opinion, that it is a detour, a distraction instead of being a path that leads directly to God. Against this, let us reiterate simply: it is God who comes to meet human beings. And he comes through contingency. Better yet: he has come, through the event of Jesus, through this contingency. This coming, inscribed in history, means that eschatology is not only the hope of final things but their contemplation in Jesus Christ.
The distinctiveness of Christian eschatology lies in its proclamation of fulfillment that is not just future, but already accomplished. This affirmation of an already fulfilled reality lies at the very core of the Christian faith, for which the coming, death, and resurrection of Jesus are the materialized fulfillment. The love of God made manifest becomes a tangible reality for believers. This fulfillment is the end of the end, perfect realization, completion, fullness and reconciliation. Numerous scriptural testimonies support this perspective, including a characteristic thought pattern attested in Mt 6:5, Jesus’s statement that the hypocrites “have their reward”[295] already, or the Τετέλεσται (“It is finished”, John 19:30). The Christian eschatological assertion is rooted in a time, a history where fulfillment has already occurred, at the same time as this fulfillment announced a future fulfillment.
In fact, this affirmation of fulfillment and fullness harmonizes well with Panikkar’s comparison between the Buddhist concept of “śūnyatā” (emptiness, nullity, void) and the Christian concept of “πλήρωμα” (fullness)[296]. One could argue, drawing from Panikkar’s insights, that emptiness is not absent from the Christian narrative: the incarnation is intrinsically linked to the kenosis and humbling of Jesus Christ (Phil 2:5-11); the tomb is empty; Christian theological elaboration elaboration had to be done in the face of meditation on fulfillment despite absence; and Christian piety has often approached the Kierkegaardian idea that “the cross is empty because it awaits you.” [297] By drawing parallels between emptiness and fullness, we uphold the absolute and efficacious nature of the already accomplished fulfillment, all while distinguishing it from a reductionist interpretation that perceives the former as mere glimpses of the latter (ἀρραβών, Eph 1:13-14).
2. Static Perfection or Dynamic Fulfillment: The Case for Love
The second problematic notion related to eschatological discourse is that of perfection. As Dieter Zeller suggests, Paul is likely pointing to a means of communication more perfect than language. One dimension of the ἔσχατον must necessarily be perfection. In the literal sense, we understand this notion as organizing cosmic history according to a τέλος, both goal and endpoint. It is, in this sense, an accomplishment or a perfection. That which pertains to a τέλος can be described as τέλειος, α, ον, or perfect. In fact, believers are called to this ultimate end, conceived as an accomplishment that the first gospel seems to indicate is also God[298]. However, again, must we not recognize that this accomplishment has already taken place, and that we can rejoice in having experienced this τέλος and known the one who is τέλειος? Strictly speaking, the perfection to which we are called is anchored more in the present, that of the event Jesus Christ, than in the future[299]. The perfection to which we are called applies to this world and takes the form of sanctification (ἁγιασμός). It consists of conforming oneself to the Holy (1 Thess 1:4; 4:7-8), but in no way involves gaining God, even if by gaining God we meant reaching a shelter at the end of a journey. Eschatology includes something else in Paul’s words: tongues will cease, but love will never fail or disappear. The eschatological discourse here refers to an elsewhere, after the ἔσχατον properly speaking, where love is what endures eternally. Nevertheless, there is a tension between the notion of perfection and that of love if we want to maintain its aspect of fulfillment. Perfection has a static feel to it, which aligns better with nothingness, in contrast with the more inherently dynamic representations of love. We will come back to this.
3. Examining the Meaning of “Nova Creatio”: Renewal or Destruction
The idea of nova creatio has its origins in Deutero-Isaiah, particularly in Isa 65:17–66:2, which begins with the words: “For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth; And the former things will not be remembered or come to mind.” (Isa 65,17; NASB).Is this a new earth or a renewed earth? Is it a land where the injustices of the past have been rectified to the extent that memory is relieved and hearts are liberated, or is it a tabula rasa as in the flood narrative? The possibility for languages and cultures to survive is at stake. After all, Deutero-Isaian theology of creation itself emphasizes, “Can a land be born in one day? Can a nation be brought forth all at once?” (Isa 66:8cd; NASB). There are at least three scriptural arguments that challenge the interpretation of nova creatio as creatio nova ex nihilo. First, Gen 1:1-2:4a itself does not imply creatio ex nihilo. God creates by bringing order to the chaos and establishing a space for life. Unlike the Chaoskampf narratives found in the Ancient Near East, God is portrayed as having power over chaos. However, chaos is not depicted as being defeated or abolished[300]; and chaos is not equivalent to nothingness. Second, the flood narrative itself does not describe total annihilation: Noah, his family, all the animals, and the earth are preserved. Third, the conclusion of the flood story includes God’s promise: “Never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” (Gen 9:11c, NRSV). This promise extends to Noah, his descendants, and all living creatures (Gen 9:10) and forms the basis of the covenant between God and the earth (Gen 9:13). Therefore, one might be more inclined to consider this nova creatio as part of a creatio continua, as discussed in the first chapter of this thesis. The eschatology that envisions a final end resulting in the destruction of the old creation cannot be ruled out due to God’s freedom of action. However, it contrasts with 1) an eschatological orientation that is future-oriented precisely because it has already taken place; and 2) the Christianity testimony, wholly eschatological, which envisions not the annihilation of creation but the transformation of the present towards the rectification of injustice. This, in essence, is the hope of Christianity—an outlook that provides “forward looking and forward moving”[301] transforming the present. Contemporary eschatology cannot simply dismiss the “future hope of a messianic kind for the world”[302] by relegating it exclusively to a hereafter, without substantially altering the biblical testimony. Such a dismissal would cast doubt on the fulfillment already achieved in Jesus Christ and disregard the materiality of what has been conquered through the cross.
In the face of a certain gnosticism that would claim that “Christ came to save humans, not to perpetuate the world”[303], perhaps exegesis invites us to see that when God destroys the past, he is concerned with preserving diversity. This is evident in the diversity of living beings in the episode of the flood. It is also evident at Babel, where God intervenes to establish linguistic diversity. In this way, we continue to follow the logic of Christopher Rowland regarding the implications in terms of hope, particularly the theological question of seeking a better life here on earth as opposed to a hope deferred to a beyond[304].
Similarly, the concept of the new man should be included among the Christian elements that Pierre Gisel calls for deconstructing[305]. The καινὴ κτίσις[306], or new creation, being considered is not so much about a new man, a phrase that would only make sense in reference to Jesus as the new Adam, but rather in the sense of a renewed creation, one that is reconciled with its creator (“In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself” 2 Cor 5:19a, NRSV). The idea of reconciliation and restoration does not align well with that of total destruction.
Contrary to the suspicion that weighs against minoritized languages, this is an opportunity to show that it is not the past itself that is condemned. Just as novelty does not inherently constitute a quality[307], the abolition of the past alone does not constitute or result in emancipation. As Jürgen Moltmann reminded us: “When today ‘the loss of a center’ is lamented in a disintegrating society, then that expresses the longing for [a] premodern, religious integration of men combined to form a society. [...] Hegel, was one of the first to perceive the rise of the modern, emancipated society, which destroys all the forces of tradition [Herkunftsmächte], and to analyze it, following the British national economy, as a ‘system of needs.’”[308] Speaking of the powers of the past or heritage [Herkunftsmächte], do we not imply that the past is power? With Crossan in mind, what should concern us here is the notion of powers. It is not ancestry or heritage themselves that are to be destroyed, but rather the powers. The Genesis narrative, as distinguished from Chaoskampf narratives as already noted, thus shows that God is not the creator envisioned by Nietzsche[309]. The greatness of God and his omnipotence also lie in his ability to refrain from resorting to destruction or annihilation.
Linguistic diversity, willed by God and animated by the Spirit, is not bound for any ultimate demise, catering to the insatiable cravings of a gnostic inclination to end the world, due to convergence/homogenization, perfectionism, or a particularistic flaw that forges identity. Under the action of the Spirit, languages manifest and stand out as the intimate experience at the heart of each individual, a creative dimension not of language itself, but of its usage[310].
B. Face to Face: God’s Self-Limitation or Self-Transcendence
a. Face to face
There is an additional aspect to consider in relation to the Pauline passage, and it involves a distortion in our perception, as mentioned by Paul: “For now I see in a mirror, dimly [ἐν αἰνίγματι], but then we will see face to face” (1 Cor 13:12). The phrase itself is enigmatic. It suggests that while we can know God in this world, our knowledge of him is indirect, as implied by the reference to the mirror. A time will come, however, when we can see him πρόσωπον πρὸς πρόσωπον, that is, directly (1 Cor 13:12). Yet, this direct encounter does not entail merging or losing one’s individuality in God. It presupposes that the person remains facing God rather than merging with him. The immediacy of God's communication, reserved for eschatological times, does not mark the end of a relationship or communication altogether.
The notion of self-limitation can be associated with Whitehead, Hartshorne, and, by extension, a theology of process. The idea of a relational God also appears to be borrowed from this perspective. However, both ideas can equally derive from dialectical theology[311]. Furthermore, as seen in Chapter II, κοινωνία is inherently relational, and the kenosis of Jesus Christ described by Paul (Phil 2:5-11) aligns with the self-limitation of the first person of the Trinity. Ultimately, Christian dogma readily accomodates the notion of self-limitation, and the idea of face-to-face encounter, though deferred to the very end, is in accordance with the reality of a personal God.
Almighty power is not omnivolence: God does not want everything[312]. God’s benevolence[313] is precisely demonstrated in the transition from power to will: having the power to do everything does not mean wanting everything. All things are possible for God (Mt 19:26; Lk 1:37; Gen 18:14), and God offers a world of possibilities against his own will, jeopardizing his own will or his own becoming. However, while God desires this possibility and freedom for humanity, God chooses not to will certain elements of this possibility. This raises the question of the essence of God: does God have the ability to will evil, or is it simply beyond his capacity? There are scriptural testimonies that indicate what God cannot do (“In the hope of eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, promised long ages ago” - Titus 1:2b NASB; “Your eyes are too pure to look on evil; you cannot tolerate wrongdoing” - Hab 1:13 NIV). But we also know that God has overcome death. Either he desired death for the living and his victory over it is more of a reversal, or, as Christians believe, there is victory over death and God can (here, more than he wants) something that he could not before. The conquered death would thus testify to a becoming of God and a self-transcendence of God that is not contradictory to the notion of self-limitation but implies that this self-limitation is not superficial. It constrains God and obliges him—rather he obliges himself—to overcome his own will. In doing so, God overcomes himself according to a logic that is grounded in benevolence, in wanting the good and love.
Within this context, what is significance or role of culture, of human goodwill, and potentially of the languages in which the Spirit is at work? The idea of collaboration between humans and the work of God is inherent in process theology. One might argue that since God is the initiator and the one at work, there is no collaboration in the strict sense[314]. As Meister Eckhart would say, God prays to himself. Humanity would be of no utiliy to God, no interest. However, we are well aware of God's interest in his creation. And we would readily postulate that this interest lies in the diversity and contingency that God’s desired creation offers, along with the freedom and surprises it entails. Languages and language precisely offer these aspects to every human being. The partial knowledge mentioned by Paul should be understood in a negative sense: we have imperfect knowledge. However, it is not forbidden to understand it more positively: perhaps this partial knowledge is not meant to disappear. God’s action in this world, without constraining or obligating God, cannot seemingly be partial without contradicting the divine attributes. If God does not fully communicate with humans in this world, it would violate the idea of God not being entirely present in what we glimpse of him. What touches us cannot be a part of God unless we imagine that God is divisible. God does not fully communicate himself, yet he is fully present in what God reveals of himself. Here, I must rely on the paradoxes of dialectical theologies[315].
b. God’s Self-Limitation
Can we reconcile the urgent necessity to refrain from laying hold of God—to think in a way that would border on idolatry—with the manifestation of God in linguistic diversity and the refusal of marginalized languages and cultures to disappear? Can we reconcile it with the experience that Scripture precisely proclaims: “They shall know that I am YHWH, their God, who brought them out of Egypt to dwell among them” (Ex 29:46)? Before discussing self-limitation, Jürgen Moltmann, following in the footsteps of Walther Zimmerli, first considers revelation as the “self-disclosure of God”[316]: God can be recognized because he has made himself known and makes himself known as recognizable[317]. This mark of recognition, that God is particularly sensitive to vulnerability and to the oppressed, his self-manifestation in the stripping and humiliation of the cross, which teaches us in this world, does it not say something of the eschaton? Is it absurd to think that the way in which God makes himself known in this world not only tells us something about God’s will for this world but also for a beyond of the world? Therefore, should the fulfillment manifested in this world call for a second/ultimate fulfillment? Does God’s self-limitation apply to this world in anticipation of a fulfillment that would be perfection, that is, fusion and end, without becoming, without God’s temporality, without the possibility of a face-to-face encounter?
c. Self-transcendence of God and the Future of God
The seemingly contradictory affirmation of Christian hope held between two fulfillments finds its justification in the affirmation of the becoming of God[318]: “While being fullness and love today, God himself is always the creator of new situations. He is capable of self-transcendence for a new fulfillment, a new creation out of nothing (creatio ex nihilo).”[319] This conception, protective of divine freedom, would accommodate the idea of fulfillment conceived as incompleteness. Incompleteness is that which never ceases to complete. Should we not maintain the same inchoative aspect of the notion of fulfillment as that which never ceases to fulfill? On one hand, it is necessary to emphasize God’s total freedom to create and undo, to give and take back. This freedom of God reminds us that fulfillment or the ἔσχατον only make sense from a human perspective. On the other hand, the conception of a personal God may concede that God participates in this end of times for humanity by coming to meet his creature, by welcoming it, but he himself cannot be limited or bound by this ultimate end. There can be no fulfillment or ἔσχατον for God beyond his organizing participation, his initiative, in reconciliation. Furthermore, God’s freedom makes itself known to us according to an organizing principle, love, and more precisely according to the principle that love always overflows(1 Tim 1:14). The fulfillment realized in this world would no longer be a voluntaristic assertion, but an honest observation. It would not just be a matter of already here and not yet, but here and now an already accomplished and never-ending fulfillment. It neber ceases to be fulfill not due to failure, but by design. Should the second or final fulfillment differ entirely in nature or purpose? Could it be entirely present and still in the process of becoming? In short, can we imagine or hope that God remains a personal God after the ἔσχατον? This is what Scripture suggests, which, while proclaiming God beyond all representation, leads us to desire one day to contemplate his face. This is how God reveals himself and seems to want to be known.
C. This Displacement that Hope Operates[320]
If the ἔσχατον only makes sense from a human perspective, and if human life is situated between two fulfillments that do not seem to hinder the becoming of God and his relationship with humanity, what is the significance of diversity from an eschatological perspective? What sense can be given to the survival of diversity in the face of an eschatology of recapitulation, a return to the One? Would the ἔσχατον be the advent of a world of an exclusive face-to-face encounter with God,the irruption of a dimension where creatures are no longer prone to “mutual deception”?[321] Would it be the moment of a radical reduction where an unambiguous language and concepts no longer belong to fanstasy but to a fullness of communication? These questions reveal a reliance on an anthropomorphic eschatology and a difficulty in understanding the ἔσχατον in terms of eternity. Christian eschatology is placed under the sign of resurrection, but it is not the paradise of ancient paganism. If the ἔσχατον only makes sense from a human perspective, then it should probably be approached based on its impact on the present time. The rejection of eschatology as futurology strongly suggests this approach. Eschatology is only meaningful as a proclamation of the Gospel in time, for time, having occurred in time, not as an anticipation of a future world but as a conformity (αγιασμός) with the event that has occurred. Certainly, eschatology puts human action in tension between the two aforementioned accomplishments, but the call to action, the solicited μετάνοια (repentance), can only occur within time and, one might dare say, to the benefit of time. The Gospel, the kerygma, invites us to be on a journey, to lead a life in “following” (Lk 14:25-33). Trials are not denied (“Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Lk 14:27; NIV). One can reject dualism and dolorism and yet, amid hardship, find solace in the fact that pain and tribulations are acknowledged and integrated, perhaps in a counterintuitive manner to the Gospel. In contrast to the possible satisfaction with worldly things mentioned earlier, the focus here is on non-satisfaction with the present world. In the case of minority languages, these are two sides of the same coin: they offer fundamental satisfaction, the joy of a certain immediacy between language and creation, but they allow us to see, in contrast, the creation of hollowed-out, devitalized languages. In the case of minoritized languages, these are two sides of the same coin: they offer fundamental satisfaction, the joy of a certain immediacy between language and creation, but they also allow us to see, in contrast, the formation of empty and lifeless languages. In eschatological terms, hope aligns with the notion of calling and vocation, and ultimately with the harshness of reality. “Our engagement with ‘worldly matters’ inevitably involves our losing control of our fate more than gaining control of it.”[322] Hope leads us to the public arena, and it is in the arena that hope keeps us. “I know that hope will change us, in ways that I do not fully understand, and indeed, in ways that I currently do not, at present, fully wish to understand, much less undergo.”[323] Hope then coexists with the feeling of terror.
Mathewes offers a convincing description of Christian hope in relation to public/political engagement. He may be a little quick to dismiss what precisely corresponds to his phenomenological description in other models. Nevertheless, he also describes these models as immanent and realistic, which seems to be his perspective as well. Certain forms of quietism, the status quo, or liberationism are certainly not forms of gnosticism. Regardless, Mathewes dissociates the notion of hope from obedience to a plan or project. The plan can only be divine, and hope immerses us in it as in a vast pool of which we do not even have a representation. Hope plunges us into it and keeps us in it, provided that, thanks to Mathewes, we remember that what happens to us is precisely hope in action.
Finally, one can think of the quote attributed to Pastor Charles Wagner: “What is a person worth? A person is what they offer of themselves. Humanity is a hope of God.”[324] What brings goodness in face of suffering is undoubtedly the feeling of having been placed there, and having been placed there not to save languages or others, but to bear witness to God’s love for variation and diversity, to encounter the brother or sister as grace[325], even on their own ground, and not from a practical and preconceived idea, including from their own language and culture. As grace, the brother or sister are there to change us, not for us to change them.
Conclusion
“Take away black, cold, weight, density, the qualities which concern taste, in one word all these which I see in it, and the substance vanishes.”
— Basil of Caesarea, Hexaemeron[326]
Not all languages die a peaceful death. Far from it. That should not be a reason to declare them dead before their time. “Languages will come to an end”, foresaw Paul, presuming the same fate for the message of the prophets and for knowledge. Did Paul have glossolalia (speaking in tongues) and gnosis in mind—and not specifically ordinary languages—as the context seems to suggest? Ultimately, it is of little importance. What truly counts is that “love never dies.”[327] We can anticipate the eventual extinction of languages while sensing that something about them goes beyond mere illustration or temporary embodiment. Languages are not mere coincidental aspects of a substance that could exist just as effectively without them. A similar question was already raised by Basil of Caesarea, whose theological reflection was not indifferent to the role of language, which interest he shared with Gregory of Nyssa. Schleiermacher puts it somewhat differently: “Even that which is universal, although situated outside the sphere of specific characteristic traits, is still illuminated and colored by language.”[328] Perhaps Christianity, as the religion of incarnation, does not need to rely on notions of substance or universality to understand this. The very notion of minoritized languages, as we proposed in the introduction, misses its mark if it results to the effacement of the faces and voices of the individuals of these languages. Native speakers and neo-speakers alike bear witness to that enduring love which embraces both the cradle and the grave (la lenga del brèç) and, through the verb “espelir”, equally birth and rebirth[329]. Similarly, Paul’s meditation on love precedes his reflection on resurrection. “What you sow does not come to life unless it dies”[330] (1 Cor 15:36; NRSV) calls John 12:24 “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (NRSV). Therefore, we have chosen to focus on the fruit borne by the speakers of minoritized languages and to explore the theological implications of this fruitfulness.
Initially, through theological exegesis, I hope to have shown how the confusion of languages at Babel is not antithetical to the outpouring and exultation of languages at Pentecost. Babel, following a punitive reading of Gen 11, tends to see diversity as linguistic dispersion, a figure of disorder. However, sociolinguists, among others, have preferred to see Babel as a condemnation of a certain totalitarianism, of a human aspiration to uniformity, a fetishized unity of human initiative and not divine. Linguistic pluralism is desired by God. God commands and brings about linguistic diversity. This desire is the mark of the Creator capable of intervening at all times in his creation and inspiring newness within it; this desire is manifested in the form of the Spirit, at work in the world. Languages appear as the mark of a personal and relational God. Minoritized languages find in him the figure of the almighty capable of self-limitation, of a God who must never be confused with Caesar, in short, a God who reminds us of the fundamental dignity of every creature of God, called to detach themselves from absolutisms.
This scriptural benevolence towards languages has led our research to explore the place of minoritized languages in relation to three figures or three ways of creating community (κοινωνία). First, we examined the theological implications of languages in connection with the persons of the Trinity. Then, we approached the same question in relation to a κοινωνία understood through the prism of universality. Finally, we narrowed down the scope of the relationship through the theme of the neighbor. In all three cases, we believe we have looked at the driving force behind the relationship.
Our second chapter, which aimed to examine how minoritized languages were ordered to specific persons of the Trinity, unquestionably represents the most speculative section of our research. Everywhere God is at work, everywhere God takes the initiative. To examine more precisely the modes of relationship between the three persons of the triune God aimed, to some extent, to abstract a principle that we continue to defend as fundamentally and resolutely incarnated. Examining universalism—which is not exactly universality, if at all—allowed us, on the contrary, to study a force inherent in creating community where humanity, rather than God, takes the initiative. We have observed the potential deleterious effects on diversity, thus verifying that the attrition of the living, whether biological or linguistic, is not the result of any entropy or fatality. In the words of Eberhard Jüngel, “the modern world tends to become more and more what man makes of it.”[331]
We therefore returned to another driving force that creates relationship and ultimately community, by examining another fundamental relationship, that of the neighbor. We chose to focus on the radical shift brought about by the parable of the Good Samaritan. Minoritized languages raise in a particularly subtle way the question of the same and the other, bypassing an understanding or appropriation of the other that is not always welcome. Due to the vulnerability of their speakers and the potential disappearance of the community they express and enable, these languages thwart superficial interaction, and in doing so, remind us of what I have to gain by not fully understanding each other. If we have sometimes said that languages do not primarily serve to communicate, it is also to emphasize this point: there is sometimes much to gain in admitting that we do not fully understand each other, in acknowledging that we do not attribute the same realities to the same words. How can we preserve in, and for the sake of dialogue, what each tradition has that is concrete and should not be erased by the illusion of common terms or notions? A first answer would be to always recall as a preamble, before every dialogue, how, in Pascal’s words, we are in a situation of potential mutual deception. This is undoubtedly a prerequisite for a second step that could be one where building community can be achieved by “seeking agreement within the space of variations, where we acknowledge that our disagreements are ours indeed.”[332] The notion of variation is never far away.
Finally, we addressed the question of language diversity from an eschatological perspective. What meaning can we ascribe to variation in the face of what is perceived as the ultimate resolution? We approached the eschatological dimension through the notion of hope, which inexorably brings us back to the world, perceived no longer as a place of implacability but as a time of action. Eschatology allowed us to implicate human agency and leads us to return to a starting point, but transformed or supported by hope. Following Charles Matthewes’ understanding of hope that implicates us in the world it changes, we have considered how the preservation of linguistic diversity—always contemplated from the perspective of minoritized languages—fits into this public arena where hope leads us and where hope keeps us: “We know that hope will change us, in a way that we do not fully understand, and indeed in ways that we do not, at present, wish to fully understand, much less undergo.”[333]
To sum up, we have tried to show how linguistic diversity and the fundamental linguistic phenomenon of variation can be understood as part of God’s unveiling. Rather than being merely a limit case, we believe that the example of minoritized languages imposed itself as a concrete example of an incarnation of the Word. However, let there be no misunderstanding. Certainly, our inquiry can be understood as falling under the category of the question “Where is God?”[334] In the manner of Claude Geffré’s judgment on world religions[335], which has accompanied us throughout this research, we could respond with a positive judgment on the languages of the world. We could even, with all the necessary reservations of Protestant theology or in spite of them, recognize linguistic diversity as serving the purpose of revelation[336]. we would have to add, however, that all diversity is not God[337]. Rather, nothing in diversity is God, just as God is not to be found in asymmetry or dissonance. And while we assert that multiplicity is, if not the privileged mode of expression of the One, one of its modes of expression, we do not claim that all diversity is a mode of expression of the One. We have also seen that human variation is not comparable to that found in nature: as Scripture emphasizes, humans are all brothers and sisters. Linguistic variation thus takes on a particular significance. God desires multiplicity. Minoritized languages contribute to the new and perpetual creation that God brings forth in our present. Language certainly faces the radical inadequacy of any language to speak of the ineffable God. But silence itself is inadequate, as Eberhard Jüngel pointed out[338].
However, this research—from our own admission an initial approximation to a more frontal approach to the question of minoritized languages in its theological implications—aims less, even not at all, at metaphysics or natural theology, but rather to draw attention to a creative principle—variation—sometimes perceived as a sign of imperfection. To see linguistic diversity, as well as religious diversity, as a richness, a reflection of the Spirit and its creative abundance, is to recall the inherent dignity of each of us when mocked for our language usage or the perseverance of a way of life. It is important to remember that the ramifications of these questions are not trivial but ultimately touch on the honor of God, or lead us to forfeit the potential and benefits of creation. Minoritized languages lead to a decentering of oneself, they are the refuge of fragile speech, they harbor an awareness of the injustice experienced daily in the frustration of a spontaneous and deeply personal act: speaking one’s language, naming one’s environment and familiar places in one’s language. Each minoritized language becomes, for other minoritized languages, a marker of the irreducibility of all others, of each one, in universal communion. Languages do not die a natural death, but “in the last analysis, the victim and the persecutor are one. We can only grasp the unity of the human race if we can grasp, in all its horror, the truth of this ultimate equivalence.”[339] Therefore, it is necessary to reject language attrition as a fate and apply to languages what Claude Geffré refers to as “the shared responsibility of religions for the future of humanity and the preservation of planet Earth.”[340] If the responsibility of theology is to maintain a living language, not equivocal but never univocal, we can reaffirm with Jenson: “Theology is thinking what to say to be saying the Gospel.” It is to be saying “Jesus Christ!”, a confession of faith, a proclamation, and a slogan that rejects all fatalism. This is also what Christopher Rowland reminds us that “the theological anthropology which is informed by pneumatology questions the fatalism of a view of human sinfulness which despairs of the possibility of change”[341] and with it the reasons for despair or giving up on change. This perpetual vexation of the weakest, even if, in the eyes of some, they are the vanquished or—let’s say it plainly—the losers, finds an undeniable echo both in the biblical narrative and in the message carried by the Church of Jesus Christ, the Church of all languages (Rev 5:9). Perhaps it is now time to focus less on the attrition of minoritized languages and more on their continued presence, even in this hour that some increasingly envision as an end time. In this apocalyptic fantasy, it would not be the least merit of these languages to have thrived in great numbers until the end times, just like the languages that have become hegemonic. In the biblical world, it is at the beginning of twilight that a new day begins. In the fiery heavens of sunset, from twilight to dawn, from one Pentecost to another, may we continue to see in creation the already-present Kingdom.
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Christopher Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, in John Webster, Kathryn Tanner, Iain Torrance (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 634-652.
Patrick Sauzet, “La diglossie, conflit ou tabou?”, La Bretagne linguistique, Université de Bretagne-Occidentale, vol. 5, 1991, 7-40.
––“Occitan: de l’importance d’être une langue”, Cahiers de l'Observatoire des pratiques linguistiques, 2012, 87-106.
––“L’occitan: langue immolée”, in Geneviève Vermès (dir.), Vingt-cinq communautés linguistique de la France (Paris: L'Harmattan, 1988), 208-260.
John Webster, “Theologies of retrieval”, in John Webster, Kathryn Tanner, Iain Torrance (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 583-599.
Amos Yong, “I believe in the Holy Spirit”, in Gene L. Green, Stephen T. Pardue, K. K. Yeo (eds.), The Spirit over the Earth. Pneumatology in the Majority World (Grand Rapids: Langham Global Library, 2016), 13-33.
[1] John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian religion [1559], vol. 3, III, 25, 3, trans. Henry Beveridge (Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1845), 656.
[2] Friedrich Schleiermacher, On the Different Methods of Translating, trans. Waltraud Bartscht, in Rainer Schulte and John Biguenets (eds), Theories of Translation. An Anthology of Essays from Dryden to Derrida (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1992), 50.
[3] Aimé Césaire, “Lettre à Maurice Thorez”, [Oct 24, 1956] (Paris, Présence africaine, 1956), 16. Translation of the author. (All translations by the author unless otherwise noted.).
[4] I will utilize the notion of linguistic variation as empirical data. Languages exhibit variation “in time (diachrony), in space (diatropy), in society (diastraty) and according to communicative situations (diaphasy)”. (Martin Glessen, Johannes Kabatek, Harald Völker, “Repenser la variation linguistique: repenser la linguistique variationnelle”, in Repenser la variation linguistique, Strasbourg: Éditions de Linguistique et de Philologie, 2018, 3). I begin with the notion that “variation is inherent in language, constitutive of it and not merely a matter of speech.” (Ibid., 4-5).
[5] For a more precise definition, refer to the Diccionari de sociolingüística: “A language that, despite being the native language of the majority of the indigenous population, experiences a restriction in its domains and functional use within a specific territory, to the extent that it is not employed or not necessary for the majority of communication contexts or domains where verbal communication is required. A language becomes minoritized through a process of bilingualization within its linguistic community, leading to its linguistic marginalization or subordination” (“Llengua minoritzada”, Diccionari de sociolingüística, Barcelona: Enciclopèdia catalana, 2001, 178).
[6] Theodore Bibliander, De ratione communi omnium linguarum et literarum commentarius, ed. Hagit Amirav, Hans-Martin Kirn (Geneva: Droz, 2011), xxiv: “In Ratione, Bibliander treated the empirical plurality of languages in analogy to the plurality of religions in the world. The quest for a common ‘Principle’—in the sense of shared rules or a common structure—for all languages led consequently to the question of the hidden unity of all religions in shared basic convictions, for example, the belief in God’s creation of the world and his providence, which were expounded in the apologetical part at the end of Ratione.”.
[7] Raimon Panikkar, The Intrareligious Dialogue, rev. ed. (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1999), 19. To explore the relevance of debates related to interreligious and intercultural dialogue, refer to Christophe Chalamet, Élio Jaillet et Gabriele Palasciano (eds), La théologie comparée. Vers un dialogue interreligieux et interculturel renouvelé? (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2021).
[8] Ibid., 21. The parentheses are from Panikkar.
[9] Patrick Sauzet, “Occitan: de l’importance d’être une langue”, Cahiers de l’Observatoire des pratiques linguistiques (2012), 88.
[10] Ibid.: “Occitan is a case study when it comes to the status of a language. It lacks external defining factors such as geography, history, or migrations of peoples. Occitania is neither an island nor even a peninsula. It has not precisely formed a kingdom or a State where the language would serve as a symbol or a trace. Furthermore, Occitan, as is commonly known, is a Romance language surrounded by other Romance languages. It is not cut off (except at the Basque point of contact) by the backflow effect of the radical linguistic contrast of dialects stemming from another language family. Such a stark genetic or radical difference means that, regardless of the internal variation within the Basque or Breton domain, they are perceived as the domain of a separate language, irrespective of this variation, and consequently, of a language (which could be subject to disdain or rejection; a different matter altogether). Moreover, Occitan does not find external expression through another institution that would signify or symbolize it, be it a church, a political party, or a liberation movement. Returning to the initial assertion, Occitan lacks a Navy or an equivalent thereof; this is why I have characterized it as a ‘bare language’ (Sauzet 2008).”.
[11] Theologian Grace Ji-Sun Kim particularly emphasizes this link between language and visibility. See Grace Ji-Sun Kim, Invisible: Theology and the Experience of Asian American Women (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2021).
[12] For example, Alain Badiou has voiced criticism against the growing focus on linguistic considerations, decrying the ‘linguistic turn’ as “an abandonment of philosophy's concern for truths […]. For Badiou, the obsession with cultural mediation inaugurates a politically and ethically disabling relativism.” (Steven Shakespeare, “Language”, in Nicholas Adams, George Pattison, Graham wards (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Theology and Modern European Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 106). Also see Alain Badiou, Being and Event, trans. Oliver Feltham, (London: Continuum, 2005). Quentin Meillassoux, After finitude: An Essay on the Necessity of Contingency, trans. Ray Brassier (London: Continuum, 2008).
[13] The term “absolute” refers to the nineteenth-century debate about the personal or absolute character of God, Protestant theology, significantly influenced by Ritschl’s teachings, has consistently emphasized a God in relation to his creation. As Christophe Chalamet notes in Théologies dialectiques. Origines d’une révolution intellectuelle (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2013), 70: “If it does not want to succumb to the temptation of metaphysics and Hegelian speculation, Protestant theology must stop talking about God as an ‘absolute’ being (‘separate’, ab-solutus), ‘in itself’ and therefore unrelated to his creature.”.
[14] Klauspeter Blaser, “L’Esprit”, in André Birmelé, Pierre Bühler, Jean-Daniel Causse, Lucie Kaennel (ed), Introduction à la théologie systématique (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2008), 292.
[15] Ibid.
[16] On November 16, 1965 was signed the Pact of the Catacombs of the Servant and Poor Church. Echoing this first Pact of the Catacombs, a document presenting itself as a renewed pact, was signed on October 20, 2019, also at the catacombs of Saint Domitilla in Rome, under the title of “Pact of the Catacombs for the Common Home: For a Church with an Amazonian face, poor and servant, prophetic and Samaritan”.
[17] See the English version https://cmglobal.org/en/2019/10/21/pact-of-the-catacombs-for-the-common-home/, §4 (Accessed August 30, 2023).
[18] Pope Francis, “Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation ‘Querida Amazonia’ of the Holy Father Francis to the People of God and to All Persons of Good Will”, February 2, 2020, https://www.vatican.va/content/dam/francesco/pdf/apost_exhortations/documents/papa-francesco_esortazione-ap_20200202_querida-amazonia_en.pdf, §39, citing Instrumentum Laboris, 123, e, (Accessed August 30, 2023).
[19] Claude Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte. Essais de la théologie interreligieuse (Paris: Cerf, 2006), 106.
[20] Ibid., 63.
[21] Thomas Römer, “Milieux bibliques”, in L’annuaire du Collège de France, 113, 2014, August 15, 2014, https://journals.openedition.org/annuaire-cdf/2480, 406, (Accessed June 19, 2022).
[22] John Kessler, “Creation Theology”, inOld Testament Theology (Waco: Baylor University Press), 2013, 170-171.
[23] Matthias Albani, “Monotheism in Isaiah”, in Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, The Oxford Handbook of Isaiah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021), 225.
[24] Römer, “Milieux bibliques”, 406.
[25] André Wénin, “La nourriture carnée – Réflexions à partir de la Torah”, Communio n° 259 (2018), 56.
[26] Ibid., 51.
[27] Ibid., 52.
[28] Ibid., 54.
[29] Paul Beauchamp, Testament biblique (Paris: Bayard 2001), 27; quoted by Wénin, “La nourriture carnée”, 54.
[30] Römer, “Milieux bibliques”, 406.
[31] David M. Carr, Genesis 1–11, IECOT (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2021), 991 n 5a. The word ‘people’, which translates to ‘Volk’ in German, is not inherently a progressive term; however, “It is legitimate to speak of ‘people’ in reference to this group, as long as it does not have the recognition afforded by the State, that is the official ‘people’”. Badiou includes both “the hard core of the non-existent mass” and the peoples struggling to achieve nationhood status within the framework of decolonial struggle. See especially Alain Badiou, “Vingt-quatre notes sur les usages du mot peuple”, in Pierre Bourdieu, Judith Butler, Georges Didi-Huberman, Sadri Khiari, Jacques Rancière, Qu’est-ce qu’un peuple? (Paris, La Fabrique édition, 2013), 18.
[32] Nouvelle Bible Segond (NBS), Study Edition, Gen 10, note 10.1, 37 (United Bible Societies, 2002).
[33] Markus Witte, “Völkertafel”, in WiBiLex, article published in July 2011, latest version updated on August 20, 2018, https://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/stichwort/34251/, (Accessed Sept 1, 2023).
[34] Carr, Genesis 1–11, 293-294.
[35] Ibid., 308.
[36] Ibid., 308, n. 56.
[37] Ibid.
[38] Römer, “Milieux bibliques”, 406: “Differentiation according to languages goes hand in hand with the settling of human groups in different places. Between Gen 9 and 11, the Hebrew Bible has preserved three contradictory narratives: Gen 9:18-27 (‘The Drunkenness of Noah’) which introduces a separation and hierarchy among the sons of Noah; Gen 10 (‘The Table of Nations’) and, in Gen 11:1-9, the story/narrative of the ‘Tower of Babel’. The most neutral text is that of Gen 10: a genealogical list with an impressive number of names, some of which still resist explanation. In its current form, the text is confusing; it becomes less so when one realizes that, in this form, it combines P [Priestly source] and non-P elements.”.
[39] Ibid.
[40] Alfred De Pury, Thomas Römer, Konrad Schmid, L’Ancien Testament commenté: La Genèse (Paris/Genève: Bayard/Labor et Fides, 2016), 66.
[41] Ibid.
[42] Römer, “Milieux bibliques”, 407.
[43] Carr, Genesis 1–11, 330.
[44] Ancient Greek χέω, to pour corresponds to Sanskrit जुहोति (juhóti) and Latin fundō. Suffixes συν- and- have the same values in Greek as in Latin, especially as intensive.
[45] And not “lest we be scattered” (passive form).
[46] Carr, Genesis 1–11, 314; Footnotes 4b and 8a, 315.
[47] Ibid., note 8a, 315.
[48] Ibid., 332, The commentator here refers to Josephus Ant. 1.113-114; but also to Pseudo-Philo 4:7; 6,13-14 ; and finally Philo HQ 2,82.
[49] Ibid.
[50] Carr, Genesis 1–11, 333. The commentator goes even further, pointing out that the passage, in a sense, would provide “more of a basis for contemporary interpretations from more conservative perspective that take Gen 11:1-9 as an account of the dangers of a democratic tyranny of an international collective (e.g. the United Nations)”, cf 332.
[51] Ibid., 333.
[52] Ibid.
[53] Ibid., 332.
[54] Carl R. Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, The New Testament Library (Louisville: Westminster, 2016), 94.
[55] Craig S. Keener, “The First Outpouring of the Spirit (1:1–2:47). A Reversal of Babel (Gen 11:1-9)” in Acts. An Exegetical Commentary, vol. 1: Introduction and 1:1-2:47 (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012) 842.
[56] Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, 65.
[57] Ibid., 89.
[58] Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, 66.
[59] Ibid.
[60] Frédéric Martin, Les mots grecs (Paris: Hachette, [1937] 1990), 76.
[61] Ibid.
[62] Ibid.
[63] Dante Alighieri, De l’éloquence en vulgaire, I, 1, 2, Fr. trans. and commentaries under the direction of Irène Rosier-Catach (Paris: Fayard, 2011), 73: “Vulgarem locutionem appellamus eam qua infantes assuefiunt ab assistentibus cum primitus distinguere voces incipiunt; vel, quod brevius dici potest, vulgarem locutionem asserimus quam sine pmni regula nutricem imitantes accipimus.”.
[64] Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, 93: “[Acts 2:5] suggests Jewish residents living in Jerusalem rather than Jewish pilgrims from outside Palestine who had come to Jerusalem for Passover and Pentecost.”.
[65] Martin Dibelius, Aufsätze zur Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, [1951] 51968), 120-162.
[66] Andreas Dettwiler, Simon Butticaz, “Leçon 4: L’œuvre lucanienne (Lc-Ac)”, rev. Anne-Catherine Baudoin, Lecture as part of “Nouveau Testament Brevet 1. Introduction au Nouveau Testament” (Université de Genève, 2020), 9. The authors refer in particular to Eckhard Plümacher, “Die Apostelgeschichte als historische Monograph”, in Jacob Kremer (ed.), The Acts of the Apostles. Traditions, writing, theology, BEThL 48 (Gembloux/Leuven: Duculot/Leuven University Press, 1979), 457-466.
[67] Related the notions of minoritized language and linguistic conflict, the notion of diglossia refers to the phenomenon of monopolization of the uses of the language by an external language, relegating the indigenous language to defined uses, particularly in restricted circles of family, work, etc. It's also in This sense that I will refer to the notion of diglossia in our study. See, inter alia, José María Sánchez Carrión, “Bilingüismo, disglosia y contacto de lenguas”, Anuario del Seminario de Filología Vasca Julio de Urquijo, vol. 8, No. 1, (1976).
[68] Keener, “The First Outpouring”, 821.
[69] Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, 93, 95; see also Keener, “The First Outpouring”, 835.
[70] John P. Meier, “What language did Jesus speak?”, in A Marginal Jew, vol. 1 (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 199), 255-268.
[71] John P. Meier, “Was Jesus illiterate?”, in A Marginal Jew, vol. 1, 268-278.
[72] Graydon Colville, “Faith comes by Hearing? About Oral Societies Faith comes by Hearing? About Oral Societies. Bible translation, Audio recordings and the missionary task”, https://globalrecordings.net/en/about-oral-societies, (Accessed January 11, 2023).
[73] UNESCO, “Oral traditions and expressions including language as a vehicle of the intangible cultural heritage”, https://ich.unesco.org/en/oral-traditions-and-expressions-00053, (Accessed 13 de septiembre de 2023).
[74] Jens Schröter, Jesus of Nazareth: Jew from Galilee, Savior of the World, trans. Wayne Coppins (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014), 68.
[75] Amos Yong, Beyond the Impasse. Toward a Pneumatological Theology of Religions (Grand Rapids/Carlisle: Baker Academic/PaterNoster Press, 2003), 73.
[76] Yong, Beyond the Impasse, 73-74.
[77] In the case of Babel, the empire referred to would then be the Mesopotamian Empire, an interpretation rejected by the exegete. See Carr, Genesis 1–11, 332.
[78] Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, 94.
[79] Patrick Sauzet, “L’Occitan: langue immolée”, in Geneviève Vermès (ed), Vingt-cinq communautés linguistiques de la France (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1988), 214 n. 2.
[80] Patrick Sauzet, “Diglossie, conflit ou tabou?”, 8.
[81] Ibid.
[82] Ibid.
[83] Ibid.
[84] Ibid., 5.
[85] Patrick Sauzet, “Occitan: de l’importance d’être une langue”, 101.
[86] Ibid.
[87] Ibid.
[88] Carr, Genesis 1–11, 332.
[89] John Dominic Crossan, God & Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2008), 28.
[90] Ibid.
[91] Crossan, Render Unto Caesar (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2022) 21.
[92] Ibid.
[93] Ibid.
[94] Ibid.
[95] Ibid.
[96] Ibid.
[97] Crossan, Render Unto Caesar, 21.
[98] Ibid.
[99] Adriana Destro, Mauro Pesce, “Jésus était-il un révolutionnaire politique?”, in Andreas Dettwiler (ed), Jésus de Nazareth. Études contemporaines (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2017), 218 and 222.
[100] Sauzet, “Diglossie: conflit ou tabou?”, 15.
[101] Crossan, God & Empire, 60.
[102] Ibid.
[103] Robert S. McElvaine, Eve’s Seed: Biology, the Sexes, and the Course of History (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2001), 100; quoted by Crossan, God & Empire, 61.
[104] Sauzet, “Diglossie: conflit ou tabou”, 15.
[105] Ibid., 16.
[106] Ibid. The theme of random election “[is] found in 1807 in the work of Jean-Julien Trélis, where it evolves into a mirroring between the two languages: Occitan forever remains an image of the pristine purity that French has lost, while the latter language reciprocally presents an image of degeneration that Occitan would have undoubtedly experienced if the fate of languages had been reversed.”; see Philippe Martel, “Jean-Julien Trélis: De l'idiome languedocien et de celle du Gard en particulier, édition du manuscrit”, Lengas, n° 24 (1988), 101-118.
[107] Ibid.
[108] See Joachim Du Bellay, La Deffence, et illustration de la langue française [1549], Francis Goyet, Olivier Millet, et al. (eds) (Paris: Champion, 2003).
[109] French schoolchildren have long learned that in the Middle Ages France was linguistically divided between the langue d'oïl in the north, and the langue d'oc in the south, which implies that Occitan is no more. In addition, Patrick Sauzet quotes the poem “Coumtesso” [1866] where “Mistral depicts the conflict of the two languages as a conflict of doubles. [...] The two languages are portrayed as sisters. One reigns over the possessions of the other, keeping her locked up and making her appear dead.” (Sauzet, “Diglossie: conflit ou tabou”, 15).
[110] Carr, Genesis 1–11, p. 184.
[111] This connection between violence and domination, linked to the soil ( אֲדָמָה Gen 4:2), of which Cain is first described as a servant, has been highlighted by the ecofeminist exegesis of Brigitte Kahl: “Eve sings of having created a ‘man’ (איש) rather than a child at the outset of the story, a ‘man’ who starts with ‘serving’ (עבד) the ground (Gen 4:2 )but ends up anticipating the current ecological crisis in the way he pollutes the soil with his brother’s blood, thus destroying his relationship with it (Gen 4:11-12).” (Brigitte Kahl, “Fratricide and Ecocide: Rereading Genesis 2-4”, in Earth Habitat: Eco-Injustice and the Church’s Response, ed. Dieter Hessel and Larry Rasmussen (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 57); quoted by Carr, Genesis 1—11, 184.
[112] David Carr notes the deliberate nature of Cain’s act in Gen 4:8 (Carr, Genesis 1–11, 165).
[113] Crossan, God & Empire, 139.
[114] Sauzet, “Langue immolée”, 244.
[115] Ibid.
[116] Ibid.
[117] Sauzet, “Langue immolée”, 244.
[118] Guy Lasserre, Les sacrifices dans l’Ancien Testament (Genibra: Labor et Fides, 2022), 25; for the loss of the relationship with YHWH and the implications of Cain’s deliberate choice of murder, I refer to Carr, Genesis 1–11, 165.
[119] Ibid.
[120] Jacques Dupuis, Vers une théologie du pluralisme religieux (París: Cerf, 1997), 297: “Jesús sella así la alianza con los pobres.”.
[121] Here, I restate Bernard Vernières’ response to an inquiry conducted by me within the framework of a Practical Theology research project as part of my Master’s program at the University of Geneva on November 22, 2021: “Una lenga de paures conven melhor per celebrar la kenòsi del Vèrb.”.
[122] Aloysius Pieris, “Universality of Christianity?”, 595; quoted by Dupuis,Vers une théologie, 297.
[123] Christopher Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, in John Webster, Kathryn Tanner, Iain Torrance (ed), The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 650.
[124] Ibid.
[125] Sauzet, “Diglossie, conflit ou tabou?”, 2.
[126] John B. Thompson, “Editor’s Introduction” [1990], in Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Language (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 1.
[127] Hubert Bost, Babel: Du texte au symbole, (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1985), 191–197.
[128] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 37.
[129] Claude Geffré includes the dialogical dimension among the “new approaches to the universality of Christianity.” (Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 36) He also asserts: “It is from the manifestation of God in the historical particularity of Jesus of Nazareth that one must establish the non-imperialistic and necessarily dialogical nature of Christianity.” (ibid., 36).
[130] Ibid.: “[...] Interreligious ecumenism does not necessarily lead to indifference or relativism; it also does not have solely practical objectives, such as fostering mutual emulation among religions for a more effective contribution to world peace and the preservation of authentic humanity. It is a demand for thought, in that every encounter with ‘the other’, who is truly different, compels us to accept the consequences of our historicity and to relativize our received patterns of understanding.”.
[131] Ibid., 62.
[132] “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength.”, Deut 6:5.
[133] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 62.
[134] Ibid.
[135] Ibid., 63.
[136] Ibid.
[137] See Nicholas of Cusa, who seems to envisage, in an eschatological perspective, a subsistence not of the creature but of humanity in its unity, not intrinsic but obtained through Christ. In De docta ignorantia, he writes: “But if a man is elevated to the unity of this very power, so that he is a creature subsisting not in himself but in unity with infinite power, that power is not limited by the creature, but by itself.” (De docta ignorantia, ed. Paolo Rotta (Bari, G. Laterza & Figli, 1913), 130: “Sed si homo elevatur ad unitatem ipsius potentiae, ut non sit homo in se subsistens creatura, sed in unitate infinita potentia, non est illa potentia in cReatura, sed in se ipsa terminata.”). Also, Ibid., 133: : “[...] omnis creatura in ipsa humanitate summa et perfectissima universaliter omnia creabilia complicanti, ut sit omnis plenitudo ipsum inhabitans”: “Every creature [exists] in that most supreme and most perfect humanity which universally embraces all that is capable of being created, so that it finds in [Jesus] all its fullness.”.
[138] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 62.
[139] Ibid.
[140] Ibid.
[141] Ibid.
[142] Ibid., 35: “Religion is radically plural.” In the same vein, one could venture to assert that while religion is inherently plural, language naturally tends to standardize and aspire to become a single language.
[143] André Gounelle, “Religion”, in Vocabulaire théologique, http://andregounelle.fr/vocabulaire-theologique/religion.php, (Accessed June 19, 2022).
[144] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 55.
[145] On the mythological motif and the notion of Chaoskampf, evidenced by the thesis of Hermann Gunkel, Schöpfung und Chaos in Urzeit und Endzeit [1895], see Jo Ann Scurlock, Richard H. Beal, Creation and Chaos: A Reconsideration of Hermann Gunkel’s Chaoskampf Hypothesis (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013).
[146] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 62.
[147] On the authority of Scripture, see in particular Robert W. Jenson, Systematic Theology, vol. 1 (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 23-41.
[148] Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 3 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1963), 6: “Protestant systematic theology must take into consideration the present, more affirmative relation between Catholicism and Protestantism. Contemporary theology must consider the fact that Reformation was not only a religious gain but also a religious loss. Although my system is very outspoken in its emphasis on the ‘Protestant principle’, it has not ignored the demand that the ‘Catholic substance’ be united with it, as the section on the church, one the longest in the whole system, shows.”; see also Paul Tillich, Substance catholique et principe protestant (Geneva/Paris/Laval: Labor et Fides/Cerf /Presses de l'Université de Laval, 1996).
[149] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 84.
[150] Langdon Gilkey, “Tillich: the Master of Mediation”, in Charles W. Kegley (ed.), The Theology of Paul Tillich (New York: The Pilgrim Press, 1982), 49.
[151] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 62.
[152] Ibid., 49.
[153] Geffré recalls that for Karl Barth the question, for example, of religious pluralism de facto or de jure was “a vain theological question because the Scripture does not provide an answer to such a riddle.”, Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 47.
[154] Ibid., 63: “Certainly, like cultures, religions are under the sign of’ambiguity.”.
[155] See, for example, the case of the Atrahasis narrative in Römer, “Milieux bibliques”, 406 (Accessed June 19, 2022).
[156] Robert W. Jenson, Systematic Theology, vol. 2, 63: “How does our discourse ever get started? Speech presupposes language, but language presupposes speech; seemingly, there must be a first Speaker, in whose address the distinction of speech and language does not obtain.”.
[157] Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, vol. 45 (New York: Benziger Brothers, 1911-1925), IIa2ae Q. 176.
[158] Jean Calvin, Institution de la religion chrétienne [1559], vol. 3, III 25, 3, ed. Jean-Daniel Benoît (Paris: Vrin, 1960), 477: “Why did Jesus Christ no longer make the monsters and triumphs of his victory, in the midst of the temple and in the public squares? Why did he not present himself formidable in majesty before Pilate's eyes? Why did he not show himself alive to the Priests, and to the whole city of Jerusalem?”.
[159] Thomas Aquinas, ibid.
[160] Ibid.
[161] Ibid.
[162] Ibid., 1006: “The gift of prophecy makes known the realities themselves.”.
[163] Ibid.: “He who speaks in tongues ‘does not speak to men’, because he does not address their intelligence or express himself for their usefulness. ; but it speaks only to the intelligence of God and expresses itself only for its glory. Through prophecy, on the contrary, man turns to God and to neighbor. That is why it is a more perfect gift.”.
[164] Ibid.
[165] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 89. See Zumstein : “The term ‘Logos’ is recognized within both the Jewish Old Testament tradition and the Hellenistic world, and in this complex environment, it signifies one of the ways in which God manifests himself. […] The face of God for the world is subsumed in the notion of Logos.” (Jean Zumstein, L’Évangile selon saint Jean. vol. 1 : 1–12. CNT 4a. Geneva, Labor et Fides, 2007, 56).
[166] Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, ed. Roy Harris (London: Bloomsbury, 2022), 49.
[167] Ibid.
[168] Ibid.
[169] Ibid.
[170] Jules Ronjat, Le développement du langage observé chez l’enfant bilingue, ed. Pierre Escudé (Francfort/Berne: Peter Lang, 2013), 38: “Monnaie de change sans empreinte et qui a cours partout”.
[171] Fernand Hallyn, Georges Jacques, “Aspects du paratexte”, in Introduction aux études littéraires, ed. Delcroix-Hallyn, 210-211; quoted by Zumstein, L’Évangile selon saint Jean, 49.
[172] Zumstein, L’Évangile selon saint Jean, 50.
[173] Ibid.
[174] See on this subject Pierre Escudé, “Intégrations, ‘force d’intercourse’, identités”, Essais 14 (2018), 34: “One of the terrorist effects of language is to make one ‘parochialism’ pass as ‘force of intercourse’: a dialect/language imposes itself on others to the point of self-sacralization as a high, single, universal language, and denying other languages the very status of language, delegitimizing their speakers, denying the cultural universe conveyed, prohibiting any transmission, any consciousness and any memory of a history, a literature, a scholarly or popular knowledge.”.
[175] Zumstein, L’Évangile selon saint Jean, 56: “While Genesis’ account addresses the creation of the world and history by God, verse 1 speaks of the beginning before the beginning. The focus is not om God’s relationship with the world, and human beings, but rather on God’s relationship with the Logos in a preceding commencement before creation.”.
[176] Zumstein, L’Évangile selon saint Jean, 56-57.
[177] Clifford Ando, “Augustine on Language”, Revue des Études Augustiniennes 40 (1994), 45: “We can see that Augustine’s frequent expressions of authorial diffidence are not merely rhetorical tropes but also statements of philosophical principle, and that when he urges that he has said nothing meaningful in words about God, he means it.”.
[178] Eberhard Jüngel, Gott als Gheimnis der Welt. Zur Begründung der Theologie des Gekreuzigen im Streit zwischen Theismus und Atheismus (Thübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1977, 2010), 313; Eng. trans. God as the Mystery of the World: On the Foundation of the Theology of the Crucified One in the Dispute Between Theism and Atheism, trans. Darrell L. Guder (London/New York: Bloomsbury/T&T Clark, 2014), 230.
[179] Ibid.
[180] Amos Yong, “On Binding, and Loosing, the Spirits: Navigating and Engaging a Spirit-Filled World”, in Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, Kirsteen Kim, Amos Yong (eds), Interdisciplinary and Religio-Cultural Discourses on a Spirit-Filled World. Loosing the Spirits (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 2.
[181] Ibid.
[182] Yong, cf supra.
[183] Dieter Zeller chooses the translation ‘allocations’ (Zuteilungen) for διαιρέσεις, which implies the idea of distribution through assignment, rather than ‘differences”.He emphasizes that “the verb διαιρεῖν in verse 11 suggests the former meaning, with distinctiveness implied.” Eventually, the exegete refers to Romans 12:6, where Paul speaks of various gifts (χαρίσματα διάφορα). (Dieter Zeller, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, KEK 5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2010, 389-390).
[184] Yong, “On Binding, and Loosing, the Spirits”, 4.
[185] Ibid., 5.
[186]Wilhem von Humboldt, “Über die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues und ihren Einfluss auf die geistige Entwicklung des Menschengeschlechts”, Gesammelte Schriften, vol.VII, ed. Albert Leitzmann (Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 1967), 53 : “Die Sprache ist das bildende Organ des Gedankens.”.
[187] Wilhem von Humboldt, “Über das vergleichende Sprachstudium in Beziehung auf die verschiedenen Epochen der Sprachentwicklung” [1820], in Andreas Filtner, Klaus Giel (ed), Werke in fünf Bänden, vol. 3 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2010), §14, 13: “Das Wesen der Sprache besteht darin, die Materie der Erscheinungswelt in die Form der Gedanken zu gießen”.
[188] Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, 648.
[189] Yong, “On Binding, and Loosing, the Spirits”, 6.
[190] Ibid.
[191] Cf supra; Yong, Beyond the Impasse, 73.
[192] Διάλεκτος is a derived form of the verb διαλέγω: to pick out one from another; to converse. Amos Yong, in connection with the experience of the Spirit, speaks of the “richness of that global conversation.”. See Scott Daniels, New Creation Conversation, Season 2, Episode 21: “The Richness of That Global Conversation”, in “Dr. Amos Yong on the Theology of the Holy Spirit and Thinking Theologically about Disability”, July 9, 2021, 37:14, https://podcastaddict.com/episode/135254451, (Accessed March 13, 2022).
[193] Escudé, “Intégrations, ‘force d’intercourse’, identités”, 26.
[194] Yong, Beyond the Impasse, 73.
[195] Escudé, “Intégrations, ‘force d’intercourse’, identités”, 17: “Space between two standardized languages, ranging from agrammaticality to Translanguaging observed by Ofelia Garcia, cf ‘La langue française et les autres’, Bilingual education in France. Language policies, models and practices, Christine Hélot and Jürgen Erfurt (eds.), Lambert Lucas, 2016, 9-13.”.
[196] Cf supra.
[197] Geffré, cf supra.
[198] Michel Quesnel, “État de la recherche sur Paul”, in Andreas Dettwiler, Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Daniel Marguerat (eds), Paul, une théologie en construction (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2004), 29.
[199] Alain Badiou, Saint Paul: La fondation de l’universalisme (Paris: PUF, 2015).
[200] Michel Quesnel distinguishes between, on one hand, the universalistic Christianity of Badiou and Agamben, and on the other hand, influenced by Nietzsche, Jacob Taubes, or Didier Franck, a reflection based on the Pauline conception of the body, as both a physical and social body.” (Quesnel, “État de la recherche sur Paul”, 30-31).
[201] Ibid., 31.
[202] Ibid., 38.
[203] Ibid.
[204] Alain Badiou speaks of “universal singularity”; (Badiou, Saint Paul, 16).
[205] Quesnel, “État de la recherche sur Paul”, 30.
[206] Badiou evokes “a process of fragmentation into closed identities, and the culturalist ideology that accompanies this fragmentation.” (Badiou, Saint Paul, 12).
[207] Quesnel, “État de la recherche sur Paul”, 30.
[208] Zeller, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 511-512.
[209] Ibid., 512.
[210] Pierre Bühler, “Pistes de travail”, in André Birmelé, Pierre Bühler, Jean-Daniel Causse, Lucie Kaennel (ed.), Introduction à la théologie systématique (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2008), 469.
[211] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 46-47.
[212] Ibid., 39.
[213] Ibid.
[214] Ibid.
[215] Ibid.
[216] Wei Hua, “Pauline Pneumatology and the Chinese Rites”, in Gene L. Green, Stephen T. Pardue, K. K. Yeo (ed.), The Spirit over the Earth. Pneumatology in the Majority World (Grand Rapids: Langham Global Library, 2016), 98.
[217] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 40.
[218] Amos Yong, Renewing Christian Theology Systematics for a Global Christianity, (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014), 19.
[219] Cf supra.
[220] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 68.
[221] What corresponds especially to the formulation of John 14,2 according to Zumstein, L’Évangile selon saint Jean, vol. II, 60.
[222] Jacques Dupont, The Salvation of the Gentiles. Essays on the Acts of the Apostles, (Mahwah: Paulist Press,1979), 58: “The Church Wace Born Universal”; quoted by Keener, Acts, an Exegetical Commentary, 844.
[223] Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, 648.
[224] Hans Urs Von Balthasar, De l’intégration (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1970), 161-166.
[225] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 67.
[226] Ibid., 11.
[227] Pierre Gisel, Sortir le religieux de sa boîte noire (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2019), 195-196 : “The aim is to break the fantasy of totalization, whether it be in terms of knowledge or project, whether it is a project for humanity or a deliberately social project. It was a ‘dream’ that proved not only ‘impossible’ but ultimately ‘illegitimate’ or deceptive, leading to a ‘disaster’, whether through its totalitarian impulses—with communism being an extreme illustration of this—or through a process of hollowing out. There was a dream of reconciliation, of each individual with oneself and with all others, of humanity with the world, of humanity with its ideals that had been previously confiscated. It was a profound merging dream, or at least a dream of homogeneity.”.
[228] Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, 647-648.
[229] Césaire, see above.
[230] Robert W. Jenson, Systematic theology, vol. 1, 26; Ibid., 25: “Faith that the church is still the church is faith in the Spirit’s presence and rule in and by structures of the church’s historical continuity.”.
[231] Pierre Bühler, “L’étranger comme point de cristallisation de l’autre” [2015], in Id., Bewegende Begegnung. Rencontre interpellante. Aufsätze, Einmischungen, Predigten. Articles, interventions, prédications, Lucie Kaennel, Andreas Mauz, Franzisca Pilgram-Frühauf (Zurich/Geneva: Theologischer Verlag Zürich/Labor et Fides, 2020), 71: “The challenge of the stranger [is also] a theological challenge.”. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Gemeinsames Leben/Das Gebetbuch der Bibel, Gerhard Ludwig Müller, Albrecht Schönherr (Gütersloh/München: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2019), 94: “Damit hat Christus uns die Gemeinde und in ihr den Bruder zur Gnade gemacht.”.
[232] Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné, Les Tragiques, trans., annotated, and with an introduction by Valerie Worth-Stylianou, (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2020).
[233] Let us not forget the etymology of the word ‘neighbor’ itself.
[234]Jean-Claude Milner, “Le même unit-il? Le séparé est-il un autre?”, Banquet de La Grasse, conference Aug 11, 2016, 30’30, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx4y7IYObdw&ab_channel=Banquetdelagrasse, (Accessed on December 27, 2022).
[235] The prophetic description of the Last Judgment (Mt 25:31-46) invites us to see in the other a figure of the Lord, while the parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:29-37) defines the neighbor not as the other I meet, but defines him as ourselves whenever I take charge of the other.
[236] Calvin, Institution de la religion chrétienne [1541], vol. 1, (Geneva: Droz, 2008), 189. Self-knowledge subordinated to knowledge of God also refers to the question of the third as a mediation that I leave aside here. See in particular Philippe Vallin, Le prochain comme tierce personne chez Saint Thomas d’Aquin (Paris: Vrin, 2000), who quotes Aelred de Rievaulx: “Ecce ego et tu, et spero quod tertius inter nos Christus sit.”.
[237] Bühler, “L’étranger comme point de cristallisation de l’autre”, 71.
[238] Ibid., n. 7.
[239] Martin Buber, The Way Of Man According To The Teachings Of Hasidism (Wallingford: Endle Hill Publications, 1960), 27; “Der Weg des Menschen nach der chassidischen Lehre” [1948], in Susanne Talabardon (ed), Chassidismus II, vol. 17, (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus), 240.
[240] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 17.
[241] François Jullien, De l’universel. De l’uniforme, du commun et du dialogue entre les cultures (Paris : Point, 2011), 220.
[242] Ibid.
[243] Ibid.
[244] Borges offered through the “On Exactitude in Science” the opportunity for a meditation on abstraction and reduction by evoking an empire where "the art of cartography was pushed to such perfection" that a 1:1 scale map was drawn up, so that the degree of precision between the map and the territory was equivalent to the map covering the territory. In the sociolinguistic framework, perhaps I could say that the dialects were both the map and the territory. See Jorge Luis Borges, Collected Fictions, trans. Andrew Hurley (London: Penguin Books, 1999), 325.
[245] Paul Ricœur, “The Paradigm of Translation” [1998], in On Translation (New York/London, Routledge, 2006), 21. See Hölderlin: “Aber das Eigene muß so gut gelernt sein, wie das Fremde.”, Letter of Dec 4, 1801, to Casimir Ulrich Böhlendorff, Sämtliche Werke und Briefe, vol. 2 (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1981), 926-929.
[246] Jean-Luc Lamarre, L’éducation cosmopolite : apprendre le propre, apprendre l’étranger, Presses universitaires de Caen, Le Télémaque, 2012/1 n° 4, 31-46.
[247] This makes minoritized languages a figure of the repressed.
[248] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 38.
[249] Ibid.
[250] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 56.
[251] Speakers learning a minoritized language (new speakers) face the question of their legitimacy, which is reserved for native speakers. Cf James Costa, Kevin Petit Cahill, “Revitalisation linguistique”, in Langage et société 2021/HS1, 306-307: New speakers often find themselves “in a situation of ‘illegitimacy' due to their age, geographic origin (urban vs. rural), or the varieties they use, which are often influenced by contact with the dominant language.”.
[252] Ibid.
[253] Sauzet, “Occitan : de l’importance d’être une langue”, 103.
[254] Ibid. : “The Occitan language offers both the consideration of this micro-local context and, furthermore, its integration into a specific yet shareable, complex relationship with the world, open to all of humanity. [...] We exist in the world only through language. Preserving a way of being in the world that specifically expresses places and the people who inhabit and have inhaboted them, connecting the most humble contents to the most elaborate ones, deserves the investment of a few right now. [...] Who knows what value tomorrow will attach to the opportunity to re-engage with one’s culture? The goal is to sustain a language’s operation in the richest manner possible to welcome those who will eventually come down from the Tower of Babel, disheartened.”.
[255] Julia Christ, L’oubli de l’universel. Hegel critique du libéralisme (Paris: PUF, 2021), 61.
[256] Here I take up Julia Christ's division between Althusserian model and Smithian model.
[257] Ibid., 6.
[258] Ibid., 31.
[259] Louis Althusser, Sur la reproduction (Paris: PUF, 1992), 288.
[260] Christ, L’oubli de l’universel, 31.
[261] Ibid., 295.
[262] Ibid., 33. Julia Christ quotes the Althusserian illustration: “Here is who you are: you are Peter! Here is your origin, you were created by God from eternity, even though you were born in 1920 after Jesus Christ! Here is your place in the world! Here is what you must do! As a result, if you observe the law of love, you will be saved, Peter, and will be part of the Glorious Body of Christ! etc.” (Althusser, Sur la reproduction, 300).
[263] Christ, L’oubli de l’universel, 178.
[264] Ibid., 178-179.
[265] Jean-Claude Milner, L’universel en éclats (Paris: Verdier, 2016), 8: “To question the universal is to question the all-operator”.
[266] Perrine Simon-Nahum, “Le juif de Milner. Les juifs peuvent-ils sortir de l’histoire?”, Le Genre humain 2016/1-2 (N° 56-57), 596.
[267] In fact, Milner attributes to Alexander and not Paul the passage from universal to universalism. Milner, L’universel en éclats, 71.
[268] Tacitus, The Histories, V, 4-5, Loeb Classical Library, trans. Clifford H. Moore (Harvard : Harvard University Press, 1931), 179-186.
[269] Milner, L’universel en éclats, 117.
[270] Ibid., 123.
[271] Ibid., 115: “More precisely, a language formula touches the truth, if it is powerful enough to harm the all operator.”.
[272] Pierre Bonnard, L’évangile selon saint Matthieu (Geneva, Labor et Fides, 20024), 232; see also Matthias Konradt, Der Evangelium nach Matthäus (Göttingen/Bristol: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), 250: “[Die ka]naanäische Frau zeigt einen Glauben], der schon jetzt in Jesus nicht nur den Messias Israels erkennt, sondern den, der als Messias Israels der Heilsbringer auch für die Völker ist.”.
[273] Matthias Konradt, Der Evangelium nach Matthäus, 249.
[274] The criticism expressed in the song Stéréotype by the group Mauresca is that the hegemonic language claims as its heritage what it obtained through conquest, but instead of appropriating it and embracing the Occitan language, it lets it decline: “What’s yours is yours, but mine is not credible.” Is it a question of reversibility or reciprocity? The question could be: What do you do with what is mine? What do you do with what you have taken from me? I have made the language you imposed on me my own, but you have not made it your own. Mauresca, “Stéréotype” [music video directed by Amic Bedel], 2008, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2IHL0pNuJs&ab_channel=MaurescaFracasDub, (Accessed on Dec 21, 2022). The sentence “What’s yours is yours, but mine is not credible” is most likely an echo of the Fabulous Trobadors’ song “L'accent”, which has the chorus: “Yours is yours, and mine is mine, [speaking with an] accent.” (Fabulous Trobadors, On the Linha Imaginòt, Mercury France, 1998).
[275] In some languages, there is a distinction between the ‘neighbor’ (e.g. French “voisin”) who is a person living next to you and the ‘neighbor’ who referred primarily to the physical neighbor (e.g. French “prochain”) and came to refer to the broader concept of a fellow human being or the ‘neighbor’ in a more abstract sense. At any rate, the speaker in a diglossic situation knows the language of his neighbor well. He can think in his neighbor's language. But this neighborhood, this proximity, is likely to expel oneself from one’s language, to lose altogether what was not his, to make him foreign to oneself in a way that is not that offered by the discovery of a foreign culture, but in a way that leads to the utter alienation of the speaker. In fact, the speaker can go so far as to renounce transmitting what he had received. He then disengages from a simulacrum of exchange where he became no more than a link in the transmission strategy of this neighbor.
[276] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, trans. Daniel W. Bloesch (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), 88: “[…] Christ made us into the community of faith, and in that community Christ made the other Christian to be grace for us.”; Gemeinsames Leben [1939] (München, Christian Kaiser Verlag, 1951), 77: “Damit hat Christus uns die Gemeinde und in ihr der Bruder zur Gnade gemacht.”.
[277] Ibid., 87; Gemeinsames Leben, 76: “Du bist ein Sünder, ein großer heilloser Sünder und nun komm als dieser Sünder, der du bist, zu deinem Gott, der dich liebt. Er will dich so, wie du bist, er will nicht irgend etwas von dir, ein Opfer, ein Werk, sondern er will allein dich.”.
[278] Ibid., 88: “Now each stands in Christ’s place.”; Gemeinsames Leben, 77: “[Der Bruder] steht nun an Christi Statt.”.
[279] Paul Ricœur, Oneself as Another, trans. Katherine Blamey (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 167.
[280] Ibid.
[281] Ricœur, Autrement. Lecture d’autrement qu’être ou au-delà de l’essence d’Emmanuel Levinas (Paris: PUF, 2006), 10-11.
[282] Ricœur, Autrement, 18 : “One never truly finishes with saying otherwise; it is only within the cracks of the solidity of concealing correlations that an echo of the Saying can be heard within the said - a promise of the possibility to ascend from the said to the Saying.”.
[283] Emmanuel Levinas, Otherwise than Being. Beyong Essence, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Pittsburg: Duquesne University Press, 1998), 89: “The proximity does not enter into the common time of clocks, which makes meetings possible. It is a disturbance.”.
[284] Ricœur, Autrement, 20.
[285] Ibid., 25: “The distress of Levinas’ discourse is further aggravated by the rejection and denial of any ‘theological, soothing, or comforting solution.”.
[286] Levinas, Otherwise, 111.
[287] Ibid.
[288] Ricœur, Autrement, 26: “That is why expiation is not redemption.” .
[289] Mistral’s verse, “Lord, release my tongue from clinging”, is a free adaptation of Ps 51(50),16 : “O God, God of my salvation, deliver me from blood, and my tongue will cry out”), Frédéric Mistral, “Saum L Miserere mei, Deus” [1856], Œuvres poétiques complètes, vol. II, Pierre Rollet (ed.) (Aix-en-Provence: Ramoun Berenguié, 1966), 391.
[290] The Greek text γλῶσσαι, παύσονται (1 Corinthians 13:8c) is rendered as “les langues cesseront” (Osty), “cessaràn” (Roqueta-Larzac), “se tairont” (NBS, BJ), “s’assiaudiràn” (Cubaynes), “prendront fin” (TOB). In contrast to love that never fails, one could also say “les langues failliront” (las lengas faliràn).
[291] Zeller, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 415.
[292] Kurt Mueller-Vollmer, Markus Messling, “Wilhelm von Humboldt”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Edward N. Zalta, Spring 2017 Edition; https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/wilhelm-humboldt/, (Accessed on October 2, 2021): “Humboldt viewed the function of language as not limited simply to representing or communicating existing ideas and concepts but as the “formative organ of thought” (das bildende Organ des Gedankens, GS Vol 6: 152) and thus instrumental also in the production of new concepts that would not come into being without it.”.
[293] Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theology and The Kingdom of God, ed. Richard John Neuhaus (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1977), 54: As [Jesus’ message of urgency and exclusiveness of seeking first the Kingdom of God] is proclaimed and accepted, God’s rule is present and we can even now glimpse his future glory. In this way we see the present as an effect of the future, in contrast to the conventional assumption that the past and present are the cause of the future.”; Theologie und Reich Gottes (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1971), 12; quoted by André Birmelé, « L'eschatologie », in André Birmelé, Pierre Bühler, Jean-Daniel Causse and Lucie Kaennel (eds.), Introduction à la théologie systématique, (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2008), 390.
[294] Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, “Letter of October 12, 1951”, in Lettres intimes de Teilhard de Chardin, introduction and notes by Henri de Lubac (Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1974): “Since my childhood, my spiritual life has never ceased to be completely dominated by a kind of profound sentiment of the organic reality of the world; a feeling that was originally quite vague in my mind and in my heart—but gradually became, over the years, a precise and overwhelming sense of a general convergence of the universe upon itself; this convergence coinciding and culminating at its summit with Him in quo omnia constant (in whom all things consist), whom Heaven has taught me to love.”.
[295] Mt 6,5: Ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν, ἀπέχουσιν τὸν μισθὸν αὐτῶν.
[296] Panikkar, The Intrareligious Dialogue, 122.
[297] Undocumented quote, commonly attributed in French to Kierkegaard, not unlike Kierkegaard's meditation on the empty tomb. See Søren Kierkegaard, Entweder-Oder, (Michael Holzinger, Berliner Ausgabe, 2013), 207-210.
[298] Matthew describes the Father as τέλειος, calling believers to conform to him (Matthew 5, 48 : Ἔσεσθε οὖν ὑμεῖς τέλειοι ὡς ὁ πατὴρ ὑμῶν ὁ οὐράνιος τέλειός ἐστιν.) And I can hear Matthew 24:14c (καὶ τότε ἥξει τὸ τέλος, “and then the τέλος will come”) as referring to the return of Jesus.
[299] Jürgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope: On the Ground and the Implications of Christian Eschatology, trans. James W. Leitch (New York/Evanston: Harper & Row, 1967), 17: “Christian eschatology does not speak of the future as such. […] Christian eschatology speaks of Jesus Christ and his future.”.
[300] Albert De Pury, Thomas Römer, Konrad Schmid, L’Ancien Testament commenté, 26: “[...] the creating God can employ [the absolute figure of chaos], if necessary, as the instrument for the destruction of the inhabitable earth.”.
[301] Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 15.
[302] Ibid.
[303] Birmelé, “L'eschatologie”, 376.
[304] Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, 648: “It is its hope for a better world which links liberation theology in general terms with the chiliastic tradition down the centuries […]. The legacy of Augustine’s City of God has been so pervasive in Christian doctrine that the view of a this-worldly hope has either been interpreted in other-worldly terms or simply pushed to the margins of the Christian tradition.”.
[305] Isabelle Ullern, Pierre Gisel (ed), Penser en commun? Un “rapport sans rapport”. Jean-Luc Nancy et Sarah Kofman lecteurs de Blanchot (Paris: Beauchesne, 2015), 109-138.
[306] “If anyone is in Christ, he/she is a new creation [καινὴ κτίσις]. What is old has passed away: there is novelty there.” (2 Corinthians 5,17 ). See also Gal 6, 15.
[307] Hate ideologies readily and superficially appropriate what they consider as identity markers, while developing and implementing an ideology of the new man (Nazism, Fascism), a shared ideology among the three totalitarian regimes of the 20th century, including Stalinism. The suspicion of fascism with which their critics often tarnish traditional cultures can be reversed when I observe that fascism values the new man and invariably seeks to eradicate the existing order to establish itself. The valorization of tradition during the seduction phase is the glorification of a fantasized, distorted national narrative, subjugated to ideology, and can only appeal to a mass already deprived of its heritage. Walter Benjamin’s depiction of barbarism rests on the figure of the builder, the one who constructs ‘something new’. Here, I am not referring to the familiar novelty that language can express, but rather to a radical newness that promises a project of annihilation, with no connection to the past except for its efforts to deny its very existence; see Walter Benjamin, “Erfahrung und Armut” [1933], Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 2 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1991), 213; “Experience and Poverty”, trans. Rodney Livingstone, in Selected Writings, vol. 2, part 2: 1927-1934, ed. Michael W. Jennings, Howard Eiland, and Gary Smith, (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2005) 731-736.
[308] Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 307.
[309] Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Adrian Del Caro and Robert B. Pippin (ed), trans. Adrian Del Caro, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 43: “Whoever must be a creator always annihilates”; Also sprach Zarathustra. Ein Buch für Alle und Keinen (Kehl: Swan Buch-Vertrieb, 1994), 74 : “Immer vernichtet, wer ein Schöpfer sein muss.”.
[310] Noam Chomsky, Language and Mind, 3rd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), xiv, 10 and passim.
[311] Regarding the compatibility or incompatibility between a God of process and Barth’s understanding of the temporality of God, I refer to Mark James Edwards, Christ is Time (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2022), 157-159.
[312] However, the God of possibilities is presented as the God of all in the passage that I render as follows: “I am the Lord (YHWH), the God of all. What would not surprise you coming from me?” (Jer 32,27).
[313] In the original French version of my study, I use the notion the French word ‘bénévolence’, reminiscent of the Occitan term ‘benvolença’, derived from ‘benvoler’ (meaning to love someone), to avoid the connotations of condescention growingly associated with ‘bienveillance’.
[314] I set aside here the notion of collaboration as understood in relation to the debate on justification, as well as the debate on the possibility for humans to will the good. Our focus is on God’s interest in maintaining a non-fusionary relationship with His creation at the ἔσχατον, under the assumption/hope that the ἔσχατον does not entail the complete annihilation of the individual.
[315] Regarding the question of dialectical/paradoxical pairs, as well as the veiling and unveiling of God in his revelation, see Chalamet, Théologies dialectiques, 13s.
[316] Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 112-113.
[317] Ibid., 116: “God ‘himself’ is revealed where he ‘keeps covenant and faithfulness for ever’ (Ps. 146.6)”.
[318] Eberhard Jüngel, God's Being Is in Becoming: The Trinitarian Being of God in the Theology of Karl Barth. A Paraphrase, trans. John Webster (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001).
[319] Birmelé, “L'eschatologie”, 393-394.
[320] I adopt Charles Mathewes’ idea, which concretely articulates Christian hope by applying it to public life. After emphasizing the deeply ambivalent nature of hope (a powerful anesthetic and an irrepressible excitant), Mathewes rejects both conservative and liberationist models, as well as models that seek to strike a balance between the two. The objective is to gain a better understanding of the phenomenon of ‘hope’ through these two characteristics: its capacity to mobilize and generate vision. Ultimately, our own hope is secondary. What takes precedence is, on one hand, our response and, on the other, the one who calls (p. 245). The way in which the world can change (p. 244) “stands under a radical eschatological judgment” (p. 245), thus articulating immanence and transcendence. It is precisely because hope involves us in the world that it transforms us: “I are, in a way, different people when I hope” (p. 246), thus making hope a way of inhabiting the world. Hope provokes action but also invites us to join in this hope, what Mathewes calls the “fundamentally vocative, linguistic” value of hope (p. 247). In doing so, elements of distortion exist. Particularly, “hope does not promise that our hopes will be realized, but rather that the will of God will be accomplished” (p. 251). Mathewes' account of the notion clearly takes shape in response to the closed discourses with which believers are confronted in public and political life: “More directly, behind all of them is a recognition that our world is more than these systems allow it to be”(p. 254). Or again, “Human beings and their actions transcend their bare literality, and the eschatological hopefulness of the churches emerges in part through their refusal to take the nation-state system with ultimate seriousness” (p. 254)." Charles T. Mathewes, A Theology of Public Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Pres, 2007).
[321] Blaise Pascal, Pensées, trans. Antony John Krailsheimer (London: Penguin Books, 1995), 326.
[322] Mathewes, A Theology of Public Life, 257.
[323] Ibid., 258.
[324] Charles Wagner, L'homme est une espérance de Dieu (Paris: Van Dieren, 2007), 167.
[325] Bonhoeffer, cf supra.
[326] Basil of Caesarea, Hexaemeron, I, 8, trans. Jackson Blomfield, in Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (ed), Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 8 (Buffalo: Christian Literature Publishing, 1895), 261.
[327] Jakob Wirén, Hope and Otherness: Christian Eschatology and Interreligious Hospitality (Leiden/Boston: Brill/Rodopi, 2018), 19: “The particularist approach is a welcome response to some of the shortcomings of exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism, not least in terms of recognizing differences between the religious traditions and thereby respecting the integrity of these traditions. But the strong emphasis on incommensurability and the metaphor of separate languages also raises questions about the possibility of people of different faiths actually being able to understand each other and to share experiences. A one-sided focus on differences prevents mutual exchanges as well as criticism and tends to isolate religious traditions from each other.”.
[328] See above, p. 6.
[329] The phrase “lenga del brèç” is a recurring occurrence in Occitan.
[330] Calvin, cf supra.
[331] Jüngel, Gott als Geheimnis, 68; God as the Mystery, 52.
[332] Paul Ricœur, “Envoi”, in Les protestants face aux défis du XXIe siècle. Actes du colloque du 50e anniversaire du journal Réforme (Geneva, Labor et Fides, 1995), 152.
[333] Mathewes, A Theology of Public Life, 258.
[334] According to Jüngel, this is the “question of modern times”, namely the question of the end of metaphysics. Cf Jüngel, Gott als Geheinnis, 67; God as the Mystery, 74.
[335] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 71.
[336] The question would then be: Is it possible to grant languages, especially minoritized languages, a theological status similar to the one Karl Rahner granted to religions? See Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 51.
[337] I refer to Amos Yong and his characterization of the Pentecostal theology of human languages, understood as a “a Acts 2 theology of human languages”. Also : “Again, this is not to say that all aspects of all religions are redeemed, even as it is not to say that all aspects of every culture or all parts of every language are thereby sanctified by the Spirit. […] In the meantime, however, every language,culture, and even religious tradition potentially bears, however haltingly because of finite and fallen character, witness to the one under whom all things will be finally subject.” Amos Yong, Renewing Christian Theology: Systematics for a Global Christianity (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014), 242.
[338] Jüngel, God as the Mystery of the World, 255: “How can human language be excluded in order to arrive at the unspeakable God. The nearest answer, “through remaining silent,” is inadequate in that silence is itself ambiguous.”; Gott als Geheimnis der Welt, 347.
[339] Eric Gans, quoted by Jean Baudrillard, The Perfect Crime (London, Verso, 1996), -1.
[340] Geffré, De Babel à Pentecôte, 35.
[341] Rowland, “Liberation Theology”, 648.