Monthly Archives: October 2007

Reformation Day: Thrown ever back upon grace

Ironic, isn’t it, that Reformation Day occurs on the eve of All Saints Day?  The day before we remember all the Saints and Doctors of the church, we remember the tragic rending of the church.  Perhaps this is fitting, in a sad and ironical sort of way. 

However, on this day, when our eye (should!) naturally turn toward the disunity of the una sancta catholica et apostolica Ecclesia I would like to turn my eyes to the rest of the Nicene confession of the church.  The critique that the historic apostolic churches have of the churches of the Reformation is most centrally their lack of apostolic succession and visible unity with the church.  I don’t want to try to dodge this critique.  However, I want us, on this tragic day to remember that the church is not simply constituted by its being the catholica, for the church to be itself it must also be holy and apostolic.  With Lesslie Newbigin I believe it is meaningless to say that a member of the church may sin, but the church never sins.  Such a statement borders on the absurdity of saying that while American soldiers may torture enemy combatants, that America itself doesn’t torture anybody.

My point in all this is point out that all churches, be they Catholic, Orthodox, or protestant have sinned, have compromised the apostolic mission, and have fallen into disunity.  We all stand under judgment, living solely upon the divine mercy.  As Newbigin stated over fifty years ago:

From its very beginnings the Church faces us with the dark mystery of sin by which she lives and acts in a manner that contradicts her essential nature.  She who is essentially one is divided; she who is holy is unclean; she who is essentially apostolic forgets her missionary task.  No doctrine of the Church can be true which does not match this dark mystery of sin in the Church with a doctrine of the divine grace profound enough to deal with it without evasion, and which does not in some measure explain how a body which by sin denies its own nature is yet accepted by God and used as a means of his grace.  I have sought to show that the Church’s unity and continuity are of it’s esse and cannot be treated as secondary and dispensable elements in its life.  But it is no less of the esse of the Church that it should be holy, and that it should be apostolic, which I take to mean both holding the apostolic faith and prosecuting the apostolic mission to the world.  A Church which denies any of these elements in its life denies its essential being.  Having done so, it can exist as a Church only by the sheer grace and mercy of God.  Holiness and apostolicity belong, equally with unity, to the essence of the Church. … With regard to what the Church ought to be, I think we have every ground to insist that our Lord has given us very clear directions indeed.  But with regard to what we are, I think we must simply say that God has concluded all under sin that He may have mercy on all.

–Lesslie Newbigin, Household of God (New York: Friendship Press, 1953), 91-92.

My hope on this day is that we all, in some small way remember that we all depend on the mercy of God to remain his Church.  For our part, as the “wild olive shoots”, we protestants stand condemned for our lack of visible unity, just as the churches always and everywhere stand condemned for their lack of holiness, for their compromised apostolicity.  We all live as Churches solely by the mercies of God.  We who were no people are now a people.  And so, on this day, when we remember our failures to be his faithful people, let us not cease to sing the songs of Zion, to chant the creed of Nicea, and to proclaim the mystery of faith.  For by God’s grace we are not left alone.  “If we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.”

Robert Jenson: God as Decision & the Incarnation

“According to Barth, God’s being is most decisively construed by the notion of decision.  God is so unmitigatedly personal that his free decision is not limited even by his ‘divine nature’: what he is, he himself chooses.  But that must be to say God is the act of his decision.  Thus the doctrine of election, of God’s choice ‘before all time’ is for Barth the center of the doctrine of God’s being.

If we then ask what is chose, in the act of choice that is the eternal being of God, Barth’s answer is: he chose to unite himself, in the person of Christ, with humankind; he chose to be God only as one person with the man Jesus.  But since God is the act of choice, God in making this actual choice not only chooses that he will be the man Jesus; as the event of his choice, he is the man Jesus.

Thus it is the Incarnate Son who is himself his own presupposition in God’s eternity: the Incarnation happens in eternity as the foundation of its happening in time, in eternity as the act of decision that God is, and in time as the carrying-out of what God decides.”

–Robert Jenson, Systematic Theology: The Triune God (Oxford: OUP, 1997), 140.

I have no ontology!

In a recent post at Faith & Theology, George Hunsinger and Kim Fabricious go head-to-head in a ‘propositions-off’ about the much-discussed issue of the logos asarkos.  While there is much in that post that I would like, and hope someday to respond to, there was one statement by Hunsinger that particularly struck me.  For his fifth proposition, Hunsinger asserts, “I do not now, nor have I ever, subscribed to an “essentialist” ontology. The reason is that I have never subscribed to any ontology whether “essentialist”, “actualist” or otherwise” [Italics added].  Hunsinger made a similar statement in the 2006 session of the Karl Barth Society in response to David Bentley Hart’s claim that he (Hart) was seeking to explore in his work the metaphysics implied by the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo.  Hunsinger insisted, contra Hart that the ontology implied by Christian doctrine is “none whatsoever”.

Now, as I understand it, “ontology” simply means the study of being.  If someone proposes an ontology, they are, as I understand the term, proposing a particular way of understanding the nature of of what it means “to be”.  Unless “ontology” means something very different from what I understand, then it seems to me that Hunsinger’s claim to not hold any particular ontology is incredible to say the least.  Are we to understand that he has no perspective whatsoever on the nature of being, either human or divine?  To even claim such a thing skirts the very furthest reaches of absurdity.  Christian theology has always implied substantial ontological commitments.  Any reading of the creeds and treatises of the church fathers shows how intimately freighted their work is with ontological statements and categories.  The doctrine of the Trinity, the two natures of Christ, and especially the doctrine of the bodily resurrection of Christ from the dead are radically ontological claims.  They have everything to do with what “being” ultimately means.

Alas, I fear that Hunsinger, in claiming that he has no ontology is really just trying to find a way out of having to have the necessary arguments about theological ontology that would bear on the shape of ones doctrine of the Trinity and Christology.  In claiming that he has no ontology, Hunsinger is trying to insulate his position on central theological issues related to Christology and the Trinity from metaphysical critique.  This is an unfortunate theological move and promises only to contribute to hardened lines and more shrill arguments over the issues in question rather than fostering an authentic dialogue about the ontological perspectives most appropriate to the proper articulation of orthodox Christian theology.

Resurrection and Revolution: Some Ontological Considerations

In some recent conversations at Faith & Theology there has been a lot discourse about the ontological implications of the resurrection of Christ.  Basically, the argument is between those who insist that we must find a “logically prior” ontological ground for the resurrection of Christ in a postulated eternal logos asarkos and those who argue that the resurrection is an unassimilable novum which defines the reality of God and cannot be circumscribed within a pre-existing metaphysical framework, let alone one that postulates an abstract de-fleshed Word which is prior to the revelation of God in and as Christ. 

A brief perusal of those discussions will show you that I favor the latter position.  If I may be permitted to rhapsodize a bit about this question, I would like to synthesize some of the conversations and thoughts I’ve had about this issue recently and see if they yield any helpful contributions to this conversation. 

The essential presupposition that I hold, and which I believe to be supremely biblical is that the resurrection is always and ever again disruptive in the theological or philosophical enterprise. The problem with enfolding the resurrection into a metaphysics, even one that takes it’s “starting point” in the historical event of the resurrection, is that the resurrection eludes our attempts to categorize it within a framework of being. The resurrection is always a complete novum which cannot be circumscribed within a metaphysical system, no matter how dynamic we take that system to be.

This is not to say that the resurrection means we can never talk about being, rather it means we must constantly learn to speak about it in a new key. The resurrection invites and requires theological-ontological discourse, but this discourse must constantly be referred back to the event which birthed it.  The resurrection always sends us back to the ontological drawing board, demanding that we constantly revise our notions of being in its light.  In other words, the resurrection does not simply disclose to us a new metaphysics. No matter what metaphysic we might have, the resurrection overturns it. The resurrection is unsurpassable and insurmountable.  It cannot be domesticated or circumscribed into a metaphysical system in which it is rendered intelligible. The resurrection is always subversive, politically, philosophically, and theologically. The moment when we make it simply a part of a larger system, regardless of how “incarnational” such a system might be, the resurrection ceases to be the permanent revolution that it is disclosed to be. It ceases to be apocalyptic.

An important point that should be noted here is that, while this current discussion is about the ontological revolution of the resurrection which overturns and interrupts any sort of totalized metaphysical discourse, this conversation could just as easily be had in a great many other dialogical modes.  A central example of this is that of Christian ethics.  The resurrection cannot be domesticated within a Christian ethical system or total perspective which then renders its “ethical implications” intelligible.  The resurrection always disorients and calls into question our ethical practices and virtues.  A great example of this is the ethical question of violence.  While a great many Christian pacifists find it easy to fold the cross and resurrection into the ethical framework of Christian nonviolence, such easy assimilation provides an illegitimate way in which the radically disruptive nature of the resurrection is put aside within closed system of nonviolence.  Such a totalized pacifism too easily assumes that we know what “peace” means inevery situation.  It is the resurrection which must always call into question the form of our practice of nonviolence.  The example of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s agonistes toward discovering righteous action is instructive on this point.  Any totalized system of ethics, metaphysics, or any other sort of discourse which would render the resurrection of the crucified  immediately intelligible inevitably blunts the disorienting critique which the cross and resurrection pose.  The insights which flow from the resurrection can never take us beyond it into something else.  Rather we are always return to Golgotha and and the empty Tomb and constantly finding the givens in which we take refuge called into question by the translucent luminosity of the Crucified and Risen One who is with the Father.

Now, this is not to equate the resurrection with a permanent sense of deferral, or Derrida’s differánce. The resurrection is actually quite the opposite. It is the overabundant surplus of meaning, not its deferral. The resurrection is not the end of theological discourse, rather it is it center and ever-new beginning. The point about the resurrection being a perpetual disruption in the logic of metaphysical discourse indicates the way in which the subversive nature of the resurrection can never be transcended in our theologizing. We can never construct a metaphysic into which we can “fit” it. This does not mean the end of ontological pursuits in the least, what it does mean is that any understanding of “being” must always be thought and rethought in reference to the resurrection as the revelation of the Triune God.

Nor is this an “ontology of the void” in which the ontological integrity of created being is torn asunder into a constant event of antagonism and rupture.  Rather, it is precisely the resurrection that prevents such an ontology. If we take the doctrine of creatio ex nihilio seriously, then the utterly gratuitous and non-necessary event of the resurrection is the only thing which offers an alternative to such a ontology of the void. For if we all come from “nothing”, there can be no metaphysic within which we can render a theological account of being, let alone one into which we would fit the resurrection. It is the resurrection alone which holds us back from falling into the nihil from whence we were created.  If there is an ontology that flows from the resurrection is always and only an ontology of grace, where our be-ing is located completely outside ourselves in the sheer gratuity of God’s self-giving in the resurrection of Christ.  The resurrection is the de-centering center of any viable theological ontology, establishing our being just as it renders impossible any sort of  metaphysics in which being can be narrated as intelligible in and of itself.  The resurrection requires an ontological revolution that can never become a stable system precisely because our be-ing is located extra nos in the utterly gratuitous act of the resurrection. 

To make yet another feeble attempt to clarify the matter, theological discourse is not supposed to be the exposition of a metaphysic within which Christian claims (such as the claim that Christ was raised) become intelligible. Rather, theological discourse is a doxological and evangelical practice of bearing witnessto the reality of God as defined in Christ. This act of witness is always a stuttering and stammering enterprise which can never have the closure and completion of “metaphysics” as classically understood.  Christians are always limping towards Emmaus, rather than coming in clouds.  We cannot quest after some sort of security, ethically, theologically, or ontologically which goes beyond what God has given us in Christ and the Spirit.  We cannot take refuge in a logos asarkos or any repristination of classical metaphysics.  Rather, all we are given is the security of the confession of faith: “Christ has died.  Christ is risen.  Christ will come again.”

And then it was topped…

The new winningest search engine term that has been used to access my site is now:

“jesus porn”

Four, wait make that five hits came to my blog from this term!  I don’t know if this makes me feel weirder about the fact that someone would type that into Google or that it led them here, but either way, glech!

Radical Trintarianism: §5.2: From Melodrama to Drama

In this section the focus falls on cultivating a proper understanding of the God-world relation.  In contemporary trinitarian theology this question looms large and lines of theological demarcation are often drawn rigidly over the issue of how we understand the relation of the being of the eternal God to the contingencies of our temporal existence in history.

Our understanding of the relationship between the being of God and history is founded in how we understand the relationship between the drama of divine-human interaction in history and the eternally dramatic life of the Triune God.  The previous discussion of non-competitive divine transcendence informs this discussion because it is the non-competitive transcendence of the Triune God which provides the theological framework for a proper understand of the relation of that God to the created world.  The central claim being advanced here is that the revelation of the Triune God in Christ and the Spirit in the historical economy of salvation is definitive of our understanding of both the God-world relation and how that relation is grounded in the eternal life of the Trinity.

What takes place in the economy of salvation is precisely a drama of divine-human interaction on the historical stage.  There is no divine monologue, but rather a diverse symphony of multivalent voices come into conversation through the creative and redemptive action of the Triune God.  As Hans Urs von Balthasar points out,

In the Christian drama God does not speak in monologues. He engages in conversation, shared speech. This shows once again that Christianity is not (like the Koran, for example) a ‘teaching’ that has fallen from heaven but an interaction, a kind of negotiation between two parties. . . . In contrast to the world, which is closed in on itself, does not want to listen to him and distorts all his words even as he utters them, God is the One who allows himself to be most profoundly affected by this partner so unfit for speech. . . . And only on the basis of the Cross is faith given to the disciples and all subsequent believers, rendering them capable of dialogue with God. (Theo-Drama II, 71-72)

The Christian understanding of God, as revealed in the history of Jesus Christ in Israel and the church is precisely a dramatic history.  My fundamental contention here is that the clue to properly understanding the nature of the God-world relation is on the basis of the historical drama of divine-human conversation throughout the biblical history of Israel, Jesus, and the church.  While this may seem a rather inoccuous claim, it is, in fact one that is quite radical, though of course it is not original to me.  Perhaps the central problem with which Christian theology has always had to deal is the issue of how to articulate the mode in which God can “fittingly” interact with and be impacted by the world.  I allude, here to the over-discussed issue of the “hellenization” of Christian theology and the long wrestling match of historical interpretations of Christianity’s various appropriations, domestications, or transformations (depending on your perspective) of the philosophical milieu of the ancient world. 

The central concern seems always to be the right theological aim of ensuring that we do not think God in a mythological manner which traps God within the world process as merely a “being” alongside or in competition with other created beings.  The wholly otherness of the Triune God has always been a central confession of the Christian faith.  The Christian God is the God who “dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see” (1 Tim. 6:16).  However, it is this same God whom we confess to be present to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ precisely as the “image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15).  The very body of the tortured, murdered Jew from Nazareth, for Christians is the “fullness of the Godhead” (Col. 2:9).  As the patristic fathers agonized over, it is the impassible that suffers, it is the eternal who diesThis is the Christian revolution.  All religions, all metaphysics, ancient and modern founder on this point.  The confession that Jesus of Nazareth is identical with the one God is the rock which all either fall upon and are and broken, or which falls upon and crushes them (Matt. 21:44).

The Christian story of God is precisely that, a story, a narration, or most fully expressed, a drama.  The biblical portrait of the Triune God is one of a God whe is engaged with the world through Word and Spirit.  The God of Israel is the God who condescends, binding himself in covenant.  The God of Jesus Christ is the God who descends into the very hell of human sinfulness and alienation for the sake of the return of all creatures to communion with God.  In other words, the Triune God’s relation to the world a theo-dramaticrelation.  Through Word and Spirit, the Triune God weaves created persons into the conversation that God is.  The shape this takes in our history is the primal revelation of God in and as the tortured, murdered, and resurrected Christ.  God enters into battle with the forces of wickedness and nothingness, investing his very being in that struggle for the life of the world.  This is the message of the cross and the resurrection – that the Holy One, the Wholly Other One has indeed gone into the far country and that this going-forth is a real and definitive event in the Life of the eternal God.  Or, more accurately, that this event of cross and resurrection is the eternal God precisely as God-for-us and God-with-us.

The question that presents itself to such a theo-dramatic understanding of the nature of God’s relationship to the world is whether or not such an understanding imprisons God within the world’s history.  Does not a view such as this in which the very being of God is definitively, even constitutively manifested in the cross and resurrection of Christ inevitably make God a predicate of history?  Does not such a “dramatic” understanding introduce strife and antagonism into the being of God in such a way that God is ultimately determined by sin?  The answer to all such questions is an emphatic ‘No’.

As Balthasar saw with perhaps more clarity than anyone in recent theology, the radical kenosis of the Triune God in the death and resurrection of Christ and the Pentecostal dispersal of the Spirit does not imprison the Trinity in the world’s fate, but rather lifts the world up into the embrace of the immanent Triune Life.  This is not a life that is other than, or beyond the very Life that is poured out from the side of Christ on the cross, or other than the life of the Spirit that dances in flaming tongues on the day of Pentecost.  To ascribe to the eternal life of the immanent Trinity the very same prodigal love and kenotically gushing-forth life that is manifested in Christ and the Spirit is to affirm that the events of the resurrection and Pentecost are simply are who God is.  These radical divine interruptions are the happening-in-time of the eternal Triune God.  The drama of salvation history is definitive of the being of God precisely because the being of the Triune God is revealed in that history as the eternal and primal drama which enfolds and encompasses the drama of salvation.

However, does this not still introduce eternal strife into the being of God?  Does not the assertion that the eternal life of the Triune God is the primal drama ultimately lead us to the conclusion that God must also include within himself some sort of primal conflict?  For does not drama inherently imply the presence of conflict?  My response to this question is simple.  No.  Drama does not require conflict.  The presence of strife and antagonism within the drama of salvation is not the “presence” of something at all.  Rather it is, as Augustine understood, the privation of the good.  A story that requires conflict is not drama, but melodrama.  Drama, theologically understood is the dynamic interplay of persons in communion.  The essence of drama is dialogical interchange and interpersonal communion.  Melodrama is overcome and transposed into the Triune Life as the primal drama absorbs and suffuses the lacuna of privation with the fullness of divine luminosity.  Stated more simply,  the resurrection is the overcoming of the melodrama of sin in the fullness of the eternal drama of the Triune Life.

All of this yields an understanding of the God-world relation that is at once cruciform, pentecostal, and theo-dramatic.  God relates himself to the world through the kenosis of the cross and the plerosis of the resurrection and Pentecost.  In the dramatic conversation of man’s ‘No’ and the Triune ‘Yes’ the primal drama of the Triune Life absorbs and enfolds the melodrama of the world’s rebellion.  It is in the drama of death, resurrection, and Pentecost that we understand how the Triune God relates himself to the world.  In his non-competitively transcendent lordship of the world, the Father draws all of creation, conformed to the image of his Son and transfigured in ardor of the Spirit into his eternal prodigal love.  The ultimate answer that we can give to this question, in light of all that we have seen is that God is primally related to the world as Father. 

McCarrharer on Capitalism & Theology

“Paradise and beatitude are, in the end, the unacknowledged longings of economic life.  Our imperium of money has been an elaborate attempt to divert our attention from these desires.  For the last generation, we’ve been admonished to lock “utopia” in the attic of historical nightmares and dwell within the cheerfully commercial boundaries of the capitalist imagination.  It’s been busy and entertaining and, until recently, it’s been safe.  The poor were forgotten or chastised, the critics were stifled or bribed, and the billions in the slums of globalization’s wake were silenced with promises and missiles.  But as Mike Davis puts it in Planet of Slums with grim and austere elegance, ‘the gods of chaos are on their side.’  The wretched are increasingly unwilling to abide our imperial theodicy and our condescension. And as even McCloskey concedes, the imperium has gotten boring – a possible symptom of ontological dread, a dim recognition of some failure or lack in the fulfillment of our real desires.  Perhaps soon – sooner than we think, or has it already begun? – much of what passes for realism will appear as the romanticism of venality, the mythology of avarice and dominion.  ‘All is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil.’  Hopkins knew that avarice was a yearning for the dearest freshness deep down things.  Like him, I’ll wager that only theology can truly tell us the name of our desire; only theology can reveal love as the metaphysical foundation of the world.  It can unfasten the padlock on ‘utopia,’ soar over the walls of mercenary realism, commence a breakthrough to the other side.”

 –Eugene McCarraher, “Break on Through to the Other Side,” Books and Culture 13(6) (November/December, 2007): 41.

Best search term that’s ever been used to get here

“Herbert McCabe+sex”

New Blog: Slouching Towards Bethlehem

In keeping up with the current trends, I now have a tumblr.com blog, where I can do the lazy kind of posting (just links, quotes, and pics).  Hopefully some of you will visit it sometime.  The title for it is taken from the captivating poem by W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming: 

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

A Very Basic Introduction to the Rule of Benedict

Background:

While the RB itself does not name its author in any way, all historical sources identify the author as Benedict of Nursia (ca. 480–543). The main source we have about the life of Benedict are the Dialogues of Gregory the Great, the first monk to become pope, and a great admirer of Benedict. The RB has its roots in the previous rules that had circulated in the centuries prior (rules from Augustine, Basil, Cassian, and The Rule of the Master). What makes the RB unique involves its setting in sixth century Italy. It is speculated that the Rule was written just after, or during the Justinian re-conquest of Italy against the Frankish and the Gothic invaders (in the 540’s or 550’s). During this time, there was a great amount of dislocation and upheaval, which led to the presence of a great many undisciplined wandering monks (the sarabites, which Bendict hates so much). The aim of Benedict was to create a stable community focused on contemplation, the opus dei, and study.

Biblical Sources:

The RB is saturated with biblical quotations and allusions. Most often, Benedict is found citing the Gospels, the Psalms, and the Proverbs. Much of the rationale for the RB lay in seeking after the cultivation of central biblical virtues, chiefly humility and obedience, both of which are major themes in the Psalms and wisdom literature. In the RB, humble obedience is the primary virtue (RB 7) of the Christian life and the primary way of struggling against sin was through the cultivation of humility. The wisdom literature and the prayers of the Psalms were the central resource that Benedict drew on in seeking after these biblical virtues. Central to the entire Benedictine way of life was constant immersion in the Scriptures, especially the Psalms. According the RB, the entire Psalter was to be chanted every week by the brothers (RB 18). Benedict viewed this is a minimal endeavor, as the early monastic fathers had sung the entire Psalter daily.

Benedictine Spirituality:

There are two basis principles of Benedictine Spirituality. The first is that the divine presence is everywhere. This is emphasized throughout the RB, both that God sees all things, and that because of the presence of God, the posture of the brothers is to always be one of obedience and awe. The second principle is that Christ is encountered in others. “To love Christ above all else” (RB 4.21) is the ultimate goal of Benedictine spirituality. This goal is sought out through submission to the abbot and to one another as unto Christ (RB 2), and through hospitality to the stranger in whom Christ himself is welcomed (RB 53).

The other central element of Benedictine Spirituality is the monastic profession: the vows into which a brother or sister would enter in coming into the community. The Benedictine vow was a three-fold commitment to conversatio (conversion, or the submission to the shape of monastic life), oboedientia (obedience, chiefly to the abbot), and stabilitas (the commitment to stay among the community for the rest of one’s life). These vows were entered into as a way of establishing the context necessary for proper growth in holiness, contemplation, and worship of God. Central to the Benedictine life was the total sharing of all life in common, renouncing possessions and self-determination entirely, seeking instead to learn obedience, humility, and service.

Contemporary Appropriations:

In the last number of years, there are a variety of different protestant communities and churches that have come together in ways that resemble and glean from the Benedictine way. This movement has been referred to as the “New Monasticism”. Central to this movement (in varying ways) is the three-fold Benedictine vow of conversatio, oboedientia, and stabilitas. While these communities are not ordered under an abbot as Benedictine monasteries were, the emphasis is the total transformation of life in community, submission and deference to one another in the making of decisions, and a commitment to long-term presence and stability as members of one another. For a discussion of the three-fold Benedictine vow and how it informs the New Monastic communities, see Jon Stock, Tim Otto, and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, Inhabiting the Church: Biblical Wisdom for a New Monasticism (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2007).

The Drama of Atheist Humanism Continues…

 I recently came across this interesting post by decorated atheist blogger, P.Z. Myers.  He related a rather disturbing lecture that was given recently by Christopher Hitchens, in which he definitively wed militant atheism to American imperialism at its worst.  Here is a lengthy quote from his post:

[Hitchens] told us what the most serious threat to the West was (and you know this line already): it was Islam. Then he accused the audience of being soft on Islam, of being the kind of vague atheists who refuse to see the threat for what it was, a clash of civilizations, and of being too weak to do what was necessary, which was to spill blood to defeat the enemy. Along the way he told us who his choice for president was right now — Rudy Giuliani — and that Obama was a fool, Clinton was a pandering closet fundamentalist, and that he was less than thrilled about all the support among the FFRF for the Democratic party. We cannot afford to allow the Iranian theocracy to arm itself with nuclear weapons (something I entirely sympathize with), and that the only solution is to go in there with bombs and marines and blow it all up. The way to win the war is to kill so many Moslems that they begin to question whether they can bear the mounting casualties.

It was simplistic us-vs.-them thinking at its worst, and the only solution he had to offer was death and destruction of the enemy.

This was made even more clear in the Q&A. He was asked to consider the possibility that bombing and killing was only going to accomplish an increase in the number of people opposing us. Hitchens accused the questioner of being incredibly stupid (the question was not well-phrased, I’ll agree, but it was clear what he meant), and said that it was obvious that every Moslem you kill means there is one less Moslem to fight you … which is only true if you assume that every Moslem already wants to kill Americans and is armed and willing to do so. I think that what is obvious is that most Moslems are primarily interested in living a life of contentment with their families and their work, and that an America committed to slaughter is a tactic that will only convince more of them to join in opposition to us.

Basically, what Hitchens was proposing is genocide. Or, at least, wholesale execution of the population of the Moslem world until they are sufficiently cowed and frightened and depleted that they are unable to resist us in any way, ever again.

This is insane. I entirely agree that we are looking at a clash of civilizations, that there are huge incompatibilities between different parts of the world, and that we face years and years of all kinds of conflict between us, with no easy resolution. However, one can only resolve deep ideological conflicts by the extermination of one side in video games and cartoons. It’s not going to work in the real world. We can’t simply murder enough Moslems to weaken them into irrelevance, and even if we could, that’s not the kind of culture to which I want to belong.

A clash of whole civilizations is a war of ideas. The way we can ‘conquer’ is on the cultural and economic level: the West should not invade and destroy, but should instead set an example, lead with strength, and be the civilization that every rational citizen of the other side wants to emulate. Yes, there will be wars and skirmishes, because not everyone on either side is rational, but the bloodshed isn’t the purpose. Hitchens would make it the raison d’etre of the whole Western effort.

This whole last third of his talk had me concerned about the first part. He had just told us in strong terms about the failures of religion and its detrimental effect on our culture, and now he was explaining to us how the solution in the Middle East was to simply kill everyone who disagreed with you. He didn’t relate the two parts of his talk, which was unfortunate. I’d like to know whether he thinks the way atheists ought to end religion in America is to start shooting Baptists, or whether he sees other ways to educate and enlighten … in which case I wonder why he doesn’t see any virtue in applying those same methods to Islam. I didn’t ask the question since the line for the microphone was long, and I had a depressing feeling that the solution would involve sending the Baptists over to Iraq to kill and be killed. This is not my freethought movement.

The Hitchens solution is not my solution.

While I applaud Myers for at least having some moral backbone in the face of Hitchens’ ridiculousness, I can’t help but think that Htichens’ perspective is a bit more perversely logical.  It may be impractical, and almost certainly is unachievable, but I can’t fault Hitchens’ logic – if in fact he’s correct that it is religion that “poisons everything”.  And at this point I’ll cede the floor to some experts who have far more precedent to speak to such cultural issues: Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

In the most recent season of South Park we have been given a wonderful two-part episode dedicated entirely to atheism, and particularly to Richard Dawkins (though you could substitute Sam Harris or Christopher Hitchens and the story would remain absolutely the same since these guys are all pretty much clones of each other). 

 Anways, upon learning that s/he has to teach evolution in class, the 4th grade teaching, Mr. Garrison (technically now Ms. Garrison, I suppose) throws a moral fit and will only relate evolution to his/her students as a long process of ”retarded fish-frogs” having “butt-sex with a monkey”.  So, to rectify the problem, Richard Dawkins is brought in to do some proper scientific teaching.  In the process, Dawkins, inexplicably attracted to the now-female Garrison ends up convincing him/her of atheism and the two join forces to rid the world of religion using Dawkins’ brilliance and Ms. Garrison’s “balls” (i.e. he’s an asshole to anyone who questions atheism).

Meanwhile, Eric Cartman, unable to wait for the Nintendo Wii to come out has Butters help freeze him up in the mountains so he can be thawed out three weeks later when the most awesome gaming system in the history of the world is made available to children everywhere.  Well, naturally a freak avalanche buries him where he lies frozen in the ground from som 500 years, only to be thawed out in the future – a future in which all the world is atheist thanks to the brilliant Dawkins and the ballsy Ms. Garrison.

However, it does not take long before the Wii-stricken Cartman finds himself embroiled in the vicious wars which are currently raging between the various factions of atheists who war of which answer to the “great question” (which turns out to be what atheists should call themselves) is more scientific.  So, as the United Atheist League, the United Atheist Alliance and the Allied Atheist Alliance (this one made up entirely of the now-sentient atheist sea-otters) war with one another and seek to annihilate each other completely, all the while rejoicing joyously at the absence of the foolish religions of the past.

 As they war against each other with battle cries of “Our science is great!”, “Science dammit!”, and “Oh, my science!”,  Cartman seeks a way to get back to his time so as to finally be able to play the Wii.  In so doing he gets hold a of timephone with which he can call the past and ends up letting it slip to Dawkins that Ms. Garrison wan’t born a woman, at which point Dawkins runs vomiting from her bedroom with his jilted tranny lover yelling after him that he’s a going to “burn in hell.”  And so the future is saved, with all humans and sea-otters living together in zen-like harmony without the tyrany of atheism! 

Peppered throughout are razor-sharp lines like when Stan Marsh questions Dawkins, asking genuinely if evolution might be the answer to “how” and not the answer to “why”, only to be slapped in the dunce chair by Garrison with the dunce cap reading “I have faith.”  Or likewise, when Garrison, prior to being converted to atheism by the eloquent Dawkins states that he’s not an atheist because “you can’t disprove God.”  Dawkins then responds “Well, you can’t disprove that there’s a flying spaghetti monster either, so should I believe in a flying spaghetti monster?”  To which Garrison (channeling the writers, I assure you) responds, “Oh WOW, you’re right!  THANK YOU, RICHARD!  It’s so simple!  God’s a spaghetti monster!  Guess what everyone?  I’m an atheist!!”

The point, both of all this fun rambling, and this particular episode of South Park should be painfully obvious.  The common throwaway line that religion is the source of all violence in the world and atheism would lead to a great era of peace is pure fantasy.  So, as Hitchens’ goes on advocating the genocide of religious “fanatics”, I’ll continue to watch South Park and the Daily Show.  In an age where all political posturing is nothing more than theatrics, at least we’ll never be short on entertainment.

Jesus and the Victory of God (5): The Praxis of a Prophet

Now moving on to his constructive presentation of Jesus, Wright begins to unpack the center of his case. His key argument is that Jesus, when placed in his first century context is best understood as an eschatological prophet to Israel who understood himself in continuity with John the Baptist and the Old Testament prophetic tradition. To be sure, Wright argues we can establish that Jesus more than just “a prophet”, indeed there is good reason to think that Jesus understood himself as “the prophet”, as the one in whom the prophetic tradition of the Old Testament had reached its climax and in whom the history of Israel had reached its dramatic dénouement.

Wright begins his presentation of Jesus the prophet by exploring the cultural milieu of the first century and dispelling some more of the problematic notions of members of the “New Quest” and other contemporary movements exploring the social nature of Jesus ministry (such as Horsley). He spends much of his time in the early sections dealing with the nature of paramilitary resistance to Rome in the time of Jesus and the nature of John the Baptist’s ministry.

Wright then moves on to explore the different kinds of prophets that were known to the first century and seeks to situate Jesus within that context. Ultimately, Wright ends up arguing that Jesus was an itinerant ‘Leadership’ prophet who taught openly and authoritatively and who performed many “mighty works” In other words, Jesus was as Acts says is “A prophet, mighty in word and deed” (p. 168ff). Central to the teaching ministry of Jesus, as Wright notes is the issue of authority. As the gospels often note, Jesus taught with authority in a way that distinguished himself from the scribes and teachers of his day. Wright argues that this is to be understood as Jesus teaching on his own merit. That is to say, Jesus did not appeal to the sayings of another rabbi or belong to a school of thought. Rather he taught as though his own words were the very words of Israel’s God. This reality is central to Wright’s argument that Jesus understood himself as the culmination of Israel’s prophetic tradition.

Wright goes into more depth exploring the nature of Jesus’ parables as subversive re-narrations of Israel’s history and present situation which invite his hearers into a new world. In his parables, Jesus claims that Israel’s history is coming to a climax in his ministry and that God is definitively acting to save and reconstitute his people anew. Wright likewise goes on to explore the oracles of judgment in Jesus teaching which go along with this announcement of a new world and the climax of Israel’s history. Finally, Wright spends some time discussing the nature of the “mighty works” of Christ and they way in which they are related to his ministry, not as confirmations of his divinity, but rather as signs that the salvation he is announcing is in fact present in his ministry. The climax of Israel’s history, which Jesus claimed to embody is present in his healing work.

Scott Cairns: On Slow Learning

If you have ever owned
a tortoise, you already know
how difficult paper training can be
for some pets.

Even if you get so far
as to instill in your tortoise
the the value of achieving the paper 
there remains one obstacle -
your tortoise’s intrinsic sloth.

Even a well-intentioned tortoise
may find himself, in his journeys
to be painfully far from the mark.

Failing, your tortoise may shy away
for weeks within his shell,
utterly ashamed, or looking up with tiny,
wet eyes might offer an honest shrug.
Forgive him.

–Scott Cairns, “Slow Learner” in Compass of Affection: New and Selected Poems (Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press, 2006), 5.

The Market as Sacramental Space: Eugene McCarraher

The most popular artifacts of contemporary business literature make much of “the soulful corporation”, complete with “credos” and “mission statements”. Often read as a high-minded farrago of moral platitudes, most of these documents should be read in appalling earnest, whether as perverse ecclesiological statements, parodies of liturgical labor, or twisted forms of sacramentality. One best-selling author, Laurie Jones (author of Jesus CEO [1998]), lauds “spiritreneurs”, employees who “fully integrate their souls in a workplace enterprise” and exhibit a “passionate commitment to the cause”—the cause of customer service, the post-Fordist evolutionary descendent of the corporal works of mercy. But the most uninhibited (and vastly popular) New Age panegyric to corporate business has come from George Gilder, whose encomia to wealth, computers, and cyberspace mark a new and dizzying apogee in capitalist enchantment. Echoing Emerson (with a touch of Carl Jung, another favorite among the New Age set), Gilder thinks that “capitalism succeeds” because it comports with the laws of “a higher consciousness”, a “collective unconscious, sometimes defined as God”. When the mind “merges” with this higher power, it “reaches new truths, glimpses new ideas—the projection of light into the unknown future—by which progress occurs”. Gilder reserves his greatest euphoria (and his purplest prose) for “the magic of the solid-state world”. The silicon chip that undergirds information capitalism both enables an “ever-expanding circuitry of ideas” and harbors “a truth that sets us free”. Silicon technology empowers a techno-vanguard which, replacing Shelley’s poets, comprises “the true legislators for the silent and silenced majorities of the world”. In short, the marketplace, we learn, is a sacramental space, “a vessel of the divine”

–Eugene McCarraher, “The Enchantments of Mammon: Notes Toward a Theological History of Capitalism” Modern Theology 21:3 (July 2005), pp. 454-55.

Advent Bible Blitz: Reflections on Genesis

Well, it has begun.  So far I am on schedule.  Here are a few of my thoughts from my reading today of the book of Genesis:

1.  I was struck by the description in Genesis 3 of Eve’s way of evaluating the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.  She looks on it and sees it as “good for food”, “delight to the eyes”, and “to be desired to make one wise”.  This description is striking to me in light of the recent discussions of capitalism and the way in which “commodity fetishism” preys on such desires and draws persons away from the love of God and obedience to God.

2.  Covenant.  Covenant is everywhere in Genesis and in all places it is is utterly gratuitous, completely non-necessary.  In the story of the flood, for example, God has a whole litany of reasons for removing humankind from the earth, and his reason for not doing so is not a reason at all, rather it is simply an assertion of utter grace: “But I will establish my covenant with you” (6:18).  God’s covenant love cannot be worked into any system of necessity with regard to how God treats humanity.  God establishes covenant simply because he is that kind of God.  It is pure grace and as such is completely ineffable and on it everything depends if there is any hope for humanity.

3.  I found it interesting the way that the discussion of Abram and Lot separating in Genesis 13 was described on the basis of how they each had “great possessions”.  Maybe I’m reading something into the text here, but it seems as though the possession of abundant resources drives people apart, bringing separation.  Thus my mind goes immediately to the story of Jesus and the rich young ruler who is asked to part with all his possessions for the sake of Christ.

4.  God, in Genesis is constantly giving people children.  God is the good who gives children to the barren woman, especially if she is unloved.  God is fundamentally concerned with bringing about fruitfulness, human flourishing and life.  He brings life and posterity to those in need, lavishing it on those who have not the ability of secure such things for themselves.

5.  The stated purpose of all of God’s actions among the patriarchs is the preservation of a people.  All of God’s actions, through all of the flawed characters in the narrative are ordered towards securing life and hope for a people in whom his purposes for the world are intimately invested.

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