Beáta Laki
Department of Behavioural Sciences, Medical School, University of Pécs, Pécs

Abstract: The path as a bioethicist began with questions around genetics and human enhancement. This journey – rooted in personal and professional curiosity—led me to explore how we might strive for betterment in ways that remain ethically sound, human, and humane. This paper briefly reflects on that professional trajectory.
Keywords: human enhancement, genetics, bioethics, Jennifer Doudna
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-1

The code of life? The organizing power of the double helix? Are we capable of intervening in it? Is it ethically permissible? If yes, how, to what extent, and why? Why is it important to do it at all?

While posing these questions is straightforward, providing comprehensive answers presents a significant challenge. In my research trajectory, I focused on such questions that helped me recognize how complex such apparently simple issues are—often attributed to ‘yes or no’ questions—yet they are not that plain. As one becomes increasingly familiar with how processes work and what they can impact, their multifaceted and often morally questionable nature becomes clear. My research engagement with genetics and bioethics began with these dilemmas.

I encountered the field of bioethics during the final years of my undergraduate studies. Under the mentorship of Professor Tibor Szolcsányi, I had the opportunity to study bioethics in depth and integrate it into my scholarly perspective and also complete my thesis work (“Free Will and Euthanasia”) and later my doctoral dissertation (“Moral Issues of Human Enhancement and Transhumanism”).

As I became acquainted with applied ethics and delved more deeply into its complexities, I felt a calling and realized this is the core of both my scholarly focus and professional motivation. My exploration led me to genetics and its associated moral issues, which led me to other topics that may appear as bioethics-related intersecting areas, such as transhumanism, the idea of uploading human consciousness/mind into artificial environments, artificial reproductive technologies, end-of-life issues, and, more recently, artificial intelligence. Although these topics are not always obviously connected, they share a specific common underlying organizing power from my perspective. The invitation to reflect on “The Personal Behind Our Bioethics” led me to contemplate my researcher journey and observe it from a broader perspective, which led to the recognition that this and also my internal organizing principle is: enhancement.

I do not know whether the topics led me to this underlying essence or just the other way around, it was an intuition that drove me toward these areas of bioethics.  It’s not that important really. My aim is to contribute substantively to our understanding of ethically grounded pathways for human enhancement.

As the history of science and the scientific community demonstrates, it is necessary to draw boundaries and set criteria when technology and science are used to refine human life. For instance, the first Asilomar conference in 1975 was held because of the novel, uncertain or potential effects and consequences of the recombinant DNA technology. (Berg 2008) Jennifer Doudna, who was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2020 for her work on CRISPR technology, co-authored with her former PhD student A Crack in Creation: Gene Editing and the Unthinkable Power to Control Evolution, discussing the development of the technology, its potential, and critically, the ethical responsibilities of researchers concerning CRISPR and technological innovation in general. Fortunately, nowadays numerous other examples further illustrate this trend.

Bioethics emerges as a seemingly restrictive, yet in reality, a more advocacy-oriented scientific field that consciously seeks to draw attention to challenges and dangers that may not be immediately obvious, illuminating the path of progress and development from multiple perspectives.

This may relate to the wider environment – how human activity affects it, how its impact can be reduced, and strategies for maintaining ecological balance and mitigating the risk of climate disaster, while simultaneously respecting the natural environment, all while respecting the living environment (reports of the Club of Rome, e.g. the first: Meadows et al. 1972). But even if we focus solely on human-to-human interactions and the role of science in them – especially concerning human personal wellbeing not just in the context of healing but also enhancement – it is essential to take responsibility and represent both individual and societal interests (Beauchamp 2019). At the same time, it is crucial to adhere to the core moral principles of bioethics to remain both human and humane.

As a bioethicist, I strive to represent holistic and complex perspectives, and my objective is to explore how individuals can enhance themselves if they choose to, while ensuring that societal and personal differences remain manageable and morally acceptable. These enhancement techniques are not limited to artificial interventions but also include “what can I do for myself” forms of self-enhancement – non-invasive and widely available ones as well.

My continued focus on bioethics reflects its integral role in shaping scientific methods, diagnostic practices, and therapeutic innovations beyond the wider issues of applied ethics.

Looking back at the history and toward the future of my research and its aims, my intention is to identify, clarify, evaluate the advantages and disadvantages, and gather all possible and relevant aspects – to represent the interests of individuals and societies, while also proactively considering the broader environment. All of this serves to prevent the unwanted and unintended consequences of using science and technology. This is an interdisciplinary task to which I contribute not only my professional knowledge but also my passion.

Bibliography:
Beauchamp, Tom L., and James F. Childress. 2019. „Principles of Biomedical Ethics: Marking Its Fortieth Anniversary.” The American Journal of Bioethics 19 (11): 9–12. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2019.1665402.
Berg, Paul. 2008. „Asilomar 1975: DNA Modification Secured.” Nature 455 (September): 290–291.https://doi.org/10.1038/455290a.
Doudna, Jennifer A., and Samuel H. Sternberg. 2018. A Crack in Creation: Gene Editing and the Unthinkable Power to Control Evolution. Boston: Mariner Books.
Meadows, Donella H., Dennis L. Meadows, Jørgen Randers, and William W. Behrens III. 1972. The Limits to Growth: A Report for the Club of Rome’s Project on the Predicament of Mankind. New York: Universe Books.

Darija Rupčić Kelam
University of J. J. Strossmayer, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, Department of Philosophy

Abstract: The paper starts from the assumption that the Western philosophical tradition has largely privileged the mind, abstraction and discursive thinking, often neglecting the body as a fundamental dimension of human experience and cognition. The intention of the paper is to explore the concept of philosophy in motion through the idea of dancing philosophy, whereby the body is  viewed not as a passive carrier of consciousness, but as an active, embodied subject of thought, meaning and relationship with the world. The paper seeks to highlight how movement, dance and bodily practice can act as legitimate forms of philosophical inquiry and expression. The basic theses of the paper are that thought is always embodied and that cognition does not occur exclusively at the level of rational mind, but through bodily experience, that movement and dance represent epistemological practices that produce knowledge differently, but equally, in relation to language and text, that dance philosophy and philosophy of dance opens up space for understanding the subject as a dynamic, relational, and situated being, and that the body has ethical and political dimensions, because the way in which bodies move, are seen, and are regulated reflects broader social power structures. Methodologically, the paper relies on an interdisciplinary approach that connects phenomenology, especially Merleau-Ponty’s philosophy of the body, Foucault’s concept of heterotopia, contemporary theories of embodiment, dance philosophy, and aesthetic theory. The scientific contribution of the paper is manifested in the articulation of dance and movement as relevant philosophical methods, thereby expanding the concept of philosophical thinking beyond the traditional logocentric framework.
Keywords: body, dance, philosophy of dance, bodily based knowledge, movement, different voices, embodiment
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-2

My personal story behind the topics that I try to address in bioethics has to do with my life choices, passions, and experiences. It has to do with my artistic inclinations, longings, and passions. It also has to do with my desire to make philosophy more humane, warmer, more corporeal, and more feminine; to bring back to philosophy the embodied subject and a different voice—the voice of those who are silenced, marginalized, forgotten, and those who have no power.

The reference point and main idea of this essay, The Personal Behind Our Bioethics, was my consideration of the value of the „other” and the „different voice,” as well as considerations about the contributions and profound meaning of feminine voices in philosophy and bioethics. As a woman in philosophy, I ask myself how and what a feminine voice—a different voice—can give and offer to a Western, traditional, patriarchal, masculine philosophy oriented toward the rational as the only moral and correct path, thus differentiating the body from the mind and neglecting the body. I ask myself how someone who deals with the body through dance and movement can offer an embodied subject to philosophy and make philosophy more feminine, warmer, softer, and more caring.

Therefore, while writing my dissertation (PhD), I decided to focus all my efforts on the ethics of care and dance movement therapy. How can I connect the body and mind, philosophy, art, dance, and bioethics? How can I dance the static image of the body and philosophy? How can I set or bring philosophy into motion, into movement, and how can dance open up new spaces and new ways of seeing the world and become a certain way of being in the world? How can dance create new spaces for communication and enable, facilitate, and delimit the constraints of seeing the world? I try to find how dance and movement can create new dynamic models of social space—spaces of new possibilities for non-discursive action of the subject. How can dance reverse sets of relationships and constellations of power for those who are left on the edges of society and those who are marginalized? (Rupčić Kelam, 2023).

Thus, in my consideration and also in my practice, I try to bring philosophy into movement and to „dance” the static nature of philosophy. A reference point in my considerations was Foucault’s notion of heterotopia, in the sense that dance is a model and method of constructing alternative realities, opening new spaces, and becoming a means for mobilization (Foucault, 1967.; Foucault, 2008., pp. 13-29).

In that sense, dance can become a counter-space that undermines power relations and imposed, hegemonic discourses of traumatic experience. Through my personal life, I have experienced traumatic events that changed the course of my life and left scars on my mind, but not only on my mind—on my body also. I have experienced that trauma isn’t just something that happens in our mind, but it also affects the body; trauma is a reaction and comes as a reaction to events, not just the event itself.

I was a dancer for my whole life, but at some point, I couldn’t dance anymore for a while because my body was not mine at that time. I was disconnected from my body. In time, I started to realize that I needed to do something to reconnect with my body again. I started to dance again and tried to find my own voice and my own story through my body. I started to dance my story, only to discover that through dance I found my voice again and met my wholeness again.

This kind of experience I wanted to convey to everyone who is struggling with this kind of experience and to my students of philosophy, because I started to notice that they are deeply disconnected from their bodies. I wanted to dance philosophy and to set philosophy into movement. There, I found the connection between the philosophy of dance, the body, and the „different voice.” (Gilligan, 1982).

I also noticed that we are all affected by some kind of traumatic experience, and we all carry in our bodies personal stories and narratives. A traumatic event changes the course of life and can break the narrative. Our bodies possess the wisdom of untold stories; the body becomes the hub, the archive of memories and stories, and also the place of restoration of meanings after the breaking of stories and the fracturing of the self. In that sense, the body becomes the place of reconnection with the self and the other (Rupčić Kelam, 2023).

In that sense, stories and memories of trauma form hegemonic discourses and systems of power over the individual or society. Dance resists power, bridging the gap between personal and collective conscious and unconscious. Dance communicates meaning, resists the hegemonic discourses of shame and guilt that often accompany trauma, restores personal narrative, and reconnects meaning. Dance becomes the „other space” or a space of otherness—a space of resistance and rest, a space of refuge, play, imagination, transformation, and a safe place; a space of peace, comfort, and protection (Christofidou, Milioni, 2022).

Dance movement therapy, as a form of psychotherapy, relies on the body as the main medium for expressing and transforming the emotional, mental, and spiritual state of the individual. This form of therapy does not use words as its primary tool, but rather movement, rhythm, and body awareness. On the other hand, philosophy—especially the philosophy of the body, existentialism, and phenomenology—offers a deeper and more profound understanding of human existence, consciousness, and one’s relationship to one’s own body. In this respect, dance movement therapy and philosophy complement each other, creating a rich space and platform for considering the human being in their wholeness. I wanted to incorporate the therapeutic and creative potential of dance and movement as a means to gain completeness and integrity, to open new spaces of freedom and play, to create the possibilities of new stories, and to develop an Ethics of Encounter (Hamera, 2011).

Philosophy provides us with the context and language for understanding the deeper dimensions of human experience, while dance therapy allows that experience to be embodied and transformed. Combined, they offer a holistic approach to the human being. Philosophy asks questions about meaning, identity, and consciousness, while dance and movement offer the answer in the very act of being, expressing, and experiencing with the body.

Philosophy in Movement, in Motion

The body in motion is not just a biological phenomenon. It is an expression of consciousness, feelings, thoughts, and identity. When we talk about philosophy in motion, in movement, we are talking about the encounter between bodily expression and mental reflection. Movement becomes a way of thinking, and the body a philosophical text that can be read, interpreted, and experienced. Philosophy in motion seeks truth not through words, but through movement, presence, and experience.

In Western philosophy, the body has often been suppressed in favor of the mind—from Plato, who saw the body as a prison for the soul, to Descartes, who separated it from the mind through the familiar division into res cogitans (the thinking thing) and res extensa (the extended thing). However, contemporary philosophy, especially phenomenology and existentialism, is taking a radical turn.

Maurice Merleau-Ponty argues that we do not think only with our heads, but also with our bodies. The body is our first and fundamental presence in the world, through which we experience space, time, other people, and ourselves. Movement is, in this sense, the primary language of the philosophy of being. When we walk, dance, or breathe, we not only function but also express. Every movement carries a meaning, an emotion, and even a philosophical message. Movement can be resistance, liberation, a question, or contemplation. In dance, the body becomes a thought in space.

Philosophy in movement is also an act of awareness—being in the present moment. This is what Zen Buddhism calls zanshin: complete awareness in action (an enactive approach). In this state, thoughts do not take place only in the head, but through muscles, breathing, and balance. Body, mind, and spirit are no longer separate. They are in dialogue. This dialogue is not abstract; it is concrete, alive, and present. Through somatic practices, philosophy becomes alive. Philosophy lives, dances, moves, and feels. Philosophy tells us that it is not enough just to understand the world, but to feel the world through our own steps, breaths, and movements.

In a time when modern man is often separated from his own body, philosophy in motion calls for a return to oneself—to harmonize thought and movement; to search for the truth that resides not only in words, but in the way we move and act through life.

Philosophy in Motion: Silence, Listening, and the Body That Thinks

Philosophy in movement, in motion, is not just a concept. It is the experience of being in a body that listens, thinks, and expresses. In a world dominated by the noise of words, speed, and virtual content, the body becomes a space of silence. In motion, philosophy ceases to be an exclusively verbal, rational, and cognitive discipline; it is transformed into movement, breathing, and presence. The foundation of this movement is not only gestures but also silence and deep listening. In the silence of movement, a space is born to feel one’s own being—to hear what cannot be expressed in words.

Philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty emphasizes that the body is not just a machine for action, but a „lived body”—a subject that experiences, communicates, and thinks the world through movement (Merleau-Ponty, 1962). When we move, we actually have a conversation with the world, not with words, but with sensations, muscle tension, contact with the ground, and the rhythm of breathing.

In this dialogue, silence is not a void. It is a condition for listening. Just as in a philosophical conversation true understanding does not come only through speech but through attentive listening, so in movement, the most profound thing happens when we stop „performing” and start listening to the body. Silence allows for presence. In this presence, the body reveals its own wisdom. In such an approach, philosophy is not an abstract thought, but an embodied consciousness. We become able to listen not only to our body but also to space, other people, and the energy of relationships.

Listening in the philosophy of movement is not only a sensory act, but an ethical act. It is a willingness not to impose ourselves, but to be with what is. Listening means admitting that we do not know everything—that the body knows what the mind sometimes does not understand. In the movement that comes from listening, there is room for fragility, intuition, and openness. This movement is philosophical because it asks questions: Who am I when I stop talking? What does the body tell me when I really listen to it?

Philosophy in motion, when combined with silence and listening, becomes a practice of inner ethics. It is a practice of presence, patience, and tenderness toward oneself and the world. In the silence of movement, one does not lose oneself; one finds oneself. Not through a grand thought, but through a small shift, a focused breath, and an awareness of one’s feet on the ground.

Ultimately, philosophy in motion invites us to stop thinking of the body as something we „have” and to start experiencing it as what we „are.” Through silence, listening, and authentic movement, we return to our being, not as an idea, but as a living experience which thinks through the body and which is thought in the body (embodied thought).

Bibliography

Barral, Mary Rose. (1965). Merleau-Ponty: The Role of the Body-Subject in Interpersonal Relations. Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press.
Christofidou, Andria and L. Milioni, Dimitra, „Art heterotopias against hegemonic discourses: Dancing the Cyprus conflict“, European Journal of Cultural Studies 20/2022.
Foucault, Michel. (1967). „Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias.” Architecture, Mouvement, Continuité 5 (1).
Foucault, Michel. (2008). „Of Other Spaces.” In Heterotopia and the City: Public Space in a Postcivil Society, edited by Michiel Dehaene and Lieven De Cauter, 13–29. Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge.
Gallagher, Shaun, and Andrew N. Meltzoff. (2008). „The Earliest Sense of Self and Others: Merleau-Ponty and Recent Developmental Studies.” Philosophical Psychology 9 (2). https://doi.org/10.1080/09515089608573181.
Gilligan, Carol. (1982). In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development, Harvard: Harvard University Press
Hamera, Judith. (2011). Dancing Communities: Performance, Difference and Connection in the Global City, Palgrave Macmillan, Hampshire.
Marchart, Oliver. (2021). „Political Reflections on Choreography, Dance and Protest.” Diaphanes, 2–7. Accessed May 2021. https://www.diaphanes.net/titel/dancing-politics-2126.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. (1962). Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. (1964). The Primacy of Perception: And Other Essays on Phenomenology, Psychology, the Philosophy of Art, History and Politics. Edited by James M. Edie. Evanston: Northwestern University Press.
Rupčić Kelam, Darija. (2023). „Dance as a heterotopia against hegemonic discourses of traumatic experiences“, Arhe XX, 40/2023., https://doi.org/10.19090/arhe.2023.40.153-192

Veronika Kuti
Babeş-Bolyai Universtiy, Cluj-Napoca, Faculty of Reformed Theology and Music, Ecumene Doctoral School,

Abstract: Our project explores the transformation of a former monoculture field into a biodiverse habitat. Rooted in the spirit of Laudato si’, it integrates theological, scientific, practical, and spiritual approaches to sustainable living in our common home. To do this, we must learn to contemplate God in creation, who is the real gardener.
Keywords: common home, Laudato si’, garden, ecosystem, ecotheology
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-3

It started with a forester husband, who wanted to live on a farm. But not an ordinary agro-industrial farm to produce crops or food, but a natural habitat to create a living space where not only humans have a home, but all members of the ecosystem. Perhaps it was a nostalgia for his childhood in a village that seemed to him like Eden. It only touched me during the summers spent at my grandfather’s, but I also felt in this vision something of the medieval monasteries, of the Benedictine spirituality: physical work, herb gardens, prayers, studies and spiritual guidance. The peaceful habitation of the human being in God’s creation, where he is given everything he needs without taking too much.

We spent years searching for the Garden, looking for the place where it was prepared for us. In 2015, we found our treasure hidden in the field. We have lived here for 7 years, but progress is slow for three reasons: like the Gospel parable, we spent everything we had to buy it. Secondly, to get our systems good we need accurate planning and a lot of observation, and nature’s systems are slow to build, but we are not in a hurry, it’s a life task, a never-ending project. Thirdly, we need a lot of learning from philosophical-theological foundations to scientific and technological knowledge to practical, craft skills. And apart from some hobby gardening, I knew nothing about living with other creatures or a complex bio-system. So I started learning and researching in my own way to understand what is good, what is the value that we want to put into practice. These are the sketchy approaches I will now briefly share, illustrated by my experience about transforming a barren agricultural field into a biodiverse habitat.

Do we have time for slow execution? The lesson of the Limits to Growth is that our basic systems should have been changed a long time ago (Meadows 1972). On the 50th anniversary, Dennis Meadows said that the question today is no longer whether we will get on the roller coaster, but what do we do as we ride down the wave (Heinberg 2022). The panic and rush seem rightful at first sight, but beyond the human dimension we can see the role of Christianity in this global game: on the one hand, to proclaim the message that without Good Friday (whose pain we ourselves cause) there is no resurrection. On the other hand, to carry the hope of resurrection, to believe that we have a role to play where God has placed us (Pope Francis 2024).

I can accept the responsibility of my ancestors, but there is no reason to stop at blaming. The problem, and when I recognised it, is a fact for me. My task is to recognise my scope and what I can do with my acts and words for the rest of my decades, and then how I can pass the baton.

My personal curiosity thus led me to the topic of my research, which requires the participation of the scientific community to solve at a society level. Even if this is not a complex problem that can be solved once and for all, it is rather a journey that affects our personal and professional responses, sometimes giving better or worse answers.

Today, there are too many promises in the field of environmental protection and a huge lack of

action: we still believe that we can solve the ecological crisis without changing our behaviour. In order to do what needs to be done, we need to act together, regardless of the fact that we start from different foundations and work with different methods. We need the cooperation of disciplines such as secular environmental philosophy, ecotheology, natural sciences and agroforestry. We need to „enter into dialogue with all people about our common home” (LS 3).

As private persons, we need to learn from a wide range of knowledge to find solutions that fit our own ways of life, and as scholars, we need a common language for this dialogue, „that the world cannot be analyzed by isolating only one of its aspects, since the book of nature is one and indivisible” (LS 6). The home is common, and we can’t be satisfied with partial answers to a complex and interconnected problem.

I present shortly two topics that we are currently working on in the GodGarden. Biodiversity loss (LS 32-42) is clearly happening today at such a rapid rate because of human activity, and recovery is much slower than destruction. In our case, we are directly experiencing „lands converted into cultivated land lose the enormous biodiversity which they formerly hosted” (LS 39). Most of our land (about 2 hectares out of 2.5) was crop field, from which we would like to create a mixed orchard and wooded pasture, because the long-term goal is to ensure the family’s self-sufficiency in meat. We also have some orchards, but due to previous chemical spraying and weed control, the original ground covering grass is poor, and the fruit trees are over-selected varieties that can only survive with intensive care. So, our current activity is the phased replacement of existing trees and planting of wild rootstocks, which can later be grafted with resistant fruit types. Also, the conversion of the field into a species-rich meadow pasture, but here we mostly just let natural succession takes its best. Our activities mainly include selective mowing of invasive monoculture species (e.g. Sudan grass, Sorghum Sudanese) before flowering. Sometimes sowing of pollinator-friendly seed mixtures on empty patches. And lots of walking on the sand and praying for rain.

The other issue is the problem of water (LS 27-31), which, unlike in other parts of the world, is not yet a problem of lack of safe drinking water. The weather in Hungary has changed in recent years, so that even if annual rain falls, it is not distributed regularly, but alternates between periods of droughts and intense rains. Water storage has become a key issue at both national and local level, and long-term solutions require a good level of planning. The first of our three current responses is closely linked to biodiversity, as the best storage site for rainwater is the soil itself. So higher humus content, more coverplants and their roots weaving through the soil means more water it can store. Plant life and rich soil life is represented here too. (Manuring pasture animals on site would also contribute, but in our case, this will be a later step in the lack of funds for fencing.) As there is no sewage system in our area, we installed a biological purifier a few years ago, which converts the wastewater from our house into humus and irrigation water^[1] using bacteria. The aim is still to reduce the use of running water, but water which is used once is recycled locally. The pipeline system to pump the water to the end of the orchard behind the house has been completed, and now the distribution trenches are being constructed in the area, where the gentle slope will allow gravity to bring the water to as many trees and bushes as possible. The rainwater that falls on the roof surface is already collected in a smaller container, but much more could be collected, so we have started to build an underground rainwater cistern of 40 cubic metres. This will be used to irrigate the kitchen garden during the dry periods, and above it will be a planter house, whose thermal balance will be controlled by the water mass below.

Beyond the practical and scientific curiosity and enthusiasm, I am also driven by a desire for real wisdom, to find an answer to the question: how should I live in this problem of the times. This is not a purely intellectual or moral question, but literally existential. It is a question of our existence. „Being a philosopher means solving some of life’s problems, not just in theory, but in practice” (Thoreau 2015). This will lead us to the pursuit of a simpler life, where we can learn to distinguish needs from demands. To use creatively what we already have, and to develop a lifestyle that doesn’t require going on holiday from our life to rest.

Then we can welcome less, discovering the joy of simplicity rather than rigorous sacrifice, when we do not become the property of the things we own or the slaves of a seemingly higher status of living.

Kneeling theology also means contemplating and getting to know God in creation. “If you are a theologian, you pray truly; and if you pray truly, you are a theologian” (Evagriosz Pontikosz 1860). Creation protection or ecotheology is not only the active response of the Christian to God’s call (moral theology), but also a specific realisation of the Church’s mission (applied theology). That’s why it is closely related to applied domains such as social theology, pastoral theology and spiritual theology. Moreover, it is especially suited to the theological practice of ecumenism, since it does not affect classical differences and can be a sign of unity.

The time perspective of our task is quite wide. Not only because of the mentioned ecological

slowness and life-long challenge. In human dimensions, we are working for the future: for our children, grandchildren, or our descendants in any sense. The full scope of this is the salvation history, and a story that has been spoiled: „so that God may be all in all.” (1Corinthians 15,28) But to arrive there, we must find our place in the redeemed creation, because „creation itself eagerly awaits the revelation of the children of God. [And] the entire creation has been groaning in labor pains until now” (Romans 8:19,22), so we are not alone in this, we just need to learn to cooperate with the other beings of creation.

And with the Creator. Mary Magdalene did not immediately recognize Jesus on the morning of the resurrection, and thought she was talking to the gardener (John 20:15). But she was not far wrong. The story from creation to redemption goes from garden to garden (and from tree to tree). To find our own place and life in the garden of creation, we have one thing to do: become disciples of the Real Gardener.

Bibliography
Evagrius Ponticus. 1860. On Prayer. In Patrologia Graeca, edited by J.-P. Migne, 79:1165–1200. Paris.
Francis, Pope. 2015. Laudato si’. Encyclical letter. Rome, May 24.
Francis, Pope. 2024. A jó élet. Budapest: Troubadour Books.
Heinberg, Richard. 2022. “Dennis Meadows on the 50th Anniversary of the Publication of The Limits to Growth.” Resilience.org, February 22, 2022. Accessed April 18, 2025. https://www.resilience.org/stories/2022-02-22/dennis-meadows-on-the-50th-anniversary-of-the-publication-of-the-limits-to-growth/.
Meadows, Donella H., Dennis L. Meadows, Jørgen Randers, and William W. Behrens III. 1972. The Limits to Growth. New York: Universe Books.
Thoreau, Henry David. 2015. Walden. Budapest: Fekete Sas.
^[1] This water is suitable for watering trees and indirectly food-producing plants such as berry bushes. It should not be used for watering root vegetables or for watering the soil surface where it could splash on the leaves or crops to be eaten.

Adam Tamas Tuboly
Department of Behavioural Sciences, Medical School, University of Pécs, Pécs

Abstract: This short essay is an attempt to establish the connection between Steven Shapin’s grandiose historical reconstruction of the science of dietetics and the problems of chronic diseases and psychosomatic illnesses.
Keywords: dietetics, psychosomatic illness, Steven Shapin, chronic disease
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-4

The American Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) defines “chronic diseases” as “conditions that last one year or more and require ongoing medical attention or limit activities of daily living or both”. Their typical examples include such diverse issues as heart disease, cancer, and diabetes. Among a host of potential causes or contributing factors we find smoking, poor nutrition and physical inactivity, excessive alcohol use, and a host of further nonmedical, “social determinants”, like age, environment, occupation, mental health.

Notably, the typical examples of chronic disease do not include psychosomatic illnesses, which cover such physical pains that “arise in the mind” (Shorter 1992, 2) instead of having an actual and localized organic origin. Some ill-defined back and stomach pains, special forms of sudden paralysis and fatigue, all could be psychosomatic issues that come with a physiologically normal and healthy back, stomach, and basically undisturbed nervous system (as Shorter has shown, the “symptom pool” could vary with cultural and temporal contexts). Because patients report defined physical symptomatology (mainly various forms of pains with different intensity), such psychosomatic illnesses may often limit one’s daily activities, disturb their emotional life and thus affect one’s routines, and could last for years. As in such conditions there is a certain level of psychological contribution, their treatments are usually beyond the limits of the usual pharmaceutical interventions and require not just good mental hygiene, but occasionally an even broader, holistic approach.

As an example, after several years of various abdominal pains (without finding the actual specific pathology that could cause the pain), I was visiting a physician recently with a right-sided pain. His diagnosis was that due to my lifestyle (sitting, reading, writing), I have a mild form of concave chest, thus my ribs do not provide sufficient space for my internal organs and that is manifesting in my regular and chronic pain, often accompanied by disturbing indigestion (causing further eating and mood problems, causing yet again further psychological discomfort during everyday routines).

After telling this story, some friends were laughing, others gave the typical “there is something in it” nodding, and even though the diagnosis was refuted by a physiotherapist, it led me to the history of dietetics. Recently the American historian and sociologist of science, Steven Shapin has published his latest magnum opus, Eating and Being: A History of Ideas about Our Food and Ourselves (Shapin 2024). The book is a major historical narrative about the scientific and cultural development of dietetics, the leading medical science of food and nutrition from the antiquity till the early 19^th century. In the book, Shapin has recalled the following diagnosis and narrative from the 17^th century:

Students and scholars, as it was persistently said, had weak stomachs. They digested their food poorly, and indigestion in turn produced the dark and cloudy vapors that made for scholarly melancholy. […] One major cause of scholarly disease was fundamental to the sedentary life: scholars and other students just spent too much time sitting. This prolonged posture mechanically compressed the stomach, interfering with proper concoction and initiating the causal chain that proceeded from ‘crudities’ to ‘vapors’ to constipation and on to the protean marks of melancholy. (Shapin 2024, 164, original emphasis).

Dealing with “occupational diseases”, dietetics introduced numerous variables and contextual considerations to explain individual differences and phenomena by connecting digestion, behavior, and mental life.

Dietetics was based on the old humoral theory that ruled everyday medical- and health-life of Western societies almost unchanged for two millennia (dating back to Hippocrates (5^th century BC) and further developed and refined by Galen (2^nd century AD)). According to the theory, human bodies are made of four distinct elements: blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile, and all diseases go back to a loss of balance between them (through either excess or deficiency). Thus, imbalance is a sign of an unhealthy body and mind, and different pathologies could be related to different imbalances.

Humoral theory was a holistic theory as it established further relations of the bodily humors to environmental factors (such as weather, family and work relations), but also to the food ingested by the individual. Dietetics hence was not just about what we eat, but about an ordered, balanced way of life, providing a manner of living to prevent sickness and maintain health, to keep the balance of the humors. It had a relativist or individualist element: what was good for you, could be bad and harmful for someone else. Knowing yourself (which food, in what degree and when agrees with you) was the substance of theory: you were your best doctor, because you “knew yourself better than anyone else possibly could” (Shapin 2024, 171).

Furthermore, dietetics was not just a medical theory, but also a moral science: the idea was that what was medically good for you was also morally good. You had to find the right measure and relation between your everyday practices (like sleeping patterns, ways and modes of eating, drinking, conducting sexual activities, excretion, workload, thinking and mental disturbance, and daily routines) and your humors, and dieticians have told you for centuries that to prevent illness and act right, balance and moderation are the ways. As to act good, you had to act moderately, finding your middle a ’la the Golden Rule, to live healthy, you had to behave moderately, finding your balance with your humors (affected, well, basically by everything).

What is then the current view on the therapy for people suffering for psychosomatic chronic diseases that puts a heavy burden on them and their environment? The biological processes at work are indeed complex, and in not finding clear cut triggers for them might suggest that there is an even more complex story to be told about your life, your practices, your environment, and about your self-knowledge. And an invitation for reflection on how to find the balance, your balance, between all these factors. There is a full, rich life beyond calory-counting and ultrasound examinations.

Bibliography
Shapin, Steven. 2024. Eating and Being: A History of Ideas about Our Food and Ourselves. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Shorter, Edward. 1992. From Paralysis to Fatigue: A History of Psychosomatic Illness in the Modern Era. New York: The Free Press.

Marek Lis
Faculty of Theology, Opole University

Abstract: Ethical issues emerge not only in philosophical treatises, but also within the realm of popular culture, dominated by audiovisual media. For many people, ethical dilemmas in films become a kind of teacher of ethics: for this reason, film as locus ethicus should be of interest in (bio)ethical reflection.
Keywords: Krzysztof Kieślowski, Krzysztof Zanussi, cinema, ethics, theology
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-5

Ethical reflection arises from encounters with reality, from the need to name good and evil, to work out the norms of human conduct. Aristotle stated Nihil est in intellectu quod non sit prius in sensu, but this sentence referred to a communicative situation radically different from ours. In the ancient world, people experienced the world in person, or through a relationship with another person. However, a shift was already occurring at that time: this new world of borrowed experience was first analyzed by Plato in his dialogue Phaedrus. Plato, the first critic of the media, observed that letters – written texts, detached from human beings, were beginning to exist independently (Ong 2002). The development of literature made it possible to share experiences in an unprecedented way, to remember them despite the passing of successive generations. Among these texts were also those that inspired ethical reflection.

The emergence of cinema at the end of the 19th century introduced a new medium. Cinema, the first audiovisual medium, gradually became a new space for reflection addressing ethical issues: responsibility for another human being (e.g. Chaplin’s films – The Kid, 1921) or for social issues (Intolerance, dir. David Wark Griffith, 1916). Currently thousands of films explore a broad spectrum of (bio)ethical issues. While few people formally study ethics, billions reflect on ethical questions presented on the screens. I count myself among them—cinema has been one of my ethics teachers!

I propose a preliminary typology of ethical films:

• film as a portrayal of a subject to ethical evaluation,
• film as an ethical treatise,
• film as an ethical problem.

The first group could include films that express disagreement with what is happening in the world: wars, terrorism, the exploitation of weaker, defenceless people or children, AI or transhumanism. The list of ethically relevant phenomena is far more extensive (Dalla Torre 2010).

The second group comprises films whose creators present personal reflections on man and the world of his values. The Polish filmmakers Krzysztof Zanussi and Krzysztof Kieślowski, the American Paul Schrader or the Iranian Asghar Farhadi have explored such themes.

The third category, film as an ethical problem, represents the intersection of ethical and cinematic issues; these include, for example, films that employ transgression: they function as expressions of ethical or unethical behaviour, often provocatively, and consequently become subjects of ethical evaluation (Vogel 1974).

As a theologian with a background in media studies and film studies, I have paid particular attention to films in the first and second categories, resulting in publications where film has become the starting point for an analysis of ethical attitudes. In several publications I explored, for example, bioethical issues in cinema, such as suicide, violence, and its impact on the viewer (Lis 2013a).

However, I would like to highlight the multidimensionality of film as a mode of narration using the example of two Polish filmmakers whose work is particularly relevant to this discussion. Kieślowski’s widely known Decalogue (1988) series was created with the author’s implicit ethical intention: the observation of characters losing a sense of life and basic values served the director as a basis for recalling the fundamental ethical foundations found in the biblical Decalogue. The film originated from the director’s sense of ethical responsibility (Stok 1993, 143). The issues of marital fidelity, family relations, abortion (the story of the pregnant Dorota unfolds in the 2nd, 5th and 8th films, and is concluded with the statement „the life of the child is the most important thing”), murder or the death penalty, theft and betrayal were presented by Kieślowski from an ethical perspective, yet ethical values were derived from the precepts of the Decalogue and the Gospel (Lis 2013b).

The same is true of Krzysztof Zanussi’s films: his films explore the ethical dilemmas faced by their protagonists. Many connoisseurs regard Zanussi as a cinema ethicist who describes the human attitude towards problems and dilemmas, but a careful analysis reveals deeper motives for the behavior of the film protagonists and their ethical choices: a hidden theological background present in films (The Constant Factor, 1980) that are not overtly religious in nature (Lis 2015).

Theologians as early as in the 16th century began to use the concept of locus theologicus, which opens the way to a theological analysis not only of the Scriptures and explicitly religious texts, but also, for example, of works of art, fiction and now films. Perhaps an analogous term, locus ethicus, could be used to describe films that undertake or inspire ethical reflection? Can film function as a teacher, raising ethical questions for its audience? I argue that it can. Thus cinema could become an educational tool, a source of examples and material to discussion, even when it tries to provoke or deconstruct these values: the Hungarian film A torinói ló (2011, dir. Tarr Béla) reverses the biblical narrative of creation of the world and moves towards silence and darkness.

Bibliography
Dalla Torre, Paola, ed. 2010. Cinema contemporaneo e questioni bioetiche. Roma: Edizioni Studium.
Lis, Marek. 2013a. Figury Chrystusa w Dekalogu Krzysztofa Kieślowskiego. 2nd ed. Opole: RWWT.
Lis, Marek. 2013b. „Öngyilkosság a filmekben.” Studia Theologica Debrecinensis 6 (1): 63–72.
Lis, Marek. 2015. Krzysztof Zanussi: przewodnik teologiczny. Opole: RWWT.
Ong, Walter J. 2002. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Routledge.
Stok, Danusia, ed. 1993. Kieślowski on Kieślowski. London: Faber and Faber.
Vogel, Amos. 1974. Film as Subversive Art. New York: Random House Film.

Tibor Szolcsányi
University of Pécs, Medical School, Department of Behavioural Sciences

Abstract: Advances in artificial intelligence, particularly in deep learning systems, have renewed debates about the possible moral and legal status of intelligent machines. These discussions extend beyond the question of future AI rights and directly engage considerations about the neuroethical foundations of human dignity and human rights. Because contemporary AI architectures are, in certain respects, functionally analogous to aspects of human brain organization, it becomes necessary to clarify which features of neural functioning are ethically relevant for the attribution of moral status.
This essay examines one influential theory used to justify human and animal rights: Tom Regan’s account of inherent moral worth. It analyzes Regan’s notion of being an experiencing subject of a life and offers a phenomenological interpretation that emphasizes the role of phenomenal consciousness in human motivation and preference formation. The paper argues that, although intelligent machines may exhibit complex goal-directed behavior, there is currently insufficient justification for attributing moral rights to them. At the same time, the analysis demonstrates how debates about AI rights deepen our understanding of the neuroethical foundations of human dignity.
Keywords: Keywords: neuroethics, artificial intelligence, Tom Regan, phenomenal consciousness
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-6

Introduction

The functioning of the human brain has ethical significance as evidenced by the widespread medical and legal acceptance of the whole-brain death definition of death (Bernat, 2005). This definition implies that biological personhood is determined—either fully or at least in part—by the brain’s capacity to coordinate bodily functions. This raises a fundamental question: is it possible to identify the specific attributes of the human brain that make each person intrinsically worthy? In other words, can it be rational to ground the concept of human dignity and rights in the functioning of the nervous system?

The complexity of this question necessitates consideration of another related issue, which may offer some preliminary insights. The internal operations of the most advanced AI-based robots exhibit certain similarities to the functioning of natural nervous systems. This raises the critical question: under what conditions should a brain-inspired intelligent machine be considered as an entity deserving rights?

I turn now to this second question.

Critical Anthropomorphism: a conceptual and methodological tool

The question of whether intelligent machines and robots should be considered as entities with rights is a complex ethical and philosophical issue. As artificial intelligence and robotics evolve, the possibility of granting rights to machines must be examined within a structured theoretical framework. To find an appropriate theoretical framework, it can be useful first to introduce the concept of critical anthropomorphism, which refers to the cautious attribution of human-like traits to robots based on their observed behaviors.

Naturally, a certain degree of anthropomorphism is unavoidable when examining the functioning and behavior of AI (for review, see Li & Suh, 2022), as AI is specifically designed to   perform human-like cognitive tasks, such as symbol-processing, memory, perception, among others. Moreover, AI capable of machine learning employs multilevel data-processing mechanisms that, in some relevant respects, resemble natural neural networks.   As Arleen Salles (2020) and her colleagues emphasize, neuroscience has clearly inspired AI-research, but the reverse is also true because AI-research has inspired neuroscientists to better understand how the human brain works. It is therefore unsurprising that not only lay persons tend to use to kind of naive AI-anthropomorphism, but AI experts also tend to use anthropocentric language when analyzing the behavior and functioning of intelligent machines. (Salles, A., Evers, K., & Farisco, M. (2020)). However, unlike naive anthropomorphism, which assumes that any human-like behavior in machines implies consciousness, critical anthropomorphism serves as a methodological tool for analyzing robotic agency and cognition.

The concept of critical anthropomorphism originates in debates on animal welfare issues. In that context, critical anthropomorphism is the view that the compassionate treatment of animals must be grounded in objective knowledge—utilizing scientific methods—regarding the evolution, behavior and internal processes of the animals and species in question (Donnelley & Nolan, 1990; Morton, Burghardt & Smit, 1990). Naturally, debates exist in the literature concerning the role and significance of critical anthropomorphism (see e.g., Karlsson, 2012). However, from a philosophical standpoint it is much clearer that critical anthropomorphism is essential for formulating strong arguments against certain versions of panpsychism, such as a view that suggests all physical objects can experience pain.

If a robot merely simulates human emotions and decision-making through advanced programming but lacks any true internal experience, it remains a sophisticated tool rather than a rights-bearing entity. However, if a brain-inspired robot’s behavior indicates a deeper cognitive structure—one that allows for learning, adaptation, and self-initiated action—then denying its moral status might be unjustified. Ultimately, the answer depends on the theoretical framework adopted.

Human rights and the philosophical basis for moral consideration

To determine whether an intelligent machine or a robot should be granted rights, it is useful to draw upon established theories regarding human and animal rights. Tom Regan’s concept of inherent moral worth is particularly relevant in this context. (Regan, (2004). Regan argues that an entity deserves rights if it is an experiencing subject-of-a-life—an individual capable of experiencing its environment, recognizing the effects of its own behavior, and pursuing personal interests based on future-oriented desires.  In Regan’s view, therefore, we do not have sufficient reason to attribute inherent moral value to an entity merely because it is sentient; other attributes play a decisive role in this determination. Consequently, if a robot can demonstrate characteristics suggesting that the robot is an experiencing subject-of-a-life, such as the ability to form goals, avoid harm, or express preferences, then denying its moral status could be inconsistent with Regan’s theoretical framework.

The key question, however, is whether a robot’s actions are the result of genuine internal preferences or merely predefined responses to stimuli. To examine this question more thoroughly, I will offer an interpretation of Regan’s view on what it means to be an experiencing subject-of-a-life. An analysis of phenomenal consciousness and its role in human experiences and motivations will be central to my interpretation.

The phenomenal aspect of experiences and human preference-formation

Phenomenal consciousness is commonly defined as the aspect of consciousness associated with the concept of qualia. Undoubtedly, human experiences often possess qualitative features that define how sensations, emotions, and moods feel to an individual—or as Thomas Nagel (1974) phrased it, “what it is like” for a person to have conscious experience. Even within the same sensory modality, experiences can differ significantly in their qualitative character—for example, variations in colors, tastes, odors, or musical sounds.

A defining characteristic of phenomenal consciousness is its subjectivity. Only the individual undergoing a particular experience has privileged, first-person access to its qualitative content. In contrast, external observers can only have indirect, inference-based access to the phenomenal properties of another’s experience (Nagel, 1974).This asymmetrical access, and the resulting individual uniqueness of phenomenal states, is perhaps the most important attribute of phenomenal consciousness (Haladjian & Montemayor, 2016)).

David Chalmers (1997) famously introduced the “Hard Problem of Consciousness” to emphasize a fundamental explanatory gap in contemporary neuroscience and philosophy of mind: while science has made substantial progress in mapping the neural correlates of conscious experiences, it remains unclear how and why specific patterns of neural activity give rise to phenomenal states. Nevertheless, human motivations are often directed toward phenomenal states rather than merely toward states of affairs. Consider, for instance, one of the most fundamental human motivations: the desire for safety. While appropriate external conditions are typically necessary for people to experience a sense of safety, these circumstances often serve merely as a means to the subjective experience of what it feels like to be safe— or to ensure the subjective feeling of safety for loved ones. The phenomenal aspect of experiencing safety, therefore, is in many cases an inherent component of the genuine human motivation for safety.

Numerous other examples can illustrate the relevance of phenomenal states in achieving, maintaining, and ensuring preferred individual experiences. According to my best knowledge, the first author who clearly argued for the functional role of phenomenal consciousness in the human cognitive system was Uriah Kriegel (2004). In a recent article, Cleeremans & Tallon-Baudry, (2022) also emphasized the role of phenomenal states in human decision-making and preference formation. By contrast, although intelligent machines can exhibit goal-directed behavior, there is a consensus among AI researchers that, at the current stage of AI development, there are no sufficient practical reasons to assume that the behavior of intelligent machines results from subjective experiences or phenomenal consciousness (see, e.g., Haladjian, H. H., & Montemayor, C. (2016); Ng, G. W., & Leung, W. C. (2020); Woodward, P. (2022).

Concluding remarks

If we accept my phenomenological interpretation of what it means to be an experiencing subject-of-a-life, then there is currently insufficient justification for granting rights to intelligent machines and robots within the framework of Tom Regan’s theory. From a neuroethical perspective, it is also crucial to recognize that the neural processes occurring in the human brain can give rise to—and correlate with—subjective experiences and the phenomenal aspects of human consciousness. It may be possible to develop a conception of human dignity that reflects the fact that, under appropriate neural conditions, human beings are experiencing subjects-of-a-life.

Acknowledgement

This work was funded by the Medical School of the University of Pécs.

Some parts of this essay—specifically, the final paragraph of Section 1 and all paragraphs in Section 2—were written with the assistance of AI, based on my own PowerPoint slides. The prompt used was: “Create a coherent academic text based on the uploaded slides.” In addition, various parts of the essay were refined with AI support to enhance American English grammarand academic style, in part following AI-assisted editorial feedback.

Bibliography
Bernat, J. L. (2005). The concept and practice of brain death. Progress in brain research, 150, 369-379. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0079-6123(05)50026-8
Chalmers, D. J. (1997). The conscious mind: In search of a fundamental theory. Oxford Paperbacks.
Cleeremans, A., & Tallon-Baudry, C. (2022). Consciousness matters: phenomenal experience has functional value. Neuroscience of consciousness, 2022(1), niac007. https://doi.org/10.1093/nc/niac007
Donnelley, S., & Nolan, K. (1990). Special supplement: animals, science, and ethics. The Hastings Center Report, 20(3), 1-32.
Haladjian, H. H., & Montemayor, C. (2016). Artificial consciousness and the consciousness-attention dissociation. Consciousness and Cognition, 45, 210-225.
Hildt, E. (2019). Artificial intelligence: does consciousness matter?. Frontiers in psychology, 10, 1535. | https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2019.01535
Karlsson, F. (2012). Critical anthropomorphism and animal ethics. Journal of Agricultural and Environmental Ethics, 25(5), 707-720. DOI:10.1007/s10806-011-9349-8
Kriegel, U. (2004). The functional role of consciousness: A phenomenological approach. Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences, 3(2), 171-193.
Kriegel, U. (2019). The value of consciousness. Analysis, 79(3), 503-520. https://doi.org/10.1093/analys/anz045
Li, M., & Suh, A. (2022). Anthropomorphism in AI-enabled technology: A literature review. Electronic Markets, 32(4), 2245-2275. https://doi.org/10.1007/s12525-022-00591-7
Morton, D. B., Burghardt, G. M., & Smith, J. A. (1990). Critical anthropomorphism, animal suffering, and the ecological context. The Hastings Center Report, 20(3), S13-S13.
Nagel, T. (1974). The Philosophical Review. What is it Like to Be a Bat, 435-450. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2183914
Ng, G. W., & Leung, W. C. (2020). Strong artificial intelligence and consciousness. Journal of Artificial Intelligence and Consciousness, 7(01), 63-72. https://doi.org/10.1142/S2705078520300042
Regan, T. (2004). The case for animal rights. Univ of California Press.
Salles, A., Evers, K., & Farisco, M. (2020). Anthropomorphism in AI. AJOB neuroscience, 11(2), 88-95. https://doi.org/10.1080/21507740.2020.1740350
Woodward, P. (2022). Consciousness and rationality: The lesson from artificial intelligence. Journal of Consciousness Studies, 29(5-6), 150-175. DOI: https://doi.org/10.53765/20512201.29.5.150

Ivica Kelam
Faculty of Education/Faculty of Dental Medicine and Health, Josip Juraj Strossmayer University of Osijek

Abstract: This paper critically examines the Gates Foundation’s influence on global health and agriculture. While promoting technological solutions, its philanthrocapitalist model raises bioethical concerns regarding power imbalances, lack of democratic accountability, the promotion of GMO-based agricultural reforms, and the privatisation of public health systems. I argue that such practices reshape global health policy and food systems, often marginalising local knowledge and community participation.
Keywords: Philanthrocapitalism, global health policy, Bill Gates, bioethics, GMOS, agriculture
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-7

Introduction

In the 21st century, philanthropy has been replaced by so-called „philanthropic capitalism”, which has significantly changed how global health policies are shaped and international development projects are implemented to improve the health and living conditions of the poorest people on the planet. This new „philanthropic capitalism” model implies that ultra-wealthy individuals, led by Bill Gates, use their wealth, often acquired through neoliberal, ethically questionable market practices, to operate in humanitarian or scientific-medical fields, while applying market logic and success metrics. The most prominent representative and promoter of „philanthropic capitalism” is Bill Gates, whose activities through the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation have become a global actor in shaping global health policies. However, while the Gates Foundation invests billions of dollars in vaccine research, the fight against infectious diseases, and agricultural biotechnology (including GMO crops) in developing countries, there are growing critics (myself included) who question the ethics and long-term consequences of these actions. Although this type of philanthropy appears well-intentioned at first glance, it increasingly resembles neocolonialism disguised as aid when analysed more closely. Below, we will briefly list and explain the main ethical issues associated with the practice of philanthrocapitalism.

Undemocratic power and lack of accountability

The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation is the largest private funder of global health policies and the second-largest funder of the World Health Organisation (WHO), with several billion dollars in annual expenditures. The result of this type of financing is a direct influence on the priorities of the World Health Organisation, GAVI, CEPI and similar bodies. However, unlike national governments that must adhere to democratic procedures, the Gates Foundation operates independently of the political will of citizens; that is, Bill Gates is politically and morally accountable to the public for his actions. Consequently, such an absolute lack of accountability poses a serious bioethical problem because it allows the concentration of power without the possibility of critical scrutiny, audit or sanctions. Citizens of developing countries, scientists, and local health systems often have no meaningful opportunity to influence projects promoted by Gates and his foundation that directly affect their lives.

Technical solutions and conflicts of interest

Bill Gates often favours technological solutions such as vaccines, genetically modified crops, and the digitalisation of healthcare systems. While these tools have value, this reductionist approach ignores the complexity of social and cultural contexts. Health is not merely a matter of technology but also of economic, social, and political conditions. It is important to note that the Gates Foundation invests in shares of pharmaceutical and biotechnology companies whose products it simultaneously promotes, as was evident during the COVID-19 pandemic, with Bill Gates’s firm insistence on protecting the patent rights of large pharmaceutical corporations on coronavirus vaccines having a particularly negative public resonance. Such a conflict of interest undermines the ethical credibility of the foundation and raises the question of benefit: for whom are the projects intended – for patients or corporate shareholders?

Colonial patterns and cultural paternalism

Programs funded by the Gates Foundation often do not align with local priorities or cultural values. In India, Ethiopia, Nigeria, and Pakistan, vaccination programs and food packages were implemented without sufficient participation from local experts and communities. This kind of paternalism is reminiscent of colonial governance models in which „scientific” progress is imposed on local populations without their consent. In the long term, this can lead to refusal of medical interventions, erosion of trust in institutions, and the creation of additional health inequalities.

Conclusion

The philanthropy of Bill Gates is as dangerous as it is powerful. While bioethicists such as Peter Singer may regard his work as historically significant, a deeper analysis reveals a functional failure of the „techno-fix” model. As highlighted in my previous research, 18 years of AGRA (Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa) have not only failed to meet their promises but have coincided with a 30 per cent increase in the level of undernourished people in the target countries (Kelam, 2024). These stark data underscore that Gates’s model is not merely ineffective; it is fundamentally anti-democratic. By prioritising the expertise and local seeds of African farmers over top-down agribusiness, the Gates Foundation effectively undermines local autonomy. As Jan Urhahn poignantly argues, this model has failed to relieve the hunger crisis and instead serves to „undercut Africans’ ability to solve their own problems, free of do-gooder philanthropists” (Urhahn, 2023). This highlights the necessity of bioethics as a science that must problematize the power relationships and non-democratic practices inherent in such global charity. Ultimately, the bioethical concern is the preservation of the status quo. Philanthrocapitalism, by its very nature, avoids addressing the root causes of inequality—namely, the neoliberal capitalist system—to ensure that the benefactors remain at the peak of the global power pyramid. As Tim Schwab (2023) reminds us, a charitable gift should collapse power asymmetries rather than magnify them. In this light, Gates’s disregard for the dignity and rights of low-income people speaks to a colonial lens. We will conclude with a word from Tim Schwab: humanitarianism, which aims at real human progress, equality, justice, and freedom, requires us to „challenge unaccountable power and illegitimate leaders, not worship them” (Schwab, 2023). In this bioethical framework, Bill Gates is clearly identified as the problem rather than the solution.

Bibliography
Beauchamp, T. L., & James F. Childress. (2019). Principles of Biomedical Ethics. 8th ed. New York: Oxford University Press.
Birn, A.-E. (2014). „Philanthrocapitalism, Past and Present: The Rockefeller Foundation, the Gates Foundation, and the Setting(s) of the International/Global Health Agenda.” Hypothesis 12 (1): e8. https://doi.org/10.5770/hypoth.v12i1.229.
Daniels, N. (2008). Just Health: Meeting Health Needs Fairly. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Giridharadas, A. (2018). Winners Take All: The Elite Charade of Changing the World. New York: Knopf.
Kapoor, I. (2012). Celebrity Humanitarianism: The Ideology of Global Charity. London: Routledge.
Kelam, I. (2024). „Bioethical Aspects of Philanthrocapitalism in Agriculture.” Arhe 21 (42): 151–79. https://doi.org/10.19090/arhe.2024.42.151-179
McGoey, L. (2015). No Such Thing as a Free Gift: The Gates Foundation and the Price of Philanthropy. London: Verso.
Pogge, T. (2008). World Poverty and Human Rights. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Polity.
Quigley, M. (2007). „Bioethics, Global Inequality and Social Justice.” Cambridge Quarterly of Healthcare Ethics16 (4): 374–82.
Schwab, T. (2023). The Bill Gates Problem: Reckoning with the Myth of the Good Billionaire. New York: Metropolitan Books.
Schwab, T. (2023, November 22). Why Bill Gates’s philanthropy is a problem. The Nation.https://www.thenation.com/article/society/bill-gates-philanthropy-misanthropy/
Urhahn, J. (2023, September 21). Rich philanthropists do not have the solutions to Africa’s hunger crisis. Jacobin. https://jacobin.com/2023/09/africa-hunger-crisis-bill-gates-philanthropy-green-revolution-agriculture-farmers
WHO (World Health Organisation). 2020. Ethics and COVID-19: Resource Allocation and Priority Setting. Geneva: World Health Organisation.

Gusztáv Kovács
University of Pécs, Medical School, Department of Behavioral Sciences / Episcopal Theological College of Pécs

Abstract: The main assumption behind the current article is that academic inquiry is rooted deeply in personal biography. Using the author’s own transition from theology to the study of ADHD, the text posits that this condition serves as a powerful metaphor for the Lebenswelt of the 21st century. With reference to the work of Gábor Máté and Byung-Chul Han, it concludes that recovering deep attention is a vital theological and philosophical necessity in an age defined by burnout and an “excess of positivity”.
Keywords: ADHD, personal biography, Byung-Chul Han, attention, Gábor Máté
https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2025.1-8

Academic thinking including science are personal. The choice of subject of inquiry itself is telling not just about the preferences of the given society, but also about the person and his interests. What one chooses to put under the microscope magnifies also a part of who he is. This was true at the beginning of academic thought in Greece, when philosophy and science were not differentiated as they are today. The roots of Plato’s interest in the ideal can be found in his family origins, just like Aristotles interest for the functioning of organisms are likely to come from his physicist father. Both contributed strongly not only to philosophy, but also to what we call law, sociology, biology or medicine today, and the reason behind their choice of subject lies deep in their biography.

How valid these statements are is shown by my own personal history in academic thinking. As a trained theologian, professional philosopher and bioethicist I especially leaned towards topics which were connected in many ways to my path through life. Looking at the topics of my publications, one might easily draw the line of important matters in my own life, but by reading the texts the changes in the social context behind my research are also detectable (Kovács 2009; Kovács 2010; Kovács 2014; Kovács 2021).

ADHD and 21st century life

The reason for choosing ADHD as a topic of research also lies in a personal experience. Gábor Máte, the Hungarian born physicist from Canada, uses a wonderful simile to describe the experience of a person with ADHD:

“My life, like that of many an adult with ADD, resembled a juggling act from the old Ed Sullivan show: a man spins plates, each balanced on a stick. He keeps adding more and more sticks and plates, running back and forth frantically between them as each stick, increasingly unsteady, threatens to topple over. He could keep this up only for so long before the sticks tottered and the plates began to shatter, or he himself collapsed. Something has to give, but the ADD personality has trouble letting go of anything. Unlike the juggler, he cannot stop the performance” (Máté 1999, 11-12).

When I read Máté’s lines, it reminded me not only how many roles I have to fill in my public, professional and personal life, being a rector, a researcher, a lecturer, a colleague, but also as a husband and a father. It brought the numerous personal and institutional contacts to my mind which I maintain and foster on a regular basis. Moreover, this description also reminded me of the numerous ways I’m connected with the persons and institutions through my phone, where I not only engage in individual conversations, but also initiate conference calls, pay my bills, search for information and find orientation when I’m lost in space or life. I think I’m not alone with this and Máté’s simile of the spinning plates gives an enlightening and plastic description not only of my life, but of most people living across the globe. Thus, in my opinion, ADHD might not only refer to a set of neurological conditions but might also be used to describe our experience of the world we live in.

Byung-Chul Han: the philosopher who lives life backwards

This idea of using ADHD as a means to describe our fundamental experience of our everyday life captivated me and I was thrilled when I got Byung-Chul Han’s Müdigkeitsgesellschaft (The Burnout Society) into my hands. Similarly to Susan Sontag (Sontag 1978), Han uses illness as a metaphor to describe the basic functioning of contemporary society and also our experience of it. As he claims in The Burnout Society that “Every age has its signature afflictions” (Han 2015, 1). Han sees the afflictions of the early 21st century as neurological disorders and diseases such as ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder), borderline personality disorder, and burnout. He calls the 20th century is the “bacterial age”, which was ended by antibiotics, the diseases of the 21st century are not caused by infections, but by an “excess of positivity” (Han 2015, 1).

Attention and focus, however, are not only a subject of psychology, but also of philosophy and religion. Burnout does not only concern our productivity or mental wellbeing, but also our sense of meaning – be it philosophical or religious. This is another strong insight of Han, as he writes in his latest book Sprechen über Gott: Ein Dialog mit Simone Weil that “Religion presupposes an attention for things that elude availability, consumption, and devouring” (Han 2025, 12). For me, as a theologian, not only ADHD as an allegorical criticism of our lived reality turns out to be highly relevant, but also the focus on the phenomenon of attention in Han’s works. The social and the psychological is thus connected to religion and becomes the subject of theology.

Bibliography
Han, Byung-Chul. 2015. The Burnout Society. Translated by Erik Butler. Stanford, CA: Stanford Briefs.
Han, Byung-Chul. 2025. Sprechen über Gott: Ein Dialog mit Simone Weil. Berlin: Matthes & Seitz.
Kovács, Gusztáv. 2009. Geschlecht, Ehe und Familie: Eine Analyse von Predigten. Saarbrücken: SVH.
Kovács, Gusztáv. 2010. A páciens neve: Doktor House. Pécs: PPHF.
Kovács, Gusztáv. 2014. Új szülők, új gyermekek: Miképpen változtatja meg szülői felelősségünket a reprodukciós medicina. Pécs: PPHF.
Kovács, Gusztáv. 2021. Thought Experiments in Ethics. Pécs: PPHF.
Máté, Gábor. 1999. Scattered Minds: A New Look at the Origins and Healing of Attention Deficit Disorder. Toronto: Vintage.
Sontag, Susan. 1978. Illness as Metaphor. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Levente Balázs Martos
Pázmány Péter Katolikus Egyetem, Budapest

Abstract: Narrative analysis of the New Testament, especially the Gospels, re-evaluates the use of time in the texts. The story told in the Gospels is not simply a chain of events randomly strung together, nor is it sufficient to understand the editor’s intention. Rather it is necessary to regard the narrative as the basis of cooperation between narrator and reader. In this study, I want to explore the perspective of time in the Gospel of Mark. The tools of narrative analysis will be used at the service of theological interpretation. The Gospel of Mark unveils itself as a complex story with a beginning preceding time, and preparing a new, open beginning. While following the description of the deeds and sayings of Jesus, the reader is invited to arrive with him at a final Sabbath and to await resurrection and new life.

Key words: narrative analysis, time structure, fulfilment, new beginning

https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2024.1-1

One of the specific strategies of narrative texts is the way they handle time. It is the narrator who determines how the theoretically endless stream of events is segmented in his special communication. He is the one who highlights certain facts that he wants to tell, and he is the one who arranges these facts in a specific order. The order of facts and events is, of course, fixed, but the way the narrator deals with them is ultimately his decision.

In this regard, the way the Gospels handle time is apparently simple and clear. They are linear, straightforward narratives that rarely feature significant leaps forward or backward in time (prolepsis and analepsis respectively). Their plot mostly follows a single thread, and the protagonist is unmistakably Jesus of Nazareth. Compared to the modern narratives of novels and films, the storyline of the gospels is highly transparent. In a certain sense, their concentration on Jesus unites everything and everyone; the details of the plot gain meaning in him and through him.

This, however, may make us wonder: How does the special quality of time – in which Jesus is the protagonist who, based on the Gospels and New Testament accounts, can be considered the central figure of the whole history of the world – appear on the pages of the Gospels? What do the New Testament writings say about the time that characterises the world into which Jesus entered as the absolute messenger of God?[1]

Despite their essentially common message, each of the four Gospels goes its own way.[2] “World history”, as political history, as the history of human society determined by facts and rulers, was mostly the preoccupation of the Evangelist Luke (cf. Luke 1:5; 2:1; 3:1). With his references to the rulers of the world, including Emperor Augustus, Luke illuminates Jesus’ “alternative” approach to power. At the same time, these references undoubtedly create a specific history that the readers, familiar with the pagan world, can follow in time. The strategy Saint Mark differs from that of Luke, for example in that he mentions some of the worldly authorities, introduced separately in his narrative, only later, as if in passing. Thus Herod is mentioned in chapter 6, Pilate only in chapter 15, and the name of the chief priest in office at the time of Jesus is not mentioned at all.[3]

Time can also be understood in terms of the ritual world: rites and festivities mark special times and make time special. Feasts follow the cycles and rhythm of nature, or, as in the case of the Bible, they recall memorable events from the history of a community. New Testament writings do not only relate themselves to Jewish customs and feasts but also utilise and reinterpret them, facilitating a new understanding of their very history. The writers and narrators of the story of Jesus made use of these institutions, too, according to the needs and preconceptions of their addressees and their own beliefs: when constructing the time of their narrations, they built not only on the relative events of the life of Jesus or on the “absolute” events and persons of history, but also on the feasts of Jewish life, such as Sabbath, Passover, etc.[4]

In this study, I would like to present the Gospel of Mark with a special focus on the use of narrative time and the theology of time.[5] I wish to explore the Gospel as a narrative, and to that end, I will take its text as a basis and interpret it in its entirety as the product of the narrator’s work. This is not to deny the existence of prior sources, but my concept is based on the assumption that the narrator has created an independent work that reflects his own strategy and narrative intention.[6]

The “Beginning”

The inscription, or at least the introductory verse, of the entire Gospel of Mark is Mk 1:1, which starts with the word “beginning” (archē). “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”[7] The word “beginning” recalls the beginning of the book of Genesis, the origin of the world, and the whole Old Testament, though this echo is even stronger in the Gospel of John (Jn 1:1; en archē), since there we find the form “in the beginning”, similarly to the book of Genesis. This beginning is not an act as in the book of Genesis (and, consequently, as in the first few verses of the Gospel of John, which refer to Genesis), but rather an opportunity for a full-fledged Christological confession to introduce the gospel.[8]

The actual role of this sentence, however, is questionable.[9] Is it worth declaring in the first line of a text that it is in fact the first line of the text? Furthermore, if taken as a mere incipit, the word “gospel” (euangelion), in this specific context, should be understood as a reference to the written work, and therefore as a genre, which is a relatively late phase in the development of the concept in relation to the New Testament. In this later use of words and in this sense, the emphasis is not so much on the Gospel being that of Jesus but on the fact that the writing at hand is the Gospel According to Mark.

There is a group of scholars seeking a third interpretation. They suggest that in this case, the word “gospel” should not be understood as meaning the written work, but rather the process that is beginning, being maintained and supported in the book and by the book, i.e. the spread of the Gospel of Jesus. The beginning of the good news is the story itself that the reader holds in his hands. First of all, one might say that it is the good news itself, not merely the text, that should continue. But we may also wonder whether, in this particular case, the word “beginning” has a more specific meaning. Does it not refer to the beginning of Jesus’ story, which is also the origin of his good news? Accordingly, the beginning can also have the sense of “origin”. If this is the case, then we can look to Mk 1:1-13, interpreted as an introduction to the Gospel, for an indication of where the Gospel of Jesus “comes from”, when and where it begins.

The first characteristic of time as it appears in the Gospel is that it stems from God’s time (or, in part, even eternity) as revealed in the Old Testament. A significant number of interpreters believe that the narrator, with the introduction to the Gospel (Mk 1:1-13), and especially with the quotation from the Old Testament (cf. Mk 1:2-3), created a structure in which the story that begin son earth represents, continues, and fulfils the event that has already taken place “in heaven”, and is recalled by the prophetic word.[10] The prophetic word, which the narrator presents as coming from Isaiah (in reality, it is a complex quotation of Mal 3:1; Ex 23:20, and Is 40:3), is actually the word of God. God addresses his messenger in heaven, who then appears on earth in the form of Jesus. In their “heavenly dialogue”, God promises his messenger a forerunner.[11] In the introduction, the evangelist does not present the messenger first, but the forerunner. What the prophetic word described as a prehistoric and superhistorical dialogue is continued by the appearance of John the Baptist and Jesus in the wilderness. At the moment of baptism, then, the dialogue between the Father and the Son is realised on earth, on the banks of the Jordan (Mk 1:11). The beginning of Jesus, the origin of his person and all his actions are therefore to be found in the eternity of God.

One more aspect of the “beginning” should be mentioned. The original context of the quotation from Mal 3:1 refers to the prophet Elijah as the one who will return at the end of time to prepare God’s way. The introduction of the Gospel presents John the Baptist as similar to Elijah. Only John the Baptist and the prophet Elijah are mentioned in the Scriptures as wearing a “leather belt” around their waists (Mk 1:6; cf. 2 Kings 1:8; see also Zechariah 13:4 on the other prophets). Elijah, whom the Lord took up to heaven from the banks of the Jordan (cf. 2 Kings 2:6-11), is to return and prepare the way for the coming of the Lord (Mal 3:1.23; cf. Mk 9:11-13). The beginning in the Gospel of Mark is therefore not only the fulfilment of God’s will already revealed, but also the beginning of the end times and of the absolute future.

Empty and Fulfilled “Time”

The prophetic word revealed the origin of Jesus, which is also a programme to be carried out. Looking back to the eternity of God, one encounters the Eternal, ever-present and calling for a new future. Eternity can only be regarded as something in the past inasmuch as it has already made itself known in the history of salvation. Its revelation—as the heavens “are torn open” according to Mk 1:10, with the verb schizein—opens up time, making earthly, finite time a sign of the eternal.[12] When he talks about the time of Jesus, the evangelist is not creating a document which is about some self-contained period. Rather, through the narration, he is revealing the presence of the eternal God realised and manifested in time.

The wilderness is the first scene of the story of the Gospel, and thus of the manifestation of God. After the prophetic word, the wilderness also refers back to the divine revelation that now has a history in this world. The wilderness is not only a physical place, it has a meaning. This is indicated by the first occasion when time is specified in the Gospel: the forty days during which Jesus fasted in the wilderness. The number forty primarily recalls Israel’s wandering in the desert for forty years, but also Elijah’s journey to Mount Horeb (1 Kings 19), and even the meeting between the Ninevites and Jonah, where the destruction of the city was expected after 40 days (Jonah 3:4).

Jesus’ withdrawal into the wilderness, then, continues the tradition of experiences of the divine, already realised in the history of Israel. In the wilderness, Israel experienced that it was indeed God who cared for them, and it was in this situation that they waited and prepared to enter the Promised Land. Elijah and the people of Nineveh also prepared to meet God and receive His mercy through one or another experience of the forty days. The wilderness thus symbolises the paradox of emptiness and fullness: the richness of the created world pointing to God seems to be destroyed or to disappear, but at precisely this moment, God himself steps closer to man. In a way, the wilderness represents the chaos before creation, as if to encourage man to face his own chaos and ask God to establish order. This is what happens as soon as the Lord overcomes temptation: the spiritual and also the physical beings of the created world worship Jesus (cf. Mk 1:13).

The withdrawal of Jesus into the wilderness takes place between the two “times” of fulfilment, corresponding to them and forming a pair with them.[13] The voice from heaven at the moment of baptism indicates a divine experience, a theophany similar to the one awaiting Jesus and the disciples at the moment of Transfiguration (9:2-9). The wilderness and temptation are soon replaced by the preaching of Jesus, however, and the Lord himself speaks of fulfilled time and the nearness of the kingdom of God (1:15).

With this programmatic exclamation on the part of Jesus, the narrator leads the readers from the wilderness that marks the beginning to the description of Jesus’ public ministry. Through the work of Jesus, the kingdom of God is realised on earth, and the power of God, ultimately God himself, becomes present.[14] But how shall we interpret the concept of fulfilled time? Should we relate it primarily to the promise of the past, or should we rather speak of the manifestation of the fullness of God?

The expression “fullness of time” or “times” is found in other texts of the New Testament as well. According to Simon Légasse,[15] the phrase pleroma tou kronou in Gal 4:4 means that the purely worldly interpretation of history has come to an end with Jesus’ birth. Eph 1:10 uses the plural pleroma ton kairon, borrowed from the Pauline tradition, which probably corresponds to the vision of the time of the apocalypse, divided into periods. The word kairos occurs twice more in the Gospel of Mark. In Mk 12:2, at most an indirect allegorical meaning can be ascribed to the “time” of the harvest, but the focus of the parable is something altogether different. Mk 13:33, by contrast, once again promises a time of salvation: the time of the second coming of Christ the Redeemer.

After comparing these texts with the statement in Mk 1:15, we may rightfully ascribe theological meaning to fulfilled time in the full and literal sense of the word. This is related to what the whole gospel shows: in Jesus, God’s present time enters the world, God’s kingdom, that is, his reign, becomes available. Jesus is described as someone who expressly acts according to God’s plan and will, and he does so throughout the narrative. He also defends the fact that he is truly the messenger of God who casts out demons by the Holy Spirit (Mk 3:22-29). He is the one who takes upon himself the fulfilment of all that “must” happen to him and in the lives of his disciples (cf. Mk 8:31; 13:7). He repeatedly refers to God’s will as revealed in the Scriptures (Mk 14:21.27.49). The ministry of Jesus thus continues and fulfils God’s eternal plan, unfolding in time what the living eternity of God means.

It is beyond the scope of this paper to consider in detail the question of what exactly the “nearness” of the kingdom of God entails. Some of the interpreters emphasise the—in a certain sense, dogmatic—fact that the eternal God “cannot give himself” partially. The great fulfilment in question is nothing other than God’s final and complete commitment. This “dogmatic” approach thus takes on a moral dimension: now it is entirely the choice of the individual and of all humankind whether they accept God’s rule into their lives and thereby allow it to be fully realised.[16]

It must be noted that the very fact that Jesus became a man, that he took upon himself the slow growth and development of human life, and that he also embraced some parts of the apocalyptic view that divides history into eras (e.g. in Mk 13), indicates that God’s plan includes the history of time yet to happen and the further unfolding of salvation. Other interpreters stress the fact that although the eschaton has already begun, it has not yet been fulfilled. Some events must necessarily happen before the time of fulfilment (cf. Mk 9:1; 13:30; 14:25).[17] So long as God does not suspend time, the kingdom of God is in a state of continuous growth and development.

Time Opened

The eternal God showed His will in the past through the prophets, and Jesus is the one to carry it out. But eternity, once revealed, is present in the world as a living beginning and freedom. In the narrative, Jesus not only does God’s “everlasting” will, that is, he not only interprets the present in relation to a kind of eternally determined plan, but he is also the one who opens up an actual future for man, for those who believe in him.[18] Jesus calls mankind to faith—faith in God, by which man can experience the omnipotence of God, enabling him to break free from the bondage of earthly life and of the threatening reality of the present (cf. Mk 5:36; 10:46-52; 11:22-24).

Having experienced the power of God, we come to believe that the ultimate goal of all people living in time is to reach the eternal God. History has yet to catch up with God who is, as it were, waiting to fulfil it so that He may be all in all (cf. 1 Cor 15:28). According to Jesus’ words, on the one hand, there will be a future for the brave and generous act of the woman of Bethany who used her precious oil to anoint Jesus (14:3-9). The gospel that began on the banks of the Jordan will spread around the world. The perspective will expand considerably to include the entire world not only in space, but also in time. The same perspective appears among the inevitable events of the end times (13:10). On the other hand, time will also come to an absolute end when the “Son of Man” returns “with the holy angels” (Mk 8:38). This is the moment of judgment that also awaits those who condemned Jesus (Mk 14:62).

Some kind of picture of the future and judgment also unfolds in the eschatological discourse of chapter 13. Although the chapter lists many events and arranges them in a kind of sequence (especially in verses 13:5-23), it is not intended to announce the events of the future, but rather to outline the expected and hoped-for fulfilment of history, including the fate of the disciples. Indeed, according to the climax of the chapter, i.e. 13:24-27, the coming of the Son of Man promises the gathering of the elect. History, then, has a positive final goal which is worth waiting and preparing for, even amid trials and tribulations. My observation that the narrator designates, and even opens up, a somewhat separate dimension of time for the reader, is even more apparent in this chapter. The suffering of believers, as described in chapter 13 (esp. in verses 9-13), threatens to discredit their hope for a positive outcome in history. By revealing the sayings and worldview of Jesus, the narrator preserves the image of an open, yet positive, and therefore hopeful future for his reader. He opens up the future, or rather, he speaks of Jesus in whom a new future is opened for man, in accordance with God’s will and plan.

Jesus and Time

People of faith are open to their future and expect the time to come in a spirit of trust. The opposite of faith is fear, doubt, and unbelief, which Jesus repeatedly condemns in the Gospel of Mark (Mk 4:40; 5:36; 11:22ff.; 8:14-21). By acting as the fulfiller of God’s plan revealed in the past, and as the implementer of God’s will, Jesus acquires the authority to teach about the future. His actions and words make it clear to those around him and to the reader that he has a real relationship with the eternal, and therefore his words about the future are also trustworthy.

The narrator portrays Jesus as painting an increasingly clear picture of the near future in the second half of the Gospel, the unit beginning with 8:27. The middle part of the narrative (8:27–10:52) is characterised by the three predictions of Jesus’ Passion (8:31; 9:31; 10:33–34). The detailed instructions on how to prepare for the entry into Jerusalem and the Last Supper (11:1-3,4-7 and 14:12-16) echo one another, conveying to the disciples and the readers Jesus’ sovereignty, his full awareness, and insightful understanding of the situation. Later, the prediction of the disciples’ betrayal is also quite specific, especially the words concerning Peter’s denial (cf. 14:30).

At the same time, Jesus does not know everything in advance precisely and in detail, or at least he gives no indication of such knowledge. One almost gets the impression that the passages just mentioned, where he presents the disciples with an accurate picture of the future, including the dialogue in 13:1-2, which predicts the destruction of the Temple, are not meant for the disciples to acquire certain knowledge of the future, but rather to create a kind of uncertainty about the time ahead. It is as if all these predictions mainly served the purpose of making the disciples leave behind their familiar vision of their own future and of the future of the world, characterised by the inviolability of their “Lord and Master”, as well as by the imagined glory, or at least moral high ground, of their heroic loyalty to him (cf. Mk 10:38-39).

Jesus’ “non-knowledge” is the most striking in relation to the end of time, the time of the return of the Son of Man, and, with it, the time of the final judgment. “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven nor the Son, but only the Father” (Mk 13:32). The Son’s non-knowledge can only be understood in light of his trust in the Father. Just as all of his actions and his power are born out of his unconditional surrender to the Father’s will, so every instance of his non-knowledge can be interpreted as momentary conformity to the Father’s will. The revelation of specific future events seems to serve the purpose of making the disciples, together with Jesus, trust not in their own strength, but in the Father. Outlining the way of earthly suffering undoubtedly has ethical significance as well, since it renders the striving for higher status in earthly life – a life which is otherwise inevitability grim – pointless. Jesus confronts the disciples in advance not only with his own expected failure, but also with theirs, opening up to them a future in which, despite all earthly expectations, they must trust in God’s will.

Paradoxically, this is what the word spoken over the cup also says (Mk 14:25): “Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.” It is characterised by the certainty of Jesus (cf. Mk 14:18), the solemn knowledge that the Kingdom is about to be fulfilled, and at the same time the tormenting suspicion that the cup that Jesus must drink is also the cup of suffering (Mk 10:38-39; 14:36). Jesus’ gesture is also a reminder of the final fast that he spoke of earlier in the Gospel: the time for fasting is when “the bridegroom is taken away” (cf. Mk 2:19-22). Jesus is prophetically foretelling his imminent death, but also the hope of the fulfilment of the Kingdom.[19]

There is a self-evident constancy with which Jesus goes from village to village, town to town, person to person, healing and teaching in the first part of the Gospel. He does not plan or reflect, but – perhaps with the exception of night prayers (Mk 1:35; 6:46) – he acts continuously, that is, he responds to the call of the moment and the Eternal in it. This constancy is only interrupted, or rather torn, in the agony of the Garden of Gethsemane (Mk 14:32-42), when it becomes transparent in its essence. Jesus’ three prayers are prayers for the Father’s will to be done.[20] Jesus’ death throes begin here. Death, which takes place on the cross in a physical sense, happens in the garden in the will of Jesus. What in Jesus’ public life was manifested in trust and self-forgetful wholeheartedness towards the moment, now becomes a prolonged act, a frozen moment of crucifixion. What he overcomes is not doubt or unbelief, but the aversion of human nature to death. And all the while he believes in the fullness of time—in God’s power to preserve his life, to give him new life.

Human Time

This possibility was revealed to the disciples in Jesus. They were called to follow him not only physically, but to enter the time in which one dies to himself but lives for God. The time they are given serves this purpose, as well as the purpose of inviting others to this view of time and of life. When Mark wrote his Gospel, he was responding to this invitation. He wanted to reveal the messenger of the eternal God who entered time, Jesus, and to convey his commitment to God and man.

Interpreters have long been of the opinion that the Gospel of Mark, almost imperceptibly, yet from the very beginning, consciously prepares its readers to contemplate the cross of Jesus. The reference to the arrest of the Baptist (1:14), the mention of those conspiring to kill Jesus (3:6), and the belated account of the Baptist’s fate (6:14-29) are all indirect indications that the reader—like the disciples—will probably understand only retrospectively.

The aforementioned three predictions, the conversation after the scene of Transfiguration (9:10-13), and the language of the cup (10:38-39) are more direct indications than the previous ones. As Jesus’ actual suffering draws nearer, it is as if the narrator deliberately recalled past events with increasing frequency. He slows down his narration, metaphorically taking hold of the reader’s hand to convey his important message to him slowly and clearly. The days of Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem are relatively easy to reconstruct.[21] According to 16:1, the women found the empty tomb of Jesus on the first day of the week, that is, on Sunday. According to 15:42, Saturday was the day of rest in the tomb, and the Friday before that was the day of execution. Thursday afternoon and evening saw the preparation and eating of the Last Supper, as well as the arrest and first trial of Jesus (14:12-72). Wednesday was probably the time of the supper at Bethany and the betrayal of Judas (14:1-11). The events of Tuesday and Monday can also be clearly identified (11:12-19; 11:20–13:37). Hence, Jesus probably arrived in Jerusalem on the first day of the week, Sunday (11:1-11).

The evangelist divides the last day of Holy Week into four three-hour time segments (early morning, morning, early afternoon, late afternoon). Jesus is crucified at 9 a.m., but before that – “in the morning” (15:1) – Pilate, the chief priests and the people have already convened. Between noon and 3 p.m., there is great darkness, and that is when Jesus dies. In chapter 15, Jesus speaks only once, before his death, with a painful cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Then he issues a loud cry and dies.

The metronome is beating with increasing speed, time is indicated with increasing frequency, and violent acts are described in detail. These all are signs of the time of humans, the intensification of man’s violent temper. It is similar to the experience of a train rushing towards us, rumbling ever louder and in a more menacing manner. Such an experience lingers on, taking time to fade into memory. Let us take note, it is the narrator who shares all this with his readers. He is the one who recognised in all this the sign of Jesus’ faithfulness, that this is also a fulfilment of God’s plan and of Jesus’ predictions. The Evangelist, by repeatedly foreshadowing and accurately recording the hours of suffering, continues to remind his readers of the future both lying ahead of and opening up to them.

Beginning, Again

According to Martin Ebner, the scene of the women going to the tomb of Jesus and then entering the empty tomb (16:1-8) recalls the introduction to the Gospel.[22] The location in the introduction, the wilderness, the place of emptiness and temptation, is aptly replaced by the tomb, which is obviously located outside the city and could be read as a symbol of the forces that have conspired against God. The messenger of God is John the Baptist in the introduction, and a young man in white in the conclusion, whom the other evangelists identify as an angel.

At the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus elicits a joyful response from the people. Faced with the empty tomb, however, the women are frightened and run away, saying “nothing to anyone” (16:8). The narrator falls silent[23] at the women’s fear and silence, leaving open the question of the future of the gospel. Nevertheless, the reader knows that Jesus has already prophesied that the gospel will be preached until the end of the world (cf. Mk 14:9). Yet, due to the inaction of the characters in the narrative, the reader alone has the opportunity to bear witness to the gospel that he or she has just come to know. In this way, the reader himself or herself is to fulfil Jesus’ prediction that there will be a “future” for his teaching.

The fact of the new beginning of time and the new time of humanity is more acceptable in the light of certain symbolic interpretations of the time structure of the Gospel. Benoît Standaert argues[24] that time specifications are usually more frequent at the beginning and the end of narratives, and this is also the case in the Gospel of Mark. According to Standaert, the continuity of the events of Jesus’ last day corresponds to the description of Jesus’ one day in chapter 1 (1:21-39), while the narration of the last week in Jerusalem exhibits strong ties to that of the week in Galilee (1:21-3:6). If the Gospel of Mark is viewed through this lens, then the temptation in the wilderness seems to foreshadow Jesus’ final temptation, suffering and the darkness of the cross at the very beginning of the Gospel. But the heavenly words received at baptism, which are the declaration of the Father’s love, make it clear that the God of the living (12:27) will not leave his beloved Son in death.

Ludger Schenke goes even further in his interpretation of the time specifications scattered throughout the Gospel.[25] In his opinion, it is easier to grasp the time structure of the Gospel if one follows the mentions of the Sabbaths (1:21; 2:23-28; 6:1-6; 15:42). Schenke believes that the reference to the Transfiguration “six days later” in 9:2 is a reference to another Sabbath, just as he sees the Sabbath before the Sunday of 11:1 in the narrative of 10:46-52. It is most difficult for him to ascertain the timeframe of 6:30–8:26, but the night of 6:48, the remark of “for three days” in 8:2, and the three trips to Gennesaret, Tyre and Sidon, and Decapolis all add up to a week again. Schenke thus counts a total of seven weeks in the Gospel, which, he believes, the evangelist has recounted for the sake of the eighth and last week, of which only the beginning is narrated: this is the time of the women running away from the tomb, and the time of the disciples and readers who convert afterwards.

In what follows, I would like to use some of the ideas discussed above to complement Schenke’s idea and to determine its theological significance. The gospel events that have taken place “from the beginning” and are now being fulfilled seem to reflect the events of the seventh day that marked the end of creation and made it perfect (Genesis 2:1-4). The Gospel of Mark thereby has a “sabbatical” dimension. I would like to clarify this complex statement from two aspects. First, the Gospel of Mark repeatedly considers Jesus to be the one who completes the work of creation. The closing image of the short narrative of the temptation (1:13: “he was with the wild beasts”), the statement that “the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath” (2:28), and later the statement in 7:37 that Jesus “has done everything well”, which can also be understood as meaning that he restored the order, peace, and completeness of creation with his miracles of healing—all of these events and episodes from Jesus’ life support the thesis that the narrator is aware of how the ministry of Jesus renews and completes creation.

It is hardly surprising that Mark’s narration aligns the time of the disciples and of the Lord with the order of creation.[26] It can be observed in the parable of the growing seed (4:26-29), which, with the alternation of night and day, and the mention of seeds,[27] seems to recall the act and time of creation.

The Lord of the Sabbath has the right to reinterpret the Sabbath. But how does he give new meaning to the Sabbath and to time in general? To answer this question, we must reconsider the passion of Jesus, and, more specifically, the sabbath day of his resting in the tomb. Is that Sabbath not the day on which God recreates the life of Jesus? Is it not the day of mysterious silence covering the face of the deep, the silence into which the Word of God will begin to speak again? Is it not precisely this waiting and silence that the community of the faithful has to go through in order to be able to believe again, this time, in the Lord who lives? If the Gospel of Mark indeed covers seven weeks of Jesus’ public ministry, then it is the last, seventh week that culminates in Jesus’ gradual, eventually complete isolation, the final loneliness experienced on the cross. The fate of Jesus is a prophecy for his disciples and future believers. Those who had worked and been active in the world up until then had to suffer the absence of God in the seventh week, but only in this way could they come back to life.

These two aspects of the seven weeks and seven Sabbaths in the Gospel of Mark complement each other. The parallels with the story of creation evoke the beginning of the world and make ritual remembrance, that is, the shaping of the present by recalling God’s past deeds, possible. Renewal through death, communication through a deathly silence, the new word, and new life given to someone who slept on the cross, as well as the silence and darkness of the seventh Sabbath are the beginning of new life, first given to Israel in the Exodus, and now, and forever, to those who believe in Christ’s redemptive death and resurrection.[28]

Conclusion

The ideas we have explored concerning the handling of time in the Gospel of Mark and its possible theological meaning presuppose a high level of combinative ability on the part of both the narrator and the reader. Ultimately, however, they are born of the loving concern with which today’s readers, the evangelists, the disciples, countless generations of Christian men and women regard the gospel. They look at it with reverence, as the beginning of their lives, and as a written record born of a real encounter with Jesus. We look for meaning in each element of the narrative. The Gospel of Mark, too, serves as tangible proof that the eternal God does not shut himself away from our momentary existence, from the hours that sometimes drag on and sometimes fly by, and from the worries we experience day after day. In Jesus, after all, we see someone who got up at dawn to fulfil his mission (1:35.38), and who retired in the evening to pray (6:46). We mourn him on whom the darkness of the night fell on the day of his death (15:33), and we rejoice, for “the pride of the ancient foe is vanquished” by him (cf. the Roman Missal, Preface II. of the Passion of the Lord), and because he was raised to new life on the first day of the week.

Ma’afu Palu has recently analysed the conception of time in the Gospel of Mark.[29] Jesus, he says, renews and fulfils the covenant that God once made with time. “As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night shall not cease” (Genesis 8:22). God sanctified the time of the world and of man, and he promised through the prophets that there would be fulfilment. God brought about this fulfilment in Jesus and in the realisation of the kingdom of God as proclaimed by him. In earthly time, the name of the Eternal can only be a beginning, as it embraces and also transcends every moment of time.

[1] For a theology of time see O. Cullmann, Christ and Time. The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History (original German Zürich 1948; revised 2nd edition with a new introduction London 1962). https://doi.org/10.2307/2216490 W. Beinert, “Theologie zur Zeit”, Stimmen der Zeit 12/2012, 837-847.

[2] On the one hand, this also means that the narrator cannot tell everything he knows about Jesus and consequently the “historical Jesus” is always necessarily less than the “real Jesus.” On the other hand, the peculiarity of storytelling can also be traced back to the fact that the evangelist did not always know the exact chronological order of events and their actual historical context, so he was forced to reproduce them in the order he created himself. The order of this editing must, of course, be determined on a case-by-case basis, as far as possible.

[3] Cf. L. Schenke, Das Markusevangelium. Literarische Eigenart – Text und Kommentierung (Stuttgart 2005) 12. By this I do not want to deny the meaningful, but rather implicit and paradoxical parallels of the via crucis of Jesus on the one hand, and the via triumphalis on the other. Cf. A. T. Georgia, “Translating the Triumph: Reading Mark’s Crucifiction Narrative against a Roman Ritual of Power”, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 36 (2013) 17-38. https://doi.org/10.1177/0142064X13495132

[4] It seems that the Gospel of John placed great emphasis on Jewish feasts in following the story of Jesus. This is the writing in which we can find three mentions of Pesach (John 2:13; 6:4; 11:55) and other Jewish feasts (5:1; 7:2; 10:22). Cf. M. Marcheselli, “Percezione e raffigurazione del tempo nel Vangelo secondo Giovanni”, In: D. Garribba (ed.), Costruzioni del tempo nelle prime communitá cristiane. Atti del XVII Convegno di Studi Neotestamentari (Venezia, 14-16 settembre 2017). Ricerche Storico Bibliche 31 (2019) 147-184. Here 164-182. Further see I. Müllner, P. Dschullnigg, Jüdische und christliche Feste. Perspektiven des Alten und Neuen testaments (Die Neue Echter Bibel Themen 9; Würzburg 2002). https://doi.org/10.15581/006.37.13555

[5] For further studies see R. A. Monastero, “Jesús y el tiempo”, In: D. Garribba (ed.), Costruzioni del tempo, 93-112.

[6] On narrative analysis, see J.-L. Ska, “Our Fathers Have Told Us”. Introduction to the Analysis of Hebrew Narratives (Subsidia Biblica 13; Roma 1990); https://doi.org/10.1163/1568533972651630 D. Marguerat, Y. Bourquin, Pour lire les récits bibliques. Initiation á l’analyse narrative (CERF 1998); https://doi.org/10.4000/rsr.1893 J.-L. Ska, J.-P. Sonnet, A. Wénin, Analyse narrative des récits de l’Ancien Testament (Cahiers évangile 107; Paris 1999); J. P. Fokkelman, Reading Biblical Narrative. An Introductory Guide (Westminster John Knox Press 1999); https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004397484 Martos L. B., “Narratív kritika és igehirdetés. Közelítések az exegézis és a homiletika között”, In: Tarjányi B. (ed.), Út, igazság, élet. Biblikus tanulmányok (Budapest 2009) 115-138.

[7] All biblical references are from the New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition, available online at www.biblegateway.com.

[8] Cf. S. Grasso, Vangelo di Marco. Nuova versione, introduzione e commento (Milano 2003) 34-37.

[9] For a detailed analysis of the prologue to the Gospel of Mark see Simon T. L., Az üdvösség mint esély és talány. Közelítések a Márk-evangéliumhoz (Lectio divina 12; Bakonybél & Budapest 2009) 113-157.

[10] Cf. M. Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium”, In: M. Ebner, S. Schreiber (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Studienbücher Theologie 6; Stuttgart 2008) 154-183, here 162; H.J. Klauck, Vorspiel im Himmel? Erzähltechnik und Theologie im Markusprolog (BThSt 32; Neukirchen-Vluyn 1997).

[11] Compared to the text of the LXX, the narrator altered the quotation, adding a second-person singular address, thereby creating this “dialogue.”

[12] As Hans Urs von Balthasar puts it in the title of one of his books: Das Ganze im Fragment – ‘the whole in the fragment.’

[13] Cf. B. Standaert, Marco. Vangelo di una notte vangelo per la vita. Commentario 1. Mc 1,1–6,13 (Bologna 2011) 87.

[14] Cf. B. Standaert, Marco 1., 106, which reads as follows: “In the tradition that goes back to Jesus, the talk about the Kingdom is implicitly about God himself.”

[15] S. Légasse, Marco (original French 1997; commenti biblici; Roma 2000) 88.

[16] See e.g. G. Lohfink, Jesus von Nazaret. Was er wollte, wie er war (Freiburg Basel Wien 2011) 52-65. Gerhard Lohfink is certainly right to highlight the urgency with which Jesus calls on his listeners not to miss the one-of-a-kind opportunity of salvation (e.g. Lk 14:15-24).

[17] Cf. S. Légasse, Marco, 88-89; L. Schenke, Das Markusevangelium. 12-13.

[18] Cf. O. Cullmann, Christ and Time, 93: “It is not correct to say that in Christ ’[timeless] eternity invades time,’ ‘conquers time.’ We must rather say that in Christ time has reached its mid-point, and that at the same time the moment has thereby come in which this is preached to men, so that with the establishment of the new division of time they are able to believe in it and in this faith to understand time ‘in a Christian way,’ that is, by taking Christ as the center.”

[19] Cf. J. R. Donahue, D. J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark (Sacra Pagina Series 2; Collegeville, Minnesota 2002) 397.

[20] This extraordinary scene seems to turn the three narratives of crossing the sea upside down: in the latter, Jesus sleeps whereas in the former, the disciples sleep; in the latter the disciples fear for their lives, whereas in the former Jesus does. However, while the disciples proved to be of little faith, Jesus shows his unwavering faith and full trust.

[21] For the following see L. Schenke, Das Markusevangelium, 13-14.

[22] Cf. M. Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium”, 157. For a similar and hermeneutically interpreted structure of the gospel of Mark see E. S. Malbon, Mark’s Jesus. Characterization as Narrative Christology (Baylor University Press, Waco 2009) 27-43.

[23] Mk 16:9-20 cannot be the original ending of the Gospel of Mark for reasons of textual criticism, content and stylistic considerations. Rather it seems to be an addition to the narrative based on the stories of the other three Gospels. It is possible that it originally had a different ending, but there is no direct evidence of this. The present text of the Gospel is therefore attempted to be interpreted in the manner described here, as an invitation to the reader. Cf. H. Timm, “Sub contrario. Márk evangéliumának krisztopoétikája”, In: Thomka B., Horváth I. (eds.): Narratívák. Narratív teológia (Pécs 2010) 240-250; M. Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium”, 179-180.

[24] B. Standaert, Marco 1, 88.

[25] L. Schenke, Das Markusevangelium. 14-15.

[26] Cf. F. de Carlo, “Dal principio della creazione (Mc 10,6; 13,19). La riscrittura marciana della Genesi”, In: E. Manicardi, L. Mazzinghi (eds.), Genesi 1-11 e le sue interpretazioni canoniche: un caso di teologia biblica. XLI Settimana Biblica Nazionale (Roma, 6-10 Settembre 2010); Ricerche Storicho Bibliche 24 (2012) 227-254. De Carlo speaks of the relecture of Genesis with the Apocalypse in mind, that is, in the light of the final and definitive changes in Jesus Christ. The prophesised difficulties in chapter 13 depict a cosmic vision of what is going to happen to Jesus in a personal way on the cross in chapter 15. Darkness and loneliness in the hour of the crucifixion fulfil and reinterpret the beginning of the world in chaos and darkness. De Carlo comes to this “relecture” by observing the parallels between Mk 1:1 and Gen 1:1, Mk 6 and Gen 1 (bread/nutriment for the living); Mk 10 and Gen 1-2 (question of divorce, creation of man and woman), Mk 13 and Gen 6-9 (eschatological and primordial chaos). These parallels seem less convincing than the concept of fulfilment, spoken of at the beginning of the Gospel, paired with the seven weeks of the story represented by the references to the Sabbaths.

[27] The first account of creation in Genesis 1 is of special importance with regard to the time and days of creation. The order of the seven days reflects, first, the order recognisable in the created world, and, secondly, the feast of Sabbath, which binds creation to God as an everlasting, imperishable sign.

[28] I must touch on the best-known difference between the two forms of the Sabbath commandment in the two versions of the Ten Commandments here. Whereas Exodus 20:8 tells us to “remember” the Sabbath, adding a reference to the divine act of resting after creation, Deuteronomy 5:12 calls on us to “observe it and keep it holy” and refers to the Exodus, God’s saving and liberating act. O. Lukács, Sabbath in the Making. A Study of the Inner-Biblical Interpretation of the Sabbath Commandment (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 97; Leuven Paris Bristol 2020) 45-52 argues that both “remembering” and “keeping/observing” belong to the specific vocabulary of Deuteronomy, but it is hardly possible to decide which is the original expression. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1q26m4t.4

[29] M. Palu, Jesus and Time: An Interpretation of Mk 1,15 (LNTS 468; Bloomsbury 2012).

Margit Eckholt
University of Osnabrück, Institute of Catholic Theology

Abstract: The article builds an approach to the Sabbath from a systematic-theological perspective. In doing so, it builds on the study by Ottilia Lukács in the sense that historical- or liberation-theological perspectives on the Sabbath are linked to the more recent creation-theological approaches; moreover, there is a strong connection between social-ethical and cultic dimensions. The term Sabbath is presented within the context of Old Testament traditions, but the New Testament perspective of Jesus of Nazareth on the preservation and fulfilment of the Sabbath is also considered, with special emphasis on the Christian Sunday. The systematic-theological interpretation is embedded a panorama of the challenges that the environmental crisis and climate change pose for society, politics and the Christian community. In this sense, the Sabbath is understood as a day of “transformation,” the observance of which in current practice can contribute to the necessary “paradigm shift,” the “cultural revolution” and “ecological conversion” promulgated by Pope Francis names it in his encyclicals Laudato si’ (2015), Veritatis gaudium (2017) and Querida Amazonia (2020).
Key words: Sabbath, Sunday, Creation Day, Great Transformation, environmental crisis, creation spirituality

https://doi.org/10.63154/CETR2024.1-2

1. Introduction: The Sabbath and the Sunday Commandment in the Service of Creation and the “Good Life”

In the Old and New Testaments, the “Sabbath” is mentioned about 180 times. The command to honour the Sabbath, which follows the commandment not to “take the name of the Lord your God in vain” (Ex 20:7), is a central tenet of the Ten Commandments given to Moses at Mount Sinai, central to the self-identification of the people of Israel:

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy (Ex 20:8-11).

The Sabbath commandment as it figures in the Old Testament or the Hebrew Bible, which originated in post-exilic times, is the focus of the exegetical work of the Hungarian theologian and biblical scholar Ottilia Lukács, who has presented a study on the “Inner-Biblical Interpretation of the Sabbath Commandment” in her volume Sabbath in the Making[1]:

Within the present context, we assume that the notion of Sabbath might have contributed to the identity building and shaping of the community in which it emerged, and it might have been part of the cultural memory. Consequently, it is my suggestion that the examination of the Sabbath as an identity marker contributes to the understanding of the literary and redactional development of the Sabbath commandment and vice versa.[2]

In exegetical works and biblical-theological studies of the last decades, the “liberation theological” perspective of the Sabbath commandment has been brought into focus; special emphasis has been placed on the connection of the Sabbath commandment with the “jubilee,” the “Sabbatical year.”[3] God’s commandment to interrupt work establishes an order that enables togetherness and is oriented towards the weak and needy. Jesus of Nazareth will take up precisely this central commandment in his first public appearance, recorded in the Gospel According to Saint Luke (Lk 4:16-22). Jesus quotes the Prophet Isaiah, saying, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (verses 18-19). When Jesus voices criticism of the Sabbath, it is in response to the enquiries made of him concerning his disciples who went through the cornfields on the Sabbath, plucking ears of corn and consuming the grains (cf. Lk 6:1-5; Mk 2:23-28). When Jesus heals on the Sabbath, as in the case of the man with the “withered hand” (cf. Lk 6:6-11; Mk 3:1-6), he does not suspend the Sabbath commandment as such. Rather he rejects false ritualism and legalistic piety in order to make room for God and his healing and liberating power.[4]

This becomes clear when he asks whether it is permissible to “to do good or to do harm, to save life or to destroy it?” on the Sabbath (Lk 6:9), as well as in the emphatic statement “The Son of Man is lord of the Sabbath” (Lk 6:5). In this respect, Jesus embeds the Sabbath commandment back into the structure of the commandments that the people of Israel received; it is the central “link” between loving God and loving one’s neighbour: to honour God, as the commandments preceding the Sabbath commandment make clear, and to love one’s neighbour, to honour one’s father and mother (Ex 20:12) and to respect one’s neighbour with all that belongs to him, family and possessions are two commandments inextricably linked. This “in-between” world of the Sabbath creates a space that connects the recognition of God with the recognition of one’s neighbour, a space in which human beings experience themselves as children of God, as “creatures” in relation to all other creatures. This concept will also serve as the bridge between the Sabbath and Sunday, which will develop in the young community of Christians who, having first celebrated the Sabbath in the Jewish community, go on to celebrate Sunday in memory of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, and of his death and resurrection. The Son of Man who is “lord of the Sabbath” (Lk 6:5) does not suspend the commandment but fulfils it completely.[5]

In her study, Ottilia Lukács draws on the exegetical work of recent decades. She assumes that the Sabbath commandment was an “identity marker” in the times of the Babylonian exile and that the post-exilic text Ex 20, insofar as it is embedded in the history of Israel’s liberation, is proof of this fact.^[6] Through her intertextual approach and precise tracking of the inner-biblical interpretation of the Sabbath commandment, she also builds a bridge between this historical approach and the creation-theological perspective on the Sabbath, as expressed in the Seven Days of Creation as recorded in Gen 1:1-31; 2:1-3. In Gen 2:1-3 we read:

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it God rested from all his work that he had done in creation.

Many exegetical works in recent years have discussed the creation-theological perspective of Sabbath rest and the structuring of time, the „completion” of creation on the seventh day or “rest” from the work of creation on that day, and have also elaborated on the connection of the Sabbath to the Akkadian new moon festival and contrasted it with the historical perspective of the Sabbath commandment. “The Sabbath commandment,” Lukács summarises,

is very much based on the Sabbath day and on the institution of the week (the rhythm of 6+1 days), therefore, a short discussion of these issues is required here. (1) The Hebrew term שׁבת derived from the Akkadian term šap/battu, which was used to denote the new moon in the Akkadian calendar, and hence (2) the Sabbath supposedly was the full moon day in the Israelite calendar during the pre-exilic period; (3) only during the exile, or even later, שׁבת was applied to designate the seventh day of the week. Thus, as soon as the Sabbath was considered as a holy day, it created the seven-day week now known as an established institution.[7]

Without wanting to make a direct judgment – which is probably also difficult to underpin historically-critically – in favor of one or the other perspective, and without focusing in a polarising way either on the social-ethical dimension of the Sabbath or on the cultic development of this day, Ottilia Lukács nevertheless insists on the distinction between pre-exilic and post-exilic text traditions and embeds the Sabbath commandment firmly in the post-exilic tradition, as God’s commandment to his people that creates identity. The concept of the Sabbath has grown precisely in and against the background of the experience of the Babylonian exile.

I maintain that the ‘pre-exilic Sabbath’ (which is mentioned together with the new moons) and the ‘exilic weekly Sabbath’ were never merged together. Instead, both preserved its original, or better: discrete characters and roles in the Israelite religion. In other words, the Sabbath which coincides with the seventh day of the week and which is regulated by the Sabbath commandments, most likely emerged and developed as the identity marker of the exiled and returned Judean community.[8]

According to Lukács, the traditions of the “full moon Sabbath” and the “weekly Sabbath” never mingled. The author enumerates the three “significant functions” of the weekly Sabbath, which became a source of identity for the people of Israel during exile:

(1) the rest-day, which was applied also for the slaves, provided the exiled community an ‘Israelite identity’ that distinguished them from the surrounding milieu and made it possible to survive exile as the people of God; (2) it was an essential element of a completely re-established monotheistic calendar, more precisely, a ‘sabbathized’ priestly calendar that received a strong monotheistic emphasis; and (3) it contributed to the establishment of a ‘special sacred time’, namely, the seventh day…[9]

In what follows, an approach to the “Sabbath” is built from a systematic-theological perspective; the exegetical debates of the last decades can only be presupposed and the study and thesis of Lukács becomes relevant in the sense that historical or liberation-theological perspectives on the Sabbath are connected with the more recent creation-theological approaches, and thus, social-ethical and cultic dimensions are interpreted side by side. The term “Sabbath” is linked to the Old Testament traditions, but the New Testament perspective of Jesus of Nazareth on the preservation and fulfilment of the Sabbath is also considered, and from there, a bridge is built to the Christian Sunday. The systematic-theological interpretation is embedded in the challenges that the environmental crisis and climate change pose for society, politics and the churches; the Sabbath is understood in this sense as a day of “transformation” whose remembrance and present practice can contribute to the necessary “paradigm shift” and the “cultural revolution” Pope Francis refers to in his encyclicals Laudato si’ (2015), Veritatis gaudium (2017) and Querida Amazonia (2020). The paradigm shift proposed by the Holy Father is necessary in view of the destruction of the foundations of life for all of creation, which has come to a head in recent years and challenges humanity to a “Great Transformation” at all levels of community – in politics, the economy, social-, cultural-, and everyday life.[10] The link to liberation theology and ecological considerations, as Leonardo Boff has been presenting them in the Latin American context for 40 years, is palpable, as is the connection to process-theological and eco-feminist works by the US Protestant theologian Sallie McFague, whose studies grow out of the dialogue with new scientific theories and lay the foundations for a dynamic understanding of creation.

The Sabbath commandment in Ex 20 – which concludes with the formulation in verse 11, that “in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy” – is thus related to the creation text of Gen 2:2: “And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done.” The “rest” that Augustine also focuses on in his interpretation of the creation narrative[11] is understood as the “completion” of the work of creation in the sense that the works of the other days are not relativised here – they are considered “good” by God (Gen 1:17. 21. 31). “Rest,” which is attributed to God and which human beings have to keep because God has “sanctified” it, explicitly refers to a basic dimension, which is inscribed in creation on all days, but is remembered in a special way on the day of “rest”: everything grows out of God’s loving and living relationship, life is to be lived out of this relationship, and the human being especially, created in the “image” of God (Gen 1:26), is called to conform to this loving and living relationship in his work in creation. In this sense, the Sabbath is a day of “transformation” because the day of “rest,” which is an interruption of the rhythm of work, reminds us of the original meaning of creation and of the goodness that God has placed in it, to which all activity within creation, human activity above all, must correspond. On the Sabbath, we are therefore “called,” according to the Jewish theologian Adam Joshua Heschel, “to take part in that which is eternal in time, to turn from the created to the mystery of creation itself, from the world of creation to the creation of the world.”[12]

In this way, the Sabbath has become the mark of identity of Jewish communities. To this day, the Sabbath is celebrated as a welcoming of the “Sabbath Queen,”[13] which act opens up an “in-between” space where God inscribes himself in life and the horizon of life opens up to receive God. This open horizon lends urgency to loving one’s neighbour and caring for the “house of creation,” which requires radical conversion and transformation, especially when injustice is done to one’s neighbour and when the very foundations of life are destroyed. This is also the deep meaning of Sunday, which Christians celebrate as the first day of the week in memory of the death and resurrection of Jesus, a feast day in which the profound dimension of the Sabbath is inscribed in the celebration of the Eucharist, and praise of the Creator, who himself has approved of what he has created, and to whom honour is to be given accordingly. The Sabbath is a grand search for possibilities to participate in radical transformation in the service of caring for the common house of creation. Thus Sabbath and Sunday are “days of creation” and of “transformation” when the rhythms of human life and work are interrupted the horizon of human life is opened to receive God.

2. times of transformation: ecological challenges and the “planetary boundaries”

Every year, “Earth Overshoot Day” is calculated so as to mark the date at which point human consumption of resources exceeds or “overshoots” what the earth can (re-) generate over the course of a year. A country’s Overshoot Day is the day on which the Earth’s Overshoot Day would fall if all humans consumed at the rate of the country in question. In 2022, Overshoot Day fell on 28 July; for the rest of the year, we lived at the expense of the Earth, consuming resources taken away from future generations. In 2000, the Earth Charter, a worldwide ecumenical initiative, named voluntary commitments for a sustainable lifestyle and guiding principles for politics, the economy and society for sustainable development. Since the First Ecumenical Assembly in Europe (Basel, 1989), the Christian churches have called for ecological responsibility, conversion and “transformation.” In the spirit of ecumenical solidarity, the “Day of Creation” is celebrated in September or October, and the harvest festival in October also becomes a reminder in many congregations to use resources sparingly, to combine thanks to the Creator with insight into “ecological conversion”[14] – a formulation first used by Pope Francis in his encyclical Laudato si’ (2015). According to the Earth Charter, a new beginning is necessary, as well as “a new paradigm that brings about sustainability for the common house, the Earth, and for all living beings that inhabit it in a very natural way.”[15] Many ecological movements worldwide are united by the motif of the “Great Transformation” in the face of the dramatic consequences of the environmental crisis and climate change. This concept includes both the transformation of global economic processes, and also the transformation of personal lifestyles if life on planet Earth is to have a future. The perspectives of the “planetary boundaries,”[16] represented by worldwide research institutions such as the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research, touch on church positions; the “cry of the earth” that Pope Francis speaks of in Laudato si’ (2015) and his letter Querida Amazonia (2020) published following the Amazon Synod (October 2019) reminds humans of their “terrestrial” embeddedness and the very concrete “fines terrae” or “ends of the earth.” The French philosopher and sociologist Bruno Latour points to this embededness in his recent publications, for example in his “Terrestrial Manifesto,”[17] which has also been received in the German context. Latour applies the concept of the apocalyptic onset of the end times to space, insisting that the planet Earth sets us very concrete limits and that it is increasingly being destroyed by human intervention.[18] Latour, like the Brazilian liberation theologian Leonardo Boff, subscribes to the Gaia hypothesis of the chemist, physician and biophysicist James Ephraim Lovelock, who died on 26 July 2022 at the age of 103. As early as the 1970s, Lovelock spoke of Gaia, Mother Earth, whose intricate network of life holds together the ecological balance of the entire planet. Gaia, as Boff summarizes, is an

evolving system consisting of all living things and their surface environment, the oceans, the atmosphere, the crustal rock… a system that has emerged from the common and reciprocal evolution of organisms and their environment in the course of the developmental ages of life on earth…. In dialogue with the energies of the universe and the earth, and in interaction with the other living organisms, these have created for themselves a habitat, a habitat favourable to the maintenance of relatively constant conditions for all the elements which constitute life.[19]

In this respect, the upcoming transformation has to do with a new view of the earth and requires insight into the interconnectedness of everything created and of all living beings. In a reflection on the Covid pandemic, Bruno Latour recalls Kafka’s narrative in his essay “Where am I? Lessons from the Lockdown.”[20] Latour reflects on Kafka’s story and the transformation of Gregor Samsa. By developing a shell, a carapace, and becoming able to take on other perspectives in space, like that of a beetle, he gains a different relationship to living beings and a different understanding of what it means to be human. The fundamental question, then, is not “who” I am but “where” I am. Identity is not a question of development, but of “enfolding,”[21] of a new understanding of our relationship to the earth: “We are enclosed in it, but it is not a prison; we are merely enfolded in it. To emancipate ourselves is not to step out of it, but to explore its entanglements, folds, superimpositions, interconnections.”[22] Latour develops the vision that people have to go through a process of transformation like Gregor Samsa to become “earth-attached” and that these people “use another dimension, that of the interwoven forms of life, which obliges them to constantly cross and therefore question the relationship between small and large, limited and interwoven, slow and fast, in every subject.”[23] These are not analyses or solutions, but visions that send one in search of possible solutions:

… you must scatter to the maximum, fan out to explore all your capacities for survival, to conspire, as best you can, with the effective powers that have made the places you have landed inhabitable. Under the vault of heaven, which has become burdensome again, other people, mixed with other matter, together with other living beings, are forming other peoples. They are emancipating themselves at last. They end the lockdown themselves. They transform themselves.[24]

Latour’s apocalyptic visions are embedded in a new ecological thinking, having grown out of the experience that in this “Age of the Anthropocene,” changes affecting earth and the entire ecosystem are man-induced. While apocalyptic crisis scenarios are on the rise in secular journalism, even as Christian ideas are trivialised, Latour creatively appropriates these metaphors. It is precisely here that enlightenment by theology is needed, and in this respect the ecological crisis in the Anthropocene, in the words of the German social ethicist Markus Vogt, has an “eminently religious dimension.” It is “religion-producing: it generates a new form of questioning about what sustains our existence, gives it a future and lends it meaning .”[25] To put all of this in theological terms, this awakening is about “conversion” and radical “transformation” and, in this sense, about a “new creation,” which according to the Christian perspective begins to be realized in the Kingdom of God proclaimed by Jesus of Nazareth and in the event of his death and resurrection. In the Christ event, God has disrupted and broken open history; he himself will make “all things new” again, according to the hope expressed in the Book of Revelation, the last book of the New Testament (cf. Rev 21:5). This broad horizon for the future enables human beings to act from a perspective of hope and with an orientation towards a togetherness which is liberating and appreciative and which respects the limits of all life that was redeemed by Jesus of Nazareth. Human beings are called to act in the service of the future and of a good life within the limits of this planet.

The path towards such a transformation requires the highest scientific efforts in all areas of human thinking and research, yet it is not only an intellectual process, but rather involves  holistic conversion and a renewed theology of creation. As the Brazilian liberation theologian Leonardo Boff writes:

We need imagination, passion and creative enthusiasm. We need to pick up the pieces of the old paradigm, gather all the wisdom of humanity, evaluate all the knowledge beneficial to life and humanity, be inspired by the generous dreams of so many cultures – especially the indigenous cultures that have known how to maintain a sacred respect for Mother Earth and to realise a respectful coexistence with her.[26]

The new paradigm includes a new “cosmovision,” a “cosmology of change,” and this is “the expression of the ecocene that will put the ecological question at the centre of its attention,”[27] a new paradigm that has been developing for 100 years: “It derives from the sciences that explore the universe, the earth and life. It locates our reality within cosmogenesis, the process of formation of the cosmos itself, which began with the Big Bang some 13.7 billion years ago. The universe is constantly expanding, self-organising, self-creating, and harbouring meaning.”[28] The natural state of this cosmology “is one of evolution rather than stability, of change and adaptability rather than immobility and permanence. In it, everything is interconnected in networks, and nothing exists outside this play of relations. Therefore, all forms of being are interdependent and work together to develop together, to ensure the balance of all factors and to maintain biodiversity.”[29] This means that the human being is integrated into a network of relationships. The human being is placed “in the midst of this nature,” “where we unfold in deep harmony and synergy, open to ever new changes.”[30] Accordingly, nature is an “open system” that “can always integrate new interactions and energy flows – in contrast to a closed system that is encapsulated within itself and finds itself outside the process of dialogue in the universe.”[31]

These groundbreaking reflections on the ecocene, which Leonardo Boff develops in dialogue with scientific theorising, are also connected with process-theological approaches to thinking about creation. We can rethink the relationship between God and the world and the relationship between human and extra-human reality with the help of process-philosophical reflections, as presented by Alfred North Whitehead and Charles Hartshorne. Such a view places the experience of the dynamics of the spirit in all reality at the centre, understands God and the world to be in the process of becoming, and takes as its starting point the fundamental experience of the vulnerability of all life. God himself suffers, as Sallie McFague puts it, in and with this “body” of the world and is in this sense “vulnerable.”[32] This view of the co-suffering God also changes the perspective on man, who is not the “lord and master of nature” that René Descartes saw him as at the cusp of modernity. Such a view of the cosmos invites man to reconsider his own vulnerability, to gain a humility that grows out of his being embedded in the “humus” of the earth, and to attend to all living things. Nature is thereby granted a dignity of her own, of which man is only the administrator.[33]

These are reflections that Pope Francis summarises at the end of Laudato si’ with the keyword of creation spirituality. Such a creation spirituality is condensed in the celebration of the Sabbath, of the Sunday, the day of rest, which at the same time means the highest form of dynamism. To let the Sabbath dawn, according to Leonardo Boff, is to “leave behind the old cosmology” in order to “reinvent our civilisation.” “The main institutions of modernity, including agriculture, religion, education, economy, must be rethought from within a living, intelligent and self-organising universe. Instead of downgrading the system of life and the earth, humanity will have to learn to ally itself with the community of life in a way that increasingly reinforces interdependence. This task will surely take the talent and energy of millions of people from all cultures throughout the 21^st century.”[34] Achieving the “Great Transformation” is “probably the great historical challenge of the present time”[35] but it is possible to meet this challenge. The hope for finding ways into the future is grounded in a theological perspective in the “breathing space”[36] that the Sabbath signifies, which is summed up in Scripture with the Sabbath commandment: “Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work… For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy” (Ex 20:9-11).

3. Sabbath and the Dynamics of Transformation

The basic theological motif of transformation is inscribed in the biblical texts on the Sabbath, in the Jewish Sabbath liturgy, and also in the development of the Christian, which cannot be equated with the Sabbath simpliciter. The Sabbath means a time of rest, a cessation of work for humans and for everything that belongs to them, their property, their slaves (a reference to the social order at the time of the writing of the scriptural texts and far into modern times) and for their livestock. The Sabbath also prescribes rest for the strangers who abide on the territory of the Chosen People, and this is justified with a reference back to the creation-theological statement of God resting on the seventh day, the Lord’s day, on the seventh day of the week, when humans and animals can “catch their breath,” as it were, and experience an abundance of life and vitality.

From the divine standpoint, life is inscribed in every day of creation. The Sabbath, blessed and sanctified by God (cf. Ex 20:11), forms, according to the systematic-theological interpretation, an “in-between” world in which God’s space and man’s space touch, an “in-between” that reminds man of his being created, of his dignity as a child of God, of having been created in the image of God, and thus, of his mission and obligation to live up to this dignity in his labour of shaping a “worthy” togetherness and a “good life” for all creation. The celebration of the Sabbath or Sunday, as well as the renewed remembrance of the Sabbath commandment, inscribe the dynamics of transformation into the fabric of life. The significance of the Sabbath as a day of transformation is elaborated in three steps that are oriented towards the theological perspective on creation presented by Dorothee Sölle in her study Lieben und Arbeiten (Loving and Working).[37] First, she contemplates “working,” then “loving,” and then, the interrelatedness of both perspectives and the associated dynamics of transformation.

3.1 Working

When, in the face of the environmental crisis, climate change, and the depletion of resources, there is talk of the need for a “Great Transformation,” human beings and their activities come into focus. They are called upon to shape their activities and, in this sense, their “work,” with creativity and foresight to bring about a renewed togetherness. This togetherness entails conserving resources, working towards sustainability, and being aware of the limits of planet Earth so that the living material of Gaia is respected and renewed, and in this way, a future is made possible. From the perspective of the Great Transformation and the scientific approaches that constitute and justify it, the functional understanding of the economy and of social and political togetherness that has developed in modernity has been heavily criticized. This understanding of socio-economics sees work in the service of the increase of wealth and of economic and social progress, a definition of work that has been challenged from different perspectives since the nineteenth century. Critics have pointed out that such a conception of work leads to an “exhaustion of the self” (cf. Alain Ehrenberg) and a perversion of human life. Many new approaches to work have been presented in the last 50 years, and ecclesiastical statements such as John Paul II’s important social encyclical Laborem exercens (1981)[38] and theological publications such as the above-mentioned study by the Protestant theologian Dorothee Sölle, are part of this critique. They develop a new perspective on work with a view guided by the theology of creation. Work is certainly “toil,” but the theological interpretation that sees in work only toil and punishment in view of the “lost paradise” (cf. Gen 3:16-24) has been overcome, especially from a Catholic perspective, with the positive appreciation of work in the Pastoral Constitution of the Second Vatican Council. Man as the “image of God” continues to develop “the work of the Creator” in his work on the various levels, including his mundane everyday activities:

Man, created in God’s image, has indeed received the commission to subdue the earth and all that belongs to it, to govern the world in justice and holiness, and through the recognition of God as the Creator of all things, to relate himself and the totality of reality to God, so that everything may be subject to man and God’s name may be marvellous in all the earth. This also applies to ordinary everyday activity; for men and women who, for example, in earning a living for themselves and their families, carry out their activity in such a way that it is a corresponding service to the community, may be convinced that by their work they are advancing the work of the Creator, that they are providing for the welfare of their brethren, and that by their personal effort they are contributing to the historical fulfilment of the divine plan (GS 34).

Through work, man’s response to the divine claim to creation is realised, and his dignity is expressed as responsibility towards himself, towards others, and towards the whole of creation. It is precisely on these principles, as John Paul II formulated following Gaudium et Spes (GS), that the “primacy of work” (LE 12) is founded. “Through his work,” says the Council text, “man not only transforms things and society, but also perfects himself. He learns many things, develops his abilities, transcends himself and rises above himself. Growth of this kind, properly understood, is worth more than accumulated external wealth. The value of human beings lies more in themselves than in their possessions. Likewise, whatever men and women do to achieve a greater justice, a wider brotherhood, and a more humane order of social interdependence, is more valuable than technical progress” (GS 35).[39]

The French Dominican Marie-Dominique Chenu has unfolded this positive view of work theologically in terms of creation. Work, according to Chenu, is a decisive “factor in the becoming of humanity as a whole, a factor of ‘humanisation,’ it is the pivot of its ‘socialisation,’ by virtue of which humanity travels a decisive road towards its socialisation and its collectivity.”[40] Chenu sees the work of man at the level of “creatio continua.” Creation is not complete; man participates in the process of creation with his work, enabling the order of creation and the order of salvation to meet: “Through man, or more precisely, through the human act of transforming the world, the cosmos itself enters into the plan of salvation.”[41] Work is the process by which – through the activity of human beings – the network of creation can be shaped to allow the original mission of creation to shine again through all brokenness. In work, man expresses his “co-creativity.”[42] Work is “activity in nature,” and “participation in the divine activity.” Man is a “co-worker in creation” and a “demiurge of its unfolding through his activity as discoverer, beneficiary and spiritual builder of nature.”[43]

Marie-Dominique Chenu thinks highly of human beings, and this is an expression of his incarnational approach taken from Patristic and Scholastic theologians. These thinkers speak of the divine Logos who enters the world in freedom and love, who “takes on flesh,” and in his life, death and resurrection, renews the world and reality of mankind. In this way, the Logos affirms the original goodness of creation and the freedom of the human which stems from his dignity as a child of God. Even the “spiritual perversion of the divine plan” was, according to Chenu, “accepted by God.”[44] Work in this sense is also toil. Work can be perverted and can lead to “exhaustion of the self.” Inscribed in it are the limitations, fragility and possible culpability of the human being. Work is thus marked by the fallenness that runs through creation, by the indissolubility of evil and the possible perversion of the “good life.” Thus work can take on alienated forms; like all creation, it is threatened by the rupture of relationships. Work unfolds under the guise of broken freedom, and thus, it exhausts. It is permeated by the tension between freedom and necessity. Work, like every human activity, can be perverted into power if it is made into a self-referential activity of man and becomes “absolute,” thereby failing to refer back to the creation of all things.

Therefore, work must be related to Sabbath rest. Work and love, according to Dorothee Sölle, must always go hand in hand. The “human being capable of work and love corresponds to the Creator.”[45] Work must always grow out of Sabbath rest because only in this way does the human being realise his or her dignity as an image of God and “co-creator.” “Creatio continua” takes shape as a dynamic cooperation of God and the human being, a provision of God in the self-realisation of the human being as he shapes the world, which is constantly in the process of becoming, just as God himself is “in the process of becoming” in it. According to Dorothee Sölle, “there is an indissoluble interrelation between God and the claim to absolute human dignity.”[46] A theology of work is developed from a theology of the Sabbath, not vice versa. Thus, in modernity, Sunday has become a day of recreation, just as work has also been functionalised with the consequence that in an exhausted society, work and leisure are increasingly segregated.

A theology of work and a theology of the Sabbath fundamentally belong together. In their interrelatedness, the meaning of creation can be discovered. From the perspective of the human being, creation is participation of the human being in God’s work of creation and the possibility of a Great Transformation. Man holds on to the hope of shaping the world within the limits of planet Earth and using its possibilities in such a way that the network of life on Earth can be renewed and a “good life” becomes possible for future generations.

3.2 Loving and working

Theological work on creation reminds us above all that creation is a “granting, disposal, promise and provision of what is necessary for life and living together in a comprehensive dimension,”[47] as stated in the document of the Commission for Social and Societal Questions of the German Bishops’ Conference “Handeln für die Zukunft der Schöpfung” (“Acting for the Future of Creation”). This text elaborates on the importance of “co-creativity.” The actions of human beings and their work are embedded in the network of creation and are at its service. At times when these nets are torn, when the rainforests necessary for the earth’s ecosystem continue to be cut down despite all pleas to the contrary, when newly fanned wars stymie the struggle for sustainable economic activity, the above words, though well-intentioned, seem ineffective.

Yet we must hope against all hope. The meaning of the Jewish Sabbath is trust “in spite of everything.” This is also true of the Christian Sunday, which for Christians took the place of the Jewish day of rest after its official recognition as a Christian holiday with the legislation of Emperor Constantine in 321. In recent decades, with the intensification of Christian-Jewish dialogue, these two days, while retaining their intrinsic value, have come to be seen as „festival(s) of creation.”[48] “The Sabbath is not a human invention, but part of the divine order of creation and therefore inherent to the world as a whole. The entire cosmos is subject to the rhythm of God’s resting on the seventh day of creation.”

The Sabbath commandment, as it is named in the biblical texts Ex 20:9-11 and Ex 31:15,17 admonishes humans to interrupt work in order to “take a breather,” as Norbert Clemens Baumgart writes in his intertextual analysis,[50] referring back to the connection between the commandment to rest valid for humans, animals, slaves and strangers and the creation narrative, which speaks of God resting on the seventh day “after he had made all his work” (Gen 2:2).[51] This is echoed in Deut 5:12, which reads, “Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you.”

The Sabbath commandment commits human beings to an “imitatio Dei,”[52] to resting, as God did, on the seventh day. It stands for the fact that work and distancing oneself from work belong together, that the limits set for work in the Sabbath commandment do not “confine” it but rather release its creative powers.

The biblical mandate to work in and on creation is to be interpreted in terms of a mapping of ‘divine working.’ The Sabbath rest sets limits to man’s relationship to the world, which is oriented towards work and thus towards creation and change. It provides a free space in which he can orient himself anew to the divine model.[53]

Work is to be related to the rhythm of creation, preservation, cultivation and rest. It is precisely the distancing from work, the ever-new relativisation of work, that allows us to discover its meaningfulness: “God has thus placed the rhythm of work and rest in his creation. Yes, the ultimate meaning of his work of creation is not work and the struggle for survival, but the possibility for all living beings to ‘catch their breath’ (Ex 23:12).”[54] Life in abundance, understood as quality of life, is thus the meaning and purpose of the day of rest. The Sabbath is not just one of the seven days, but is understood in Gen 1:1-2:4a as the ‘crowning’ and goal of the whole work of creation. In this sense, it is not man who is the “crown” of creation, but the Sabbath. When man keeps the Sabbath, he shares in the “crowning” by growing into what God has planned for him from the beginning, by becoming an “image” of God able to participate in the transformation of creation according to this dignity.

In exegetical literature, there have been many interpretations of the aforementioned “crowning” or “completion” of creation on the seventh day. Erich Zenger speaks of the “completion of creation” as a “further act of God’s creation in that God ‘blesses’ and ‘sanctifies’ the seventh day on which he ceases to work.”[55] Baumgart and Krüger speak of “God resting” and “God ceasing,” which is not part of the act of creation, but occurs in the time after the completion of creation; the work is “brought to an end,” it is “finished.”[56] The special feature of this day is that the “day of cessation” is

directly identified as God’s object, as the object of his action (Gen 2:3a). God blesses the seventh day and thus gives it continuity. The blessing is to be understood in unity with God’s ‘sanctifying’. God sanctifies this seventh day and assigns it to himself continuously. In this way, God appears as the “rhythemiser” of that time which he himself, as Creator, has made possible.[57]

And in this manner Gen 1-2, according to Baumgart,

foreshadows the later mentions of creation in Ex 20 and Ex 31, which deal with the week and the Sabbath, and thus suggests a prior understanding to them. According to this, the Creator, in creating the cosmos, was not subject to externally predetermined time sequences, and therefore followed them. Rather, the Creator himself laid the foundation for and shaped the week with its extraordinary day. In its temporal behaviour, Israel thus imitates God’s creative timing.[58]

Thus, “God’s cessation of ‘his’ work” is “under the sign of its completion after the completion of creation.”[59] In Jewish tradition, the Sabbath has therefore been designated as a day “that is not a day,” a day, according to Rabbi Ishmael commenting on Exodus 20, that is “equal in significance to the whole work of creation.”[60] The people are called upon to prepare themselves to receive Queen Shabbat.[61]

The Sabbath, according to the interpretation of the French theologian and exegete Jean-Robert Armogathe, who also makes reference to Jewish traditions, “is the presence of God that communicates itself to human beings, it is only another name for Emmanuel, for ‘God is with us’.”[62] In the New Testament, this very God-perspective of the Sabbath is recalled when Jesus of Nazareth approaches the Sabbath critically, asking whether it is “lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill” (Mk 3:4), and when he, after having been challenged for his disciples’ plucking ears of corn on the Sabbath, says: “I tell you, something greater than the temple is here… For the Son of Man is lord of the Sabbath” (Mt 12:6.8). The Sabbath is theocentric in this sense, because it is a day on which the Creator himself is central, and not one of his works. Space is made for Him and for the dynamics of the transformation of His creative power. At the same time, the Sabbath is also deeply anthropocentric, because the Sabbath commandment “humanises” human work and embeds it in the living network of creation. Thus the Sabbath is an “in-between” space and “the first act of salvation history,” according to the French Old Testament scholar Roland de Vaux. When creation is “completed, God stops and can make a covenant with his creatures… The ‘in-between’ of the covenant of creation is the Sabbath kept by man (cf. Ez 20:12) in the image of the first Sabbath of the world, on which God rested.”[63] For this very reason, the dynamics of transformation are inscribed in the Sabbath, in which human beings, when they prepare themselves for Queen Shabbat welcome her, become participants.

From a Christian perspective, Sunday is the “Lord’s Day” in precisely this sense. In the Christian community, Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, is understood as the mediator, the “in-between” space where God and man meet in an unsurpassable closeness, a closeness in which every man and woman following in the footsteps of Jesus receives a share.

This Jesus, who was crucified on Friday, the preparation day, and rested in the tomb during the Sabbath of Holy Saturday, God raised up on the third day “according to the Scriptures.” On this great and holy Sabbath Christ, ‘obedient to the will of the Father, in the Holy Spirit by his death gave life to the world.’ He fulfilled all the promises of God contained in Scripture.[64]

Radical transformation is the ground of the Christian hope that, despite infernos, floods and wars, forces for the Great Transformation can build and grow after all. This hope is rooted in the resurrection of Jesus “on the third day” (1 Cor 15:4), the day in whose memory the Christian community continues to celebrate Sunday. In Jesus Christ, according to Paul (e.g. 2 Cor 5:17),[65] a new creation has taken place, i.e. an ultimately inconceivable and unsurpassable transformation of all reality, which is “foolishness” for those who seek to understand with their human intellect, but reason for hope for those who walk in faith (cf. 1 Cor 1:18, 22-24).[66] Christians therefore celebrate Sunday as Creation Day, as a reminder of this new creation, but they do well also to remember the Jewish Sabbath and to keep in mind that Jesus himself honoured it with his whole life and in his death. The Sabbath, as Kurt Appel summarises his interpretation of it,

is the place of the Messiah and … the place where GOD happens in history, and indeed as its Sabbath, as eschatological time, i.e. as the “hour” in which the activity of man freed from guilt and mortal disease is transformed into praise and celebration. … It is the ‘hour’ in which the reconciling and healing new creation takes place as a feast and in which the festive origin of the world becomes manifest.[67]

4. A Brief Conclusion: The Sabbath as a Day of Transformation

The environmental crisis, climate change and depletion of resources call for a Great Transformation. The Earth Charter published in 2000 speaks of a “new beginning,” a “time when a new reverence for life was awakened, a time when sustainable development was resolutely set in motion, a time when the quest for justice and peace was given new impetus, and a time of joyful celebration of life.”[68] In many movements around the world, across religions and cultures, and especially in the minds and hearts of young people, there has been a growing awareness of the need to adopt a new attitude towards life and the whole of creation, a “basic attitude of transcending oneself by breaking through closed-off consciousness and self-centredness” (LS 208). This is an attitude of “solidarity, cooperation and compassion,” as Leonardo Boff writes, a new age “in which we no longer presume to be ‘little gods’ on earth, but simply human beings who regard and treat the other members of the community of life related to us, the plants, the birds, the animals, the moon, the sun and the stars, simply as brothers and sisters.”[69] From the perspective of the biblical traditions, this new spirituality is a “creation spirituality,” the basic form of spirituality that unites people of all religions and cultures. This is why Christians can celebrate Creation Day, one of the new ecumenical projects born in response to the radical crisis of the present, with all people of good will, thereby allowing the great treasure of our biblical traditions to shine anew in a secular context.

In the Sabbath and in Sunday, we find a foundational “spirituality,” the basic attitude of “transcending oneself,” the experience of being related in spirit to the whole of creation. Sabbath and Sunday remind us of the whence and whither of creation, of the inner, creative dynamism of God and the powers of transformation he has inscribed in reality. They remind us of God’s blessing and call us to praise God, the Creator. The Sabbath calls our attention to our participation in creation, our co-creative activity with regard to the transformation of reality according to the original goodness placed in creation. In this respect, the Sabbath represents the horizon that makes possible a healthy attitude to work and allows for criticism of all forms of work that are unworthy of human beings. Work becomes a “relative” concept without being relativised; rather, it reaches its most profound “reality” when embedded in the dynamics of transformation that Sabbath or Sunday signify. Work thus attains the deepest “relation to reality” and “enracinement dans le monde.” As Simone Weil puts it: “Une civilisation constituée par une spiritualité du travail serait le plus haut degré d’enracinement de l’homme dans l’univers, par suite l’opposé de l’état où nous sommes, qui consiste en un déracinement presque total.”[70] When work and rest, the interruption of work and praise of the Creator, are related to each other, human beings, to take up Simone Weil’s metaphor, become rooted, finding their footing in and on the earth and experience that they are “earthlings” and part of the living network of creation.

To understand and to grasp that the human being is an “earthling” embedded in the great network of creation is an act of consciousness based in the truth that man is an “image” of God, that he is a being consisting of a body and a soul, and that he has and is spirit. And it is precisely this spirit, as Leonardo Boff puts it, that is the “profound dimension of the human individual,” “the most secret and sacred, the realm from which the great conflicts spring, where serious decisions are made and where the fuller meaning of life is defined.”[71] This spirit is “the capacity for relationship and interconnection, in which all forms of being are interconnected,” and this “cosmic spirit, the relational matrix, attains consciousness in the individual, and therefore it can shape history and lay the foundations for a design of life that has the hallmark of spirit.”[72] When the Sabbath is celebrated in this spirit, it becomes the supreme expression and culmination of the fact that man is an embodied spirit. Herein lies – as justified by the biblical texts – the condition for human beings to embark on the path of a Great Transformation, because their power for transformation is grounded in the dynamics of transformation that is not man-made but divine.

Christians in the many movements around the world in the service of sustainability, the integrity of creation, and the future of the planet bring their creation spirituality to the task of shaping a comprehensive spirituality. Creation spirituality finds its deepest expression in the celebration of the Sabbath, which in this sense is not only celebrated as the seventh day of the week but is inscribed in the dynamics of every day as a day of transformation and creation. In the Christian liturgy, the celebration of the Eucharist on weekdays is a reminder of this truth. The Sabbath, writes Kurt Appel,

is therefore the eschatological day that is not simply added, but crosses the other days, as it were, which, incidentally, was expressed before the last liturgical reform insofar as in it every day held within itself, as it were, the possibility of Sunday service. The Sabbath of the seventh day, as God’s day, consequently enters into the centre of Israel and becomes the primordial sacrament in which the Torah itself is summed up. Thus the Sabbath can be seen as the portal through which Messianic time enters world time.[73]

Thus the Sabbath, like Sunday, “is not a day external to the other days, but their transformation from the necessity of the course of the world into the freedom of the feast. It is, as it were, the end of the self-referentiality of the other days, without being a goal different and external to them.”[74]

The possibility of transformation is inherent in the day of creation, the Sabbath or Sunday, on which people, in line with biblical tradition, open an “interspace” for the dynamics of God’s transformative powers, for the new creation that takes place in the becoming of the world at every moment. Human beings participate in this transformation by their work, realising themselves in the process as human beings in community with other human beings and with the whole network of creation. From a Christian perspective, this is why we can hold on to hope as we await and work towards the Great Transformation.

[1] Ottilia Lukács, Sabbath in the Making: A Study of the Inner-biblical Interpretation of the Sabbath Commandment. Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology, 97 (Leuven: Peeters, 2020). https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1q26m4t

[2] Lukács, Sabbath in the Making, 42. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1q26m4t.3

[3] Cf. only the theological interpretation of the Sabbath and jubilee in Uwe Becker, Sabbath und Sonntag: Plädoyer für eine sabattheologisch begründete kirchliche Zeitpolitik (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2006), 249–276, p. 264. Creation-theological and liberation-theological perspectives are also combined in Andreas Benk, Schöpfung – eine Vision von Gerechtigkeit: Was niemals war, doch möglich ist (Ostfildern: Grünewald, 2016).

[4] On Jesus’ position on the Sabbath according to the testimony of the Gospels, see Ernst Haag, Vom Sabbat zum Sonntag. Eine bibeltheologische Studie (Trier: Paulinus-Verlag, 1991), 125–137.

[5] The relationship between Sabbath and Sunday is not fleshed out in the present study from a historical perspective; the connection has previously been firmly established. Sabbath and Sunday are examined from a creation-theological perspective under the aspect of „transformation”; from there, the focus is on commonalities without relativising the differences. In this respect, the important christological perspective of Sunday is not illuminated here.

[6] Ottilia Lukács joins the interpreters who define the Sabbath as an “identity marker.” She speaks of “… the role of the Sabbath as means of identity formation, that is, a contextual reading that attempts to present the group who developed the Sabbath as their identity marker” (Sabbath in the Making, 40). This interpretation is found, for example, in the habilitation thesis by Alexandra Grund, Die Entstehung des Sabbats. Seine Bedeutung für Israels Zeitkonzept und Erinnerungskultur, (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 5, 306.

[7] Lukács, Sabbath in the Making, 3.

[8] Lukács, Sabbath in the Making, 296.

[9] Lukács, Sabbath in the Making, 17.

[10] Cf. Markus Vogt, “Kirche und Große Transformation: Blockierte Potenziale – sieben Thesen zur Rolle der Kirchen in der Großen Transformation,” KirUm-Infodienst, no. 1 (2019): 4–7; Adrián E. Beling and Julien Vanhulst (eds.), Desarrollo non Sancto: La religión como actor emergente en el debate global sobre el futuro del planeta, (Ciudad de México: siglo ventiuno editores, 2019).

[11] Cf. Augustine, La Genèse au sens littéral en douze livres, Bibliothèque augustinienne, 48 (Paris: Institut d’études Augustinienne, 1972), 307: “It can be said with all probability that the observance of the Sabbath was prescribed for the Jews as a shadowy image of the future: it was a foreshadowing of the spiritual rest which God, following the example of his own rest, promised to the faithful who perform good works, under the mystery of the sign. A rest whose mystery was confirmed by the Lord Jesus Christ, who suffered because he willed it, through his burial. For he rested in the sepulchre on the Sabbath: he spent that day in a kind of holy rest, having completed his week on the sixth day, which was the preparation day, and having accomplished at the wood of the cross what the scriptures had said of him” (IV, XI, 21). Quoted from: Michel Sales, “Die Vollendung des Sabbats: Vom Siebten Tag zur Gottesruhe in Gott,” Internationale katholische Zeitschrift “Communio” IKaZ 23, no. 1 (1994): 9–25, p. 14.

[12] Adam Joshua Heschel, Der Sabbat: Seine Bedeutung für den heutigen Menschen (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990), (English original edition: 1951), 10.

[13] Jan Oliva, „Ein Tag für das Leben: Vom Sabbat und seiner heilsamen Zweckfreiheit,” Geist und Leben. Zeitschrift für christliche Spiritualität 91, no. 1 (2018): 39–44. Jan Oliva refers to the Sabbath liturgy and the hymn „Lecha dodi,” which says: „Up, my friend, to the bride, / The Queen Sabbath let us receive!” (39).

[14] Pope Francis, Encyclical Letter on Care for our Common Home, Laudato Si’, 2015, edited by the Secretariat of the German Bishops’ Conference, Bonn (Bonn: Sekretariat der Deutschen Bischofskonferenz/ Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2015), no. 216-221.

[15] Leonardo Boff, Überlebenswichtig: Warum wir einen Kurswechsel zu echter Nachhaltigkeit brauchen, (Ostfildern: Grünewald 2016), 81. – Román Guridi elaborates on the developments in Latin American eco-theology: Román Guridi, Ecoteología: hacia un nuevo estilo de vida (Santiago de Chile: Ediciones Universidad Alberto Hurtado 2018).

[16] See, e.g., Johan Rockström and Mattias Klum, Big World, Small Planet: Abundance Within Planetary Boundaries (Connecticut: New Haven, 2015)

[17] Bruno Latour, “Sur une nette inversion du schème de la fin des temps,” (ET: On a clear inversion of the end-times scheme), Recherches de Science Religieuse 107, no. 4 (2019): 601–615. https://doi.org/10.3917/rsr.194.0601

Bruno Latour, Où atterrir: Comment s’orienter en politique (Paris: La Découverte, 2017). (For this article the German edition was used: Bruno Latour, Das terrestrische Manifest [Berlin: Suhrkamp, 2018].)

[18] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 90–91. Boff refers to the Brazilian scientist José Lutzenberger, who further developed the Gaia hypothesis: Gaia is an “evolving system consisting of all living things and their surface environment, the oceans, the atmosphere, the crustal rocks… a system that has emerged from the common and mutual evolution of organisms and their environment in the course of the evolutionary ages of life on earth…. In dialogue with the energies of the universe and the earth, and in interaction with the other living organisms, these have created for themselves a habitat, a habitat favourable to the maintenance of relatively constant conditions for all the elements which constitute life” (90).

[19] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 90.

[20] Bruno Latour, Wo bin ich? Lektionen aus dem Lockdown (Berlin: Suhrkamp, 2021).

[21] Latour, Wo bin ich?, 165.

[22] Latour, Wo bin ich?, 167.

[23] Latour, Wo bin ich?, 168.

[24] Latour, Wo bin ich?, 172.

[25] Cf. Markus Vogt, Ökotheologie: Was ist die Kompetenz der Theologie im Umweltdiskurs? Book presentation „Christliche Umweltethik” on 15.4.2021, 1, August 11, 2022, https://www.kaththeol.unimuenchen.de/lehrstuehle/christl_sozialethik/aktuelles-ordner/umweltethik/

okotheologie.pdf.

[26] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 81.

[27] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 82.

[28] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 82.

[29] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 83.

[30] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 83.

[31] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 83.

[32] Sallie McFague, Models of God: Theology for an Ecological Nuclear Age, (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), 77; Margit Eckholt, Schöpfungstheologie und Schöpfungsspiritualität: Ein Blick auf die Theologin Sallie McFague, (München: Don Bosco 2009).

[33] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 83.

[34] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 83. Boff refers to considerations of the cosmologian Brian Swimme.

[35] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 100.

[36] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 100. It is about the sustainable continuation of life in its most diverse forms, so as “preserving natural capital by giving it breathing space to regain its equilibrium and restore its lost integrity.”

[37] Dorothee Sölle, Lieben und arbeiten: Eine Theologie der Schöpfung (München 2001).

[38] Pope John Paul II., Encyclical on Human Work, Laborem Exercens, 1981 (Der Wert der Arbeit und der Weg zur Gerechtigkeit. Die Enzyklika über die menschliche Arbeit Papst Johannes Pauls II. Mit einem Kommentar von Oswald von Nell-Breuning), 2nd ed., (Freiburg/Basel/Wien: Herder, 1981) (abbreviated: LE). Cf. Dietmar Mieth, Arbeit und Menschen-würde (Freiburg/Basel/Wien: Herder, 1985).

[39] Cf. Laborem Exercens 9, “Work is a good for man – for his being human – because through work he not only transforms nature and adapts it to his needs, but also realises himself as a human being, in the certain manner of “becoming more human.’”

[40] Marie-Dominique Chenu, Die Arbeit und der göttliche Kosmos: Versuch einer Theologie der Arbeit. Trans. and Intro. by Karl Schmitt (Mainz: Matthias-Grünewald-Verlag, 1956), 59.

[41] Chenu, Die Arbeit und der göttliche Kosmos, 71.

[42] Cf. Sölle, Lieben und arbeiten, 142: “Through work we enter into relationship with other people; in work, therefore, this relational character of our existence should find expression. If we have a share in creation and imitate God in our work, then our creation is also a sign of our relatedness to others and our commonality. Work that truly corresponds to who we are allows us to participate in God’s work of creation and brings us into a continuous process of mutual give and take, teaching and learning that is characteristic of good work.”

[43] Chenu, Die Arbeit und der göttliche Kosmos, 69. Cf. Sölle, Lieben und arbeiten, 57: “The workers continue the power of God on earth and collaborate in creation.”

[44] Chenu, Die Arbeit und der göttliche Kosmos, 69.

[45] Sölle, Lieben und Arbeiten, 13.

[46] Sölle, Lieben und Arbeiten, 139.

[47] Handeln für die Zukunft der Schöpfung (22.10.1998), ed. by Sekretariat der Deutschen Bischofskonferenz (Die deutschen Bischöfe – Kommission für gesellschaftliche und soziale Fragen 19, Bonn 1998), no. 62, 36.

[48] Matthias Klinghardt, “‘… auf daß du den Feiertag heiligest’: Sabbath und Sonntag im Antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum.” In Jan Assmann (ed.), Das Fest und das Heilige. Religiöse Kontrapunkte zur Alltagswelt (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1991), 206–233, here: 210. –To the relation between Sabbath and Sunday, cf. Ernst Haag, Vom Sabbat zum Sonntag: Eine bibeltheologische Studie (Trier: Paulinus-Verlag, 1991). Haag points out that the reference to the “rest” of the Sabbath and thus a theological discussion of the Sabbath had an eschatological perspective: Sabbath rest is understood as “the memorial of the completion of God’s rule as Creator and Redeemer” (181).

[49] Klinghardt, ‘… auf daß du den Feiertag heiligest’, 210.

[50] Norbert Clemens Baumgart, “Ein Gott, der Atem gibt: Zu intertextuellen Zusammenhängen im Pentateuch,” Biblische Notizen. Aktuelle Beiträge zur Exegese der Bibel und ihrer Welt 143, (2009): 46–68, p. 49. Here Baumgart also refers to 2 Sam 16:14: David flees with his people and they “refresh” (ibid.) themselves, or, as it says in a common German Bible interpretation, the “Einheitsübersetzung,” they “take a breather.” The “resting” in Ex 31:17 is for him also a “taking a breather,” a “coming back to breath” (ibid.).

[51] Gen 1: 2a, b; 3 a “Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy.”

[52] Baumgart, Ein Gott, der Atem gibt, 61: “Intertextually read from Ex 20:11, one can hear an imitatio dei in Deut 5:14. A rest similar to that of the Creator is to be accomplished once again in Israel.”

[53] Handeln für die Zukunft der Schöpfung, no. 68, 39. Cf. also: Thomas Eggensperger, “Freizeit und Schöpfung: Vom Wandel der Zeiten,” in Thomas Dienberg and Stephan Winter (eds.), Mit Sorge – in Hoffnung: Zu Impulsen aus der Enzyklika Laudato si´ für eine Spiritualität im ökologischen Zeitalter (Regensburg: Verlag Pustet, 2020), 207–217.

[54] Michael Rosenberger, Im Zeichen des Lebensbaumes: Ein theologisches Lexikon der christlichen Schöpfungs-spiritualität (Würzburg: Verlag Echter, 2001), 106; 107.

[55] Erich Zenger (ed.), Stuttgarter Altes Testament. Einheitsübersetzung mit Kommentar und Lexikon (Stuttgart: Verlag katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004), 19. Quoted in: Thomas Krüger, “Schöpfung und Sabbat in Genesis 2,1-3,” in Sprachen – Bilder – Klänge: Dimensionen der Theologie im Alten Testament und in seinem Umfeld. Festschrift für Rüdiger Bartelmus zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (Alter Orient und Altes Testament. Veröffentlichungen zur Kultur und Geschichte des Alten Orients und des Alten Testaments Vol. 359), ed. by Christiane Karrer-Grube/Jutta Krispenz/Thomas Krüger/Christian Rose/Annette Schellenberg (Münster: Ugarit, 2009), 155–169, p. 159.

[56] Krüger, Schöpfung und Sabbat in Genesis 2,1-3, 159.

[57] Norbert Clemens Baumgart, “Ein Gott, der Atem gibt: Zu intertextuellen Zusammenhängen im Pentateuch,” Biblische Notizen. Aktuelle Beiträge zur Exegese der Bibel und ihrer Welt 143, (2009): 46–68, p. 56.

[58] Baumgart, Ein Gott, der Atem gibt, 56.

[59] Baumgart, Ein Gott, der Atem gibt, 57.

[60] Quoted in: Jean-Robert Armogathe/Olivier Boulnois, “Am Sabbat ist Gott unter den Menschen,” in Internationale katholische Zeitschrift “Communio” IKaZ 23, no. 1 (1994): 2-25, p. 5.

[61] In his essay, Jan Oliva presents Abraham Joshua Heschel’s important reflections on the Sabbath: The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Contemporary Man (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990) (original English edition: 1951). The Sabbath is described by Heschel as a “palace in time that we build” (Heschel, The Sabbath, 13; quoted from: Oliva, Ein Tag für das Leben, 44). The Sabbath is “a reminder of both worlds – this world and the world to come (…). For the Sabbath is joy, holiness and rest; joy is a part of this world, holiness and rest belong to the world to come.” (Heschel, “The Sabbat”, 18. Quoted in: Oliva, Ein Tag für das Leben, 44.) For more on the Queen Shabbat, see footnote 13.

[62] Armogathe/Boulnois, Am Sabbat ist Gott unter den Menschen, 6; 7.

[63] Roland de Vaux, Les institutions de l´Ancien Testament, II (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1960), 380, quoted in: Michel Sales, “Die Vollendung des Sabbats. Vom Siebten Tag zur Gottesruhe in Gott,” Internationale katholische Zeitschrift “Communio” IKaZ 23, no. 1, (1994): 9-25, p. 13.

[64] Sales, Die Vollendung des Sabbats, 22.

[65] 2Cor 5:17: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”

[66] “For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Cor 1:18). “…but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Cor 1:23-24).

[67] Kurt Appel, “Das Fest, der Sabbat und die Ankunft des Messias unter Aufnahme einiger Gedanken Giorgio Agambens,” Internationale Katholische Zeitschrift “Communio” IKaZ 40, no. 2 (2011): 138-144, p. 140.

[68] “Die Erd-Charta,” August 11, 2022, https://erdcharta.de/die-erd-charta/der-text/. Qouted in: Papst Franziskus, Laudato si´, Nr. 207.

[69] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 149.

[70] Simone Weil, Enracinement (Paris: Gallimard, 1962), 128-129. (New editions: 1977, 1990).

[71] Boff, Überlebenswichtig, 155.

[72] Ibid.

[73] Appel, “Das Fest, der Sabbat und die Ankunft des Messias,” 139: The Christological references cannot be further developed within the framework of the present considerations. When in the Gospel of Saint John Jesus is designated as a “door” (Jn 10:9) or when “rest” (Mt 11:29) is mentioned in relation to Jesus, these are intertextual references to the Jewish Sabbath.

[74] Appel, 2Das Fest, der Sabbat und die Ankunft des Messias,” 143: The references to the celebration of the Eucharist cannot be developed further. A central theological moment of “transformation” is the transubstantiation of the gifts of bread and wine, fruits of human labour, into the Eucharistic species whose reception gives people a share in the dynamics of God’s transformation. Appel points out that if the Sabbath is to become a “real feast,” “the work that lies resolved in the Eucharistic species must be transformed into the rest of HIS presence.” On the other hand, the sixth day of the biblical work of creation gives man the task of continuing the divine work of creation as a statue of God. This creative activity, however, only comes to its inner completion in the festive structure of the seventh day” (143).