I am reading through Jean-Luc Marions God Without Being again.  T’is a really interesting book.  It takes a phenomenological look at what it means to conceptually think of God as a Being.  Much of this, it would seem, is congruent, or at least similar, with Nietzsche’s ‘God is Dead!’  Marion is by no means laying the same accusations as Nietzsche did, but his analysis is interesting.  Anyways, I shall write up what it is I’m getting from the book so far.

The idol shows what it sees.  It shows that which, indeed, occupies the field of the visible, with neither deceit nor illusion, but which indissolubly invests it only on the basis of vision itself.  The idol supplies vision with the image of what it sees.  The idol produces (itself) in actuality (as) that which vision intentionally aims.  It freezes in a figure that which vision aims at in a glance.  Thus does the mirror close the horizon, in order to offer sight the only object at which sight aims, namely, the face of its very aim: the gaze gazing at itself gazing, at the risk of seeing no more than its own face, without perceiving in it the gaze that gazes…In the future of its aim, at a certain point that nothing could foresee, the aim no longer aims beyond, but rebounds upon a mirror – which otherwise would never have appeared – toward itself; this invisible mirror is called the idol.

I’m not sure how to explain what I mean here except that perhaps we create mirrors – idols – in so many more areas of life than we realize.  We perceive the world and, as Husserl describes, re-cast new experiences with past ones.  Perhaps we could even say re-cast it with present possibilities.  In Marion’s book the gaze is described as either hitting a point, and reflecting back, filling its own gaze – the idol – or transpiercing everything, never stopping, and allowing the gaze to be filled by the infinite.  The best metaphor I have found to describe this is that when we open our eyes we literally gaze.  The light is the infinite that fills our gaze, but because things are revealed – tables, soccer balls – we often stop allowing light, the infinite, from filling our gaze.  But rather, we aim to a certain point – e.g. this is a table – and allow it to fill the gaze.  In this way I find that most people create idols out of much of life.  I find this not necessarily bad, but it is interesting.

7/31/09

During spring term earlier this year, in one of my classes at the University of Denver I used contemporary French phenomenologist Jean-Luc Marion’s Being Given:  Toward a Phenomenology of Givenness, translated by Jeffrey L, Kosky (Stanford University Press, 2002) as one of the texts.  What follows, under the date on which I first wrote them in my philosophical journal, are some reflections pertinent to thinking trauma, reflections occasioned by my rereading of Marion’s book for that class.

*  *  *

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Marion, Being Given, pages 90-91, makes the following remarks, which are pertinent to my concerns about articulating a sense of “debt” that has been wholly de-economized, in effect–a debt the owing of which escapes all reference to any possible payment:

The ingrate is defined first not by a negative will or his impotence to repay good with good, but by incapacity, impatience, and exasperation simply in receiving it [that is, a gift].  He refuses the charge not only of acquitting himself of this debt (which would remain within exchange), but of ever having incurred–of ever having been offered a gift.  He suffers from the very principle that a gift affects him by befalling him.  He does not refuse this or that gift with or without this or that objective support:  he refuses indebtedness pure and simple–or rather the admission of it.  In a stubborn struggle against the evidence of the gift already given and without his consent, the ingrate has the presence to maintain that his consent alone decides the gifts given to him.  He sticks strictly to the base principle that “I don’t owe anything to anyone” . . .

That the great community of the dead remains for the most part made up of wholly anonymous members does not affect the issue of our debt to them, is, in turn, clarified in Marion’s discussion of the gift in relation to the giver, culminating in this observation (p. 98):  ”The ego is inasmuch as it returns identically to itself; the giver is not (lacks, disappears, remains unknown, anonymous) insofar as he gives (himself).”  Following upon this, he goes on to remark (pp. 100-101):  ”Since it gives itself, the gift appears as gift to the givee only if the last mentioned is indeed recognized as last, or at least as second–as who receives, incurs a debt, owes something to he knows not whom or what.  This recognition of debt, contrary to appearances, is no small matter.  At issue is what phenomenologically and morally is the hardest ordeal:  to succeed in making an exception to the principle ‘I don’t owe anything to anybody.’ “

Following up further on (p. 112):

To receive the gift implies that one owes something–(the gift) to something–sometimes the giver.  To decide to receive a gift therefore demands accepting, with and for the gift, the same time as this gift the knowledge and the acknowledgment of a debt.  The gratuity of the gift is paid for with recognition–of the gift and its very gratuity. To decide to receive the gift is equivalent to deciding to become the one obliged by the gift.  The decision between the potential givee and the gift is therefore not so much one that the givee exercises over the gift as one that the gift exercises over the givee.  It is necessary that the gift, by its attractiveness and the glamour of its phenomenality decide that the givee accepts it; that is to say, it leads him to sacrifice his autarky in order to receive it.  In the final analysis, the gift itself decides its acceptance by deciding (for) its givee.  The gift shows itself so as to give itself and to give its reception.

His treatment of the event is also excellent.  For example, pp. 167-168:  the event “dismisses all cause.”  He uses, as a first instance, the event “for the historian,” e.g., World War I:

It is not a matter of their being a shortage of causes, which would remain unknown because the information, inquiries, and particular studies would be lacking.  Quite the contrary, the information–here concerning what triggered the First World War–is overabundant. . . . But it is precisely this overabundance that forbids assigning it a cause, and even forbids understanding it through a variety of causes.  In effect, what qualifies it as an event stems from the fact that these causes themselves all result from an arising with which they are incommensurable.  We pursue them because the event happens by itself, far from its happening as a result of what they teach us.  Its irrepressible bursting into the tranquil air of popular enthusiasm in the summer of 1914 does not arise from its causes to come, but from itself, from its unpredictable landing [Kosky's translation of "arrivage"] and its incident.

This bears comparison to Bergson, of course, whom Marion does not cite here.  Nor does he cite Freud, though what Marion says of the event fits well with what Freud says about the “over-determined” aspect of the symptom of neurosis.

He goes on, p. 170: ” ‘The rose is without why,’ [as the 17th century German mystic poet Angelus Silesius says in a famous poem] but also the event.  For that matter, the rose, when it opens, arises like an event, just as the event blossoms–when it is ripe.”

In the face of such an in principle unforseeable event, the “subject” gives way to the “witness.”  P. 217:  ”Far from being able to constitute the phenomenon, the experience itself is constituted by it.  To the constituting subject, there succeeds the witness–the constituted witness.”

Proceeding in terms of Kant’s four categories of “pure concepts of the understanding,” Marion says (p. 228) that the event “saturates the category of quantity.”  He uses the example of Waterloo, and even refers to Stendhal’s Fabrice [main character in Stendhal's novel The Charterhouse of Parma]:  ”Put trivially, nobody ever saw the battle of Waterloo (nor Austerlitz, to be fair). . . . The battle passes and passes away on its own, without anybody making it or deciding it.  It passes, and each watches it pass, fade into the distance, and then disappear, disappear like it had come–that is to say, of itself.”

Also worth noting is his treatment, a bit further on, of the relation of call and response. He argues that the call as such only shows itself as call in the “responsal,” which generates (p. 289) “an essential paradox,” which is:  ”the responsal completes the call, but it is belated–late for what gives itself, it delays its monstration.  In a word, the responsal delays the call.”  Thus, the structure of call and response displays the same “belatedness” that Freud attributes to trauma.  Marion goes on to see this same structure as there since and in birth. In effect, as born, what is born comes to itself only in delay:

The gifted is late ever since his birth precisely because he is born; he is late from birth precisely because he must first be born.  There is none among the living who did not first have to be born, that is to say, arise belatedly from his parents in the attentive circle of waiting for words that summoned him before he could understand them or guess their meaning. . . . All my slow coming to consciousness . . . has no other ambition than to absorb my delay in responding to my birth (call) and to contain the initial excess with the fragile poverty of solipsism.

This invites comparison with the dream of the burning child in Freud, which, by Cathy Caruth’s analysis, is a matter of staying asleep, so that consciousness itself comes to be seen as the guard against waking up.  Marion then concludes his discussion of birth as follows (p. 290):

In effect, not only am I born as if from a call, but this call even precedes my birth, which constitutes only its first response.  Before my birth, words were said around me and I heard them without understanding; even before my conception, words were exchanged by others, words ranging from joy to violence, and from which I no doubt come.  I therefore was said and spoken before being; I am born from a call that I neither made, wanted, nor even understood.  Birth consists only in this excess of the call and in the delay of my responsal.

Pp. 295-296:

The call precedes the responsal, which continually confesses its delay by multiplying its responses, which series opens nothing less than a history proper to the gifted.  The history of the gifted is due to the sum of its responses, which draw it near to and distant from the call. . . . The belatedness has nothing of a temporizing or temporalized delay; it stems from the gifted’s strictly phenomenological conversion of what gives itself (the call) into what shows itself (the responsal).  The conversion imposes a delay–a slowness, but a ripening slowness that puts the given on the path of showing itself by filtering through the prism of the gifted. . . . Only givenness, unfolded in all its instances, differs/defers.  Differing and deferring, it shows itself.  The visible is late in hatching, but it hatches only in this very delay.  Temporality itself delays only in order to attest it.

The entry below is a re-posting of something I put on my own blog .

I have been reading, again, a story from Peter Rollins’ new book “Orthodox Heretic“.  My favorite story thus far is the story where the agnostic becomes an atheist.  It is a fascinating story about coming to grips with conceptual idolatry and laying down reliance upon ideas, words and concepts about God, but taking up the lifestyle of Jesus in some fashion.  I am also reading a book from Jean-Luc Marion, entitled “God without being“.  Though I am barely into the book (which is dense and a slow slow read) already Marion has helped with his distinction between idols and icons.  Idols capture our gazing and cease our exploration or any deeper examination…we are entranced so to speak, with what we think is a object worthy of our gaze.  However, the reality is that the idol is merely an invisible mirror, reflecting to us a view of ourselves (which is precisely why I think we are truly so entranced by it).  So our gazing at the object of the idol really displays our own visage (or something of our own thought in the case of conceptual idolatry).  

The Icon, on the other hand, invites our gaze to consider that which is truly invisible and unreducible…it conducts our gazing toward another, toward that which exceeds reducibility into something visible.  Hence the Icon does not limit our view and ideas but opens up our gazing, our thinking, our knowing (with appropriate humility and limits).  

While I have not gotten further into Marion’s argument, it is clear already to me that part of what he is aiming at is the reduction that we impose with our words and the concepts we are attempting to describe.  Even our word “God” is a reduction to the nature of the divine that we are naming.  If we allow the word to represent in an absolute way the one to which it points, we are in real danger of setting up a conceptual idol, not having adequately recognized the function of language, even the language in what we consider holy writ.

In Rollins’ story, the philospher attempting to prove the non-existence of God, is visited by God who tells him “I do not Exist”.  Now for some this story will seem blasphemous, believing that it is intimating that God is not real.  But far from that, the story challenges our conceptual impositions upon the divine one we call “God”…even the assumption that God has “being” in the same way that we do.  The One who is absolutely mysterious, communicates to the philosopher that he doesn’t exist (in the way that we conceive of being).  So the philosopher is atheistic in that he rejects the conceptions of God that have been offered, not the existence of God.  Although I am not certain, but I would be willing to bet that underlying this parable is Marion’s work “God Without Being.”  

In Rollin’s story, the veracity of the encounter is expressed not in words and concepts but in existence.  The aim of the philosopher’s living and work is altered, traveling not further into description but by incarnation. What if  that which an author intends to say is not the point to which one should pay attention, but rather what those who read do in response to what they have read.  Maybe we ought to value  and read the living of those who follow God, rather than their words as a means of perceiving what they claim to believe and  understand about God.

This is the final installment of an introductory position paper I’m calling “The Impossible Now” or “Towards a Theology of the Impossible.”  There are three previous parts.  You can find them here, here, and here.  In this final installment I talk about “the religious question.”  Cheers!

…The im/possible is refusing, as it always does, to be pinned down and become a part of someone’s strategic planning. It will always retreat from our view, from our expectation, from our massaging of what is possible, and back into the realm of the unexpected and truly unimaginable….

The Event of the im/possible cannot be prepared for and at the same time cannot be depended on. These are horrible words to hear for strategic planning! How then do we live with such (non)knowledge? If authenticity, imagination and experiment are the tools that we shape the relative future with, what are the tools we use to embrace the wildcard future—the im/possible? What can we possibly do or say or prepare in reference to something that lies so completely out of our ability to do or say or prepare for? It is for this place, this absurd, unexpected, undeterminable place that a different set of internal reservoirs are needed. Religion, good religion, seeks to address this sort of question.

Having done all to encounter the present in a meaningful way, we are still often left with seemingly meaningless events that continually take us by surprise, disturbing our best laid plans. This realization is, at its highest, a religious experience. It doesn’t require belief in a Personal Origin, or First Cause. But it does require something of us. That much is certain. The “what” is actually rather well-known. The attributes I’m going to mention are in many ways universals. They’re what philosopher’s might call “un-deconstructables,” in that they are ideals—almost always un-fully-realized urges that keep us reaching toward them. The most famous of Jesus’ early followers, the apostle Paul, said it best, in my opinion, “…in the end, these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these is love.”

This simple three word formula provides the basis for the intersection between the im/possible and the real. Faith isn’t so much a mental adherence to theoretical propositions about the nature of truth, but rather living today in the light of the future as it should be. Faith sees the idealized Peaceful Tomorrow, the future where swords have been beaten into plowshares, and tanks made into tractors, and determines to live peaceably today, even while the world is filled with wars and rumors of wars. Faith is an active, aggressive leap forward toward the Good, the Just, and the Best in spite of evidence contrary. Faith is an investment in particularity and locality, refusing to be theoretical and (merely) universal. Faith is always personal, though hardly private.

Hope isn’t the spindly sickly stuff of fantasy; it’s longing contentment. Hope sees the possibility of renewal and resurrection where others see lifelessness or death. Hope believes in commonality, compassion and a desire for connection with the Other where fear informs us that only Strangers and Monsters await on the other side of the unknown.

And love…Love is the greatest of these. Even faith and hope must give way before love. What can be said of love? Those who have known both Love and God have said that God is Love. If God can be spoken of and said to be anything at all, God is spoken of as and said to be Love. The substance of the divine is bound up in love. Concrete love. Active love. Visible, tangible, touchable love. Love, which covers a multitude of sins. Love which walks the extra mile. Love which gives up the second coat. Love which willingly lays down its life for another, for the Other. Love, of whom we may sing a thousand songs.

Our deep need to account for the unaccounted for, forces us to build up, to work on, a different skill set entirely. The things that are simply cannot prepare us for the things that are not. For those sorts of im/possible occurrences we must draw on the deep fountains that lurk at the corner of our being, not quite yet realized, still in formation, and dependent on some previously unforeseen happening to unleash their potential in our lives. In some strange way, these too, carry the stamp of Artistry. Art, in all of its forms, somehow allows to us to look upon, and hint at, those things which we cannot view in a straightforward way. Artistry gives birth to the Encounter of im/possibility which we are able to meet with arms open, acting out of faith, hope, and love.

“How very good and pleasant it is when kindred drink together in unity!
It is like the precious ale on the head, running down upon the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robe.
It is like the India Pale Ale of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion.
For there the Lord ordained his blessing, beer forevermore” – Psalm 133:1-3 – NRSV (with my changes in light of the original Hebrew text)

Beers can be divided at their broadest into two types…Ales and Lagers. This is due to the different kinds of yeast used and how they are fermented. Ales use a “top fermenting” yeast. The yeast mostly floats on top and is usually ferments between 70 and 80 degrees. Lagers use, you guessed it, “bottom fermenting” yeast. They are generally fermented between 50 to 65 degrees, often for longer periods of time.

We will examine some beer families, discuss flavor profiles, and in keeping with our commitment to break down the sacred/secular divide, we shall also discuss theological pairings as James did in his series on the sweet weed.

British Isle Beers: Ireland, Scotland and England

When describing “BSI (British, Irish, Scottish) beers” I like to imagine a number line where Pale Ale is 0 and the other beers go either positive or negative, indicating increasing and decreasing amounts of ingredients and complexity. Not that beers to the “left”( ie-Bitters, Milds, et al) are not complex in their own right, but they tend to feature less ingredients and so there are less waves of flavors to draw from. Let us also imagine there being blurry borders between beer styles, for instance it can be difficult to describe the distinct difference between a mild Pale Ale and an Extra Special Bitter, but we shall do our best.

Starting from the left of this imaginary beer line we can begin with the “Mild Ale” “Milds” are generally a deep maroon color from slow roasted malts. They are “mildly” hopped so that the predominate flavor is the sweet malt. “Milds” tend to have a low alchohol% and so can be drunk with abandon without becoming abandoned of ones wits. This pairs well anything by or about St. Francis of Assisi or St. Thomas Aquinas, those gentle genius’s…An Ox and an apostle- to-the-animals. . . so mild

Enter the Bitter! The “Bitter” ale is a paradox, much like The Trinity, much like good theology. You see, it is not actually bitter at all! Well, it is in comparison to Milds and Scots, wherefrom came its namesake, but a “Bitter” can usually be counted on to go down easily, be warm in the malt – malts that are neither too smooth, nor too bright – and have a fruity but gentle hop flavor. A true “session” beer, a Bitter can go well with many kinds of food, from Asian stir-fry to Fish and Chips, and it can be drunk several pints over without being put-over a bar stool. If you should find an “Extra Special Bitter,” you should know that “Extra Special” refers to more hops and more malt. It is the same for an “Extra Pale Ale.” A Bitter will be less acidic than a Pale Ale but not as fruity as an India Pale Ale. I tend to contemplate a Social Trinity with a good Bitter, especially if you are contemplating it with a Southern Baptist, who, for all their bitter fundamentalism, have never been able to be teetolaters.

In the “0″ position we have my “center” beer. . . The Pale Ale. The “pale” refers to the color and roast of the malts. A Pale Ale will have a heavier malt and hop load than a Bitter; it will have more malt than an IPA but less hops. In the Twin Cities we are blessed enough to have one of the single greatest examples of this style: “Summit Extra Pale Ale” Its widespread popularity means that even if you are in a dive’iest of bars, where they have an “assortment” of american lagers, they are bound to have Summit EPA on draft. This beer, as I said, is a massively influential “transition beer,” many a domestic drinker has been exposed to the wonders of hops by this beer, which also pairs well with many foods, and is available for $20 for 2-12 packs at Costco. Consider this a beer for all occasions and thinkers. From Origen to Volf, one always needs a “standby” to fill in for occasions where everyone can be happy.

Further now to the right of center, one of my favorite styles, the India Pale Ale. Historically speaking this was an ale light on the malt, but massively infused with hops in order to be able to withstand the journey from England to India (hence India Pale Ale). Though many American brewers experiement (quite well) with varying levels and roasts of malts, one should expect the beer to be a bright orange and have bright malt flavors. This beer is all about the hops. The huge amount of hops make this beer rather high in alcohol content, and many a sailor has lost the north star because of this. Now American and English versions do differ in certain respects. If American beers are good at anything (and they are good at everything), they are the world champions of understanding and utilizing hops. We have singularly turned the IPA into a transcultural phenomenon. More than a few beer snobs count this style their favorite. While the flavor can of course be spectacular, it is the aroma that make this ale the King of american craft beers. Depending on the hop variety it can be grapefruity, pineappley, always citrusy, always fruity, and not a little bitter. In the drinking, one often has hints of orange and spices. One of the worlds greatest beers (no I am not exagerating) is the IPA, Bell’s Two Hearted Ale, from the Kalamazoo Brewing Co. Have it with asian food, have it with fish, have it on a hot summer day, have it always; but especially when reading Voyage of the Dawntreader, Moby Dick, contemplating the early creed ICTHUS, or anything else fish related.

Related is the DoubleIPA, sometimes called an Imperial IPA. That’s right, a double. Basically you take the same pale malt base, add the amount of hops for a normal IPA, and double it. Thus squeezing your balls in a rapturous vice of hop-heaven. This is not a beer to be trifled with or to be take lightly. Again, Bell’s does not disappoint, check out their Hopslam and hope you survive the encounter. One should read post-critical theology as this beer can highten your mental capacity: try Jean-Luc Marion, John Milbank and Rowan Williams

qu’on s’adresse aux anges : ô sacs à fiente, idoles de nos deux fraises, vous les sans-becs, vous les petits appariteurs zobards et séparés, on vous chie dans l’anus et on crée pour l’occasion le verbe utile “anusser”, de sorte qu’on puisse écrire : ”qui anussera les anges, s’il en a quelque peu ?” ou, mieux : “anussons les fangeux !” 

 on a besoin de cruauté.

incidemment, saluer l’accession de jean-luc marion, adepte de la sodomie mariale (à distance), au fauteuil 4 (sous la coupole).

Just got this in the mail, feel an urge to share – looks like something I might attend too: 

Postmodernism, Culture and Religion 3: The Politics of Love. 

Syracuse University
April 16-18, 2009

Coordinators
Linda Martín Alcoff, Professor of Philosophy 

John D. Caputo, Thomas J. Watson Professor of Religion and Humanities

Registration Fee$125, Students: $60
Preregistration is recommended.

PROGRAM:

A constellation of internationally prominent theorists–philosophers, theologians and psychoanalysts–will gather to discuss the question of whether the concept of love can be redescribed as a political concept. Is love necessarily a private matter or does it also have a public meaning? Can love become part of a political project? In addition to an ethics or religion of love, can there be a politics of love? 
Jessica Benjamin 
New York University

Hent de Vries 
Johns Hopkins University

Michael Hardt 
Duke University

Amy Hollywood 
Harvard University

Jean-Luc Marion 
University of Paris–Sorbonne & University of Chicago

Ebrahim Moosa 
Duke University

Merold Westphal 
Fordham University

Slavoj Zizek 
Birkbeck College, University of London

For more information, go here.

La cererea unei amice, am scris lista bibliografică a cărţilor care se merită citite, care au consolidat temelia intelectului meu. Le redau în continuare cu speranţa de a vă fi de un real folos:

1. Biblia;
2. Petre Anghel, Stiluri şi metode de comunicare, Ed. Aramis;
3. Constantin Rădulescu Motru, Psihologia poporului român;
4. Gary Chapman, Cele cinci limbaje ale iubirii, Ed. Curtea veche;
5. Cristian Bădiliţă, Cu degetul pe rană, Ed. Curtea veche;
6. Garry Smalley, ADN-ul relaţiilor;
7. Larry Crabb, Înţelegând oamenii;
8. Larry Crabb, Bărbaţi şi femei. Diferenţele pot fi o sursă de bucurie, Ed. Kerigma;
9. Virgiliu Gheorghe, Efectele televiziunii asupra minţii umane, Ed. Evanghelismos;
10. Gabriel Liiceanu, Declaraţie de iubire, Ed. Humanitas;
11. Gabriel Liiceanu, Despre seducţie, Ed. Humanitas;
12. Gabriel Liiceanu, Apel către lichele, Ed. Humanitas;
13. Gabriel Liiceanu, Despre ură, Ed. Humanitas;
14. Gabriel Liiceanu, Despre minciună, Ed. Humanitas;
15. Andrei Pleşu, Jurnalul de la Tescani, Ed. Humanitas;
16. C. S. Lewis, Cele patru iubiri;
17. Robert Turcescu, Dans de Bragadiru, Ed. Polirom;
18. Cristian Tudor Popescu, Luxul morţii, Ed. Polirom;
19. Gary Thomas, Căsătorie sfântă, Ed. Kerigma;
20. Vladimir Pustan, Dulcele sărut al singurătăţii, Ed. Fabrica de vise;
21. Vladimir Pustan, Trădată iubirea trecea, Ed. Fabrica de vise;
22. Vladimir Pustan, Scrisorile lui Belorofon, Ed. Fabrica de vise;
23. Cedric Mims, Enciclopedia morţii;
24. Mihail sadoveanu, Baltagul;
25. Camil Petrescu, Ultima noapte de dragoste, întâia noapte de război;
26. Jean Luc Marion, Fenomenul erosului, Ed. Deisis;
27. John Gray, Bărbaţii sunt de pe Marte, femeile sunt de pe Venus;
28. Radu Paraschivescu, Cu inima smulsă din piept, Ed. Humanitas, 2008;
29. Jonatan Hill, Istoria gândirii creştine;
30. Earle Cairns, Creştinismul de-a lungul secolelor, Ed. Cartea Creştină;
31. Dr. Ed. Wheat, Viaţa intimă în căsnicia creştină, Ed. Cartea creştină;
32. Ştiinţa şi credinţa creştină, Ed. Cartea creştină;
33. John Waine, Demisia lui Darwin;
34. Allan Pease, Limbajul trupului;
35. Nicolae Berdiaev, Sensul creaţiei;
36. Vladimir Lossky, Teologia mistică a Bisericii de Răsărit;
37. John Bunyan, Călătoria creştinului;
38. Leland Ryken, Sfinţi în lume – puritanii în adevărata lor lumină;
39. Petre Ţuţea, 322 vorbe memorabile;
40. Septimiu Chlcea, Cum să redactăm;
41. Ion Luca Caragiale, Conu Leonida faţă cu reacţiunea;
42. A. E. Baconscki, Fluxul memoriei;
43. Vasile Voiculescu, Sonete;
44. William Shakespeare, Romeo şi Julieta;
45. Andrei Pleşu, Despre bucurie în est şi vest, Ed. Humanitas;
46. John Montgomery, Drepturile omului şi demnitatea umană, Ed. Cartea creştină;
47. Ortega Y Gasset, Studii despre iubire;
48. Cornel Filip, Păgânizarea creştinismului apostolic, Ed. Kerigma;
49. Codul bunelor maniere;
50. Harriet Lummis Smith, Secretul mulţumirii, Ed. Kerigma, 3 volume;
51. Joshua Harris, Adio amoruri;
52. Ben Carson, Mâini înzestrate;
53. Ben Carson, Gândeşte cutezător;
54. Francis Schaeffer, Trilogia, Ed. Cartea creştină;
55. Eric şi Leslye Ludy, Când povestea de dragoste ţi-o scrie Dumnezeu;
56. John F. MacArthur, Când sarea îşi pierde gustul;
57. Elisabeth Elliot, Cărarea singurătăţii;
58. Elisabeth Ellioth, Pasiune şi puritate;
59. David DeWitt, Cartea bărbatului matur;
60. James Dobson, Căsătoria: împlinire sau frustrare;
61. Norman Wright, Comunicarea cheia căsniciei tale;
62. Luis palau, Cu cine să mă căsătoresc;
63. Nancy L. Van Pelt, Curtenie completă;
64. Nancy L. Van Pelt, Secretele comunicării;
65. Norman Wright, Deci, te căsătoreşti;
66. Gene Edwatrds, Divina iubire;
67. Ligia Mănăstireanu, Eu cu cine mă căsătoresc?;
68. Daniel Brânzei, Ghidul familiei creştine;
69. Josh McDowell, Secretul artei de a iubi;
70. Stephen Arteburn, Fred Stoeker, Lupta fiecărui bărbat;
71. Stephen Arteburn, Fred Stoeker, Lupta fiecărui tânăr;
72. Hill,HilJosh McDowell, Mai mult decât un simplu tâmplar;
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74. Watchman Nee, Nu iubiţi lumea;
75. Mary Bater, O descoperire uluitoare;
76. C. S. Lewis, Creştinismul redus la esenţe;
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79. James W. Sire, Universul de lângă noi, Ed. Cartea creştină;
80. Thomas Kempis, Imitatio Christi;
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