Monthly Archives: August 2008

Nihilism, Tragedy, and Apocalypse

In his superb book, Waiting for Godot in Sarajevo, David Toole argues that there are three possible responses to the horrors that have taken place in modernity: Nihilism, Tragedy, and Apocalypse. He frames his discussion using the rather incredible story of the staging of Samuel Beckett’s play, “Waiting for Godot” which was staged in Sarajevo during the early 90s. Here’s how he frames the thrust of his book:

“On a stage in a poorly lit theater, with intermittent sounds of a war going on outside, Estragon and Vladamir, and with them the audience – cold, hungry, and exhausted — await Godot, which is to say in part that they await a decision on the character of the universe. Is nihilism the last word? Does it all come to naught in the end? I suffering, and with it the whole of existence, meaningless? ‘They give birth astride a grave, the light gleams for an instant, then its night once more.’ Is that the definitive description of the way of the world — the sum of our life? Or can we hope for more? Might we describe things differently, not in the hope of alleviating suffering (we cannot do that) but in the hope of rendering it meaningful? Might we say not that suffering is meaningless but that it is tragic, which is to say that when we arise to the occasion and meet suffering with dignity, we somehow transfigure the world? Do declarations of tragedy better describe the world than declarations of meaninglessness? And what of that other possibility, namely, that the world is neither meaningless nor tragic but apocalyptic, such that suffering not only finds meaning in dignity but comes to rest in the life of God?” (p. 20)

Toole’s book takes the reader on a tour through the thinkers of nihilism and tragedy, leading from Nietzsche to Foucault to John Milbank, and finally ending with a metaphysics and politics of apocalypse, taking its cue from John Howard Yoder. Another quote:

“To say that Jesus’ interruption of history is the most fundamental of events and that it supplies us with a code that allows us to discern the meaning of history is to say, in effect, that Jesus is the ultimate victim (who yet is not victimized) — and that in his life, death, and resurrection we find disclosed what it means for God to be involved in history. To say all of this is to say that the character of history is apocalyptic.” (p. 206)

This is a seminal book on theology, modernity, and what it might mean to do theology in an apocalyptic style. Unfortunately it really has never gotten the attention that it deserves.

Nicene Theology as Paganization

In his discussion of the controversy between Athanasius and Arius over the nature of God, Arthur McGill makes a rather delightful observation:

“[For Arius], to apply the notion of ‘begetting’ to God’s own substance is to take a notion from Greek mythology and apply it illegitimately to the Biblical God. According to the entire Hebrew tradition, and therefore also according to the New Testament, the model for understanding God in his activity is not the model of generation and sexual reproduction, so dear to Greek mythology, but the model of the artisan who makes and the king who governs. The Arian party therefore looked upon this theological use of the model of begetting by Athanasius and his supporters as one of the most corrupt paganizations of Christianity.” (Suffering, p. 71)

We are generally trained to view Arius as the one who was assimilating Christian theology to the metaphysical millieu of antiquity. He is case as a sort of revisionist Hellenizer of the Christian faith. However, as McGill points out, Arius thought he was doing exactly the opposite. He was protesting against what he thought of as a mythologization of God which entangled God’s otherness in the categories of a non-Christian metaphysic.

Thus, Athanasius is actually the Hellenist and Arius is the Hebraist (albeit, perhaps one of the exteremely Philonic variety). If anything this shows that the revelation of God as Triune is just as subversive of an allegedly pure “Hebraic” notion of God’s being as it is of the “Hellenic” theology that is so often decried. It is, in the parlance of Scripture, both a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Greeks.

John Piper to Women: You’ll Stay in your Place and you’ll Love it!

Jasmine points us to a rather heinous video of John Piper giving some blatantly misogynistic pastoral advice to Christian women. Pretty much it just boils down to a wheezy sort of used car salesman-sounding attempt to relegate women to being nothing other than wives and mothers. He just tells them to love being submissive wives and mothers who support and aid the gifts and distinctives of their husbands. Wow.

The assumption he makes about what all women just are supposed to be doing is quite astounding. What ever happened to the long-standing Christian theology of vocation? It has been part of the fabric of Christianity from the beginning that there is a radical diversity of charisms within the body of Christ, requiring all manner of different ministries, regardless of gender (leaving aside the thorny issue of ordination for the moment, which is a more serious matter, especially for the churches that persist in enforcing a male-only priesthood).

For Piper, the whole notion of how women might function as Christians is mediated through their identities as subordinate wives and nurturing mothers. Even were one to hold to an exclusively male theology of ordination, Piper’s notion of how men and women function as ministers in the church would still be deplorable because of how it insists that our ecclesial function is mediated through the family and marriage. This mode of subordinating the charismatic to the familial is profoundly contrary to the eschatological nature of the Christian gospel, especially in its Pauline dimensions. 

It is also disgusting. It is truly sad how far the church still has to go in its attempt to purge away its long-standing misogyny. 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piDU443CdvI]

Be sure to check out Jasmine’s comments on the video which are right on the money.

Balthasar at the Center

Two of my favorite books, as I’ve mentioned many times are David Bentley Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite and Alan Lewis’ Between Cross and Resurrection. And, in terms of theological conclusions, you would be hard-pressed to find two books that come to more radically different conclusions. Lewis’ study is a bold attempt to seriously think the reality of Holy Saturday, the day of Christ’s death and descent into hell. Lewis attempts to take the historical reality of Christ’s triduum with absolute seriousness for how we begin to think the being of the Triune God. Refusing to go behind the revelation of God in the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, Lewis insists that the radical interval of suffering and death seen in Good Friday and Holy Saturday cannot be dismissed by the light of Easter Sunday. The light of the resurrection only lengthens the shadow of the cross for it establishes that the one who died, who experienced the ultimate terminus of descent into the fullness of death and godforsakeness was indeed God in the flesh. If this is so then notions of divine passibility, temporality, and grace must be radically re-thought without attempting to circumvent the radicality of the narrative on the basis of what we “know” is metaphysically fitting for God to be God.

Hart, by contrast paints his vision of God on the basis of God’s resplendent, infinite glory, as seen in the resurrection. It is the always-already complete reality of God’s fullness, his replete plentitude that enfolds and immediately consumes and destroys any finite interval that seeks to determine God’s life. The suffering and death of Christ, for Hart are not events which truly occur within the being of God, despite all appearances to the contrary in the economy of salvation. Rather these events are simply the event of creation being seized up into God’s Trinitarian beauty without introducing anything new into the being of God. Christ’s suffering and death are, for Hart, as for many of the patristic fathers, simply realities proper to his human nature. God as such, despite what we see in Christ, does not suffer, is not implicated in created history. Rather God enters into history out of needless, gratuitous grace, always enfolding any perceived interval of finitude, suffering, and death with his own unchanging always-already actualized life of joy, feasting, and peace.

Personally, I find both theologian’s cases beautifully compelling, both as pieces of theological writing and argument. I suppose I should come clean and admit that I find Lewis more persuasive, though I think that these two thinkers could be brought to a wonderfully illuminating meeting of the minds (were Lewis alive, that is).

However, the point I really want to introduce in describing these two thinkers has to do with their respective dependence on Hans Urs von Balthasar. One could, I contend, parse the difference between Hart and Lewis on the basis of how they differently appropriate and extend certain of Balthasar’s key theological trajectories. Lewis follows in Balthasar’s train, exploring to the furthest limits the trajectory of Balthasar’s theology of Holy Saturday as laid out in Mysterium Paschale and The Glory of the Lord (see especially volume 6). Hart however pursues the logic of Balthasar’s theology of the immanent Trinity, which for Balthasar is extrapolated from the economic Trinity and which is its metaphysical ground. The immanent Trinity is an infinite fullness of primal kenosis which grounds and enfolds the suffering and death of Christ.

The funny thing is that the most radically opposed claims made by both Hart and Lewis can be found in almost identical form being affirmed by Balthasar. For Balthasar, as for Lewis, the interval of Holy Saturday is a real interval in the life of the Trinity. The suffering and death of Christ are events in the very life of God. Conversely, for Balthasar as for Hart, God is always-already replete in God’s Trinitarian plenitude and kenosis which enfolds and grounds God’s economic activity in the world. The infinite distance and difference between the Triune persons is the holy distance into which the unholy distance of sin is transposed and apocalyptically consumed in the ardor of God’s holy fire, God’s inexhaustible life of Love. For Balthasar, God’s being does indeed include economic events, even events as radical as suffering, death, and godforsakenness. When Christ suffers and dies, we behold the true and real suffering and death of God. However God’s being is not overcome or determined by these events precisely because of the intensity of the eternal life of Trinitarian self-giving, God’s primal kenosis.  The Triune life of infinite distance and freedom is not delimited or determined by its free taking of sin and death into itself. The Triune God freely and openly allows the reality of sin, death, and nothingness a true and real interruption into the divine life, as witnessed on Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and just so enfolds it, timefully into the replete, inexhaustible plenitude of God’s life. Here Balthasar is able, beautifully, to affirm the positive claims of Hart and Lewis without being sucked into affirming the oppositional logic that seems to separate their positions. As such, it seems that Balthasar represents a site where the radical and beautiful theologies represented by Hart and Lewis could come to an even more radical rapprochement.

The Powerlessness That Must be Silenced

Well, I should be reading some of the new and excellent books that I have sitting about my room right now such as J. Kameron Carter’s Race: A Theological Account or Ted Smith’s The New Measures. Soon enough. For now I’m still re-reading some old favorites, namely Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite and Alan Lewis’ Between Cross and Resurrection and being seized again by the beauty of so many passages in both. Of the two though, I would have to pick Lewis hands down if I could only keep one. Here’s one of the many glorious passages in the book:

“What damage could be done to the mighty structures of the empire by one who gave Caesar his due, who scorned the bigotry which hated an infidel and punished the ungodly, and who pictured a kingdom of freedom, peace, and love in which the distinction between friend and foe would lose all meaning? Yet, with their unseeing eyes, the Romans had rightly perceived a radical and dangerous subversion — with clearer intuition, it seems, than those who still characterize the preaching of Jesus as spiritual and therefore not political. What, in fact, could be more ‘political,’ a more complete and basal challenge to the kingdoms of this world, to its generals and its lords, both to those who hold power and to those who would seize it, than one who says that his kingdom is not of this world, and yet prays that the kingdom of his Father will come and his will be done on earth. This is an aspiration for the world more revolutionary, a disturbance of the status quo more seismic, an allegiance more disloyal, a menace more intimidating, than any program which simply meets force with force and matches loveless injustice with loveless vengeance. Here is a whole new ordering of human life, as intolerable to insurrectionists as to oppressors. It promises that forgiveness, freedom, love, and self-negation, in all their feeble ineffectiveness, will prove more powerful and creative than every system and every countersystem which subdivides the human race into rich and poor, comrades and enemies, insiders and outsiders, allies and adversaries. What could an earthly power, so in love with power as to divinize it in the person of its emperor, do with such dangerous powerlessness but capture and destroy it? It could change everything were it not extinguished, and speedily.” (p. 49-50)

Of all the books I have read I have found few whose prose seize me with the certainty that the author thereof has stood in the very presence of God and discerned the heart of the gospel in a way I can only catch the fringes of. Alan Lewis is one of the foremost among those few. He truly understood the gospel of God’s revolution.

The Martyr versus the Fighter

“The pathology of a martyr complex is often a heavy-handed attempt to escape the vulnerability of speaking the turth without the means of convincing others that it is true. It signifies impatience with the freedom of others not to believe. It betrays an insecurity that cannot bear its own knowledge without compulsion for everyone else. In a word, it expresses doubt. Such doubt may explain why martyrdom is sometimes misconstrued and applied to the deaths of fighters. For the New Testament, martyrs do not die because they fight for what is right but precisely because they refuse to fight for what is true. A fighter fundamentally dubts whether his truth is true and anxiously grasps at it, preferring secure knowledge to uncertain promise made certain only through faith. Fighters do not stand by the truth of their convictions.”

~ Craig Hovey, To Share in the Body: A Theology of Martyrdom for Today’s Church (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2008), 148.

Human Being as Gratuity and Futurity

Previously I’ve charged David Bentley Hart with proffering a primarily protological ontology. But here he strikes a more resolute eschatological note:

“Both our being and our essence always exceed the moment of our existence, lying before us as gratuity and futurity, mediated to us only in the splendid eros and terror of our in fieri, because finite existence — far from being the dialectical labor of an original contradiction — is a pure gift, grounded in no original substance, wavering from nothinness into the openness of God’s self-outpouring infinity, persisting in a condition of absolute fragility and fortuity, impossible in itself, and so actual beyond itself. Becoming is an ecstasy, and nothing besides; it is indeed a constant tension — between what a thing is and what it is not, between its past and its future, between interior and exterior, and so on — but it is not originally a violent departure from the stability of an original essence. Our being is simply the rapture of arrival . . . creaturely becoming, in its original and ultimate truth, departs from no ground but simply hastens to an end . . .” (p. 244)

Here at least, Hart seems to posit a decidedly eschatological ontology in which our being is constituted by its apocalyptic orientation towards of God’s future. Good stuff.

Donald Miller at the DNC: The Reactive Poltics of Evangelicalism

Davey has helpfully pointed us to a rather bizarre occurrence at the Democratic National Convention, namely the closing prayer by fellow Portlander and author, Donald Miller. Miller many of us know from the wildly successful book Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligous Thoughts on Christian Spirituality. This book has, in many ways, come to be cast as the quintessence of the sensibility of so-called emerging church. Miller’s actual writing is really not  bad. It is funny, whimsical, and sometimes insightful. It is the bane of all memoirs to appear self-consumed (how could they not?) and as such, I certainly don’t fault Miller on that score. However, one must pause to think about the oddity of a fellow like Miller being asked to offer a closing prayer at the DNC. Since when did major political parties start seeking out those perceived as emerging Christian bohemeian hipster types to chaplain their events? What is going on here?

Miller, like Jim Wallis and others among the “evangelical left” (a term I use with trepidation — clearly it could be taken pejoratively, but we need some sort of workable descriptor) are central among those whose vote the Democratic party is courting. Obama’s current surge of seemingly indestructible popularity is largely grounded in his appeal to young social justice-oriented people, many of whom are inclined towards the spirituality and thinkers associated with the emerging church.

Miller claims, on his website that his prayer at the DNC is part of “sending a message to Washington that no single party has the Christian community in their pocket.” This echoes Jim Wallis’s tired rhetoric about how both the left and the right are misguided, but pretty much everything about the left is actually pure gospel and the right is irredeemably diabolical. However that is not the point I am interested in.

I suppose it is not a horrible thing to let Washington know that Christians cannot be absorbed by one political party, but how is that message really all that good? The implicate of Miller’s message seems to be that Christians as a whole are not the political capital of the Republicans, rather, depending on what kind of Christian you are, you can be the political capital of either the Democrats or the Republicans. (I’ll leave aside the question of whether or not Wallis and Miller really want to send that message at all.  I suspect they’d far rather have all Christians be voting Democrat than have Christians voting against one another.)

The real question that is going unasked here is how is it a good thing if Christianity is so plastic as to be easily circumscribed within the architecture of either the Democratic or Republican parties? Why would the fact that Christians are no longer of the same mind about which political party to get in bed with be a good thing? Its as though Wallis and Miller are reveling in the fact that finally some of us Christians are different than the religious right and are able to express that difference by opposing them through the apparatus of the Democratic party. What is ultimately the point of rejoicing for Miller and Wallis is that Christians are finally dividing from one another over the causes they find important.

My point in this is not to suggest that things were better when evangelicals were almost universal expected to vote Republican. Surely they were not. However, the kind of political imagination that delights in the fact that finally new lines are being drawn along political lines and Christians are falling on both sides of them is surely not a very Christian way of thinking. It is agonistic and divisive all the way down. Certainly there are issues that must be divisive for the sake of truthfulness (cf. 1 Cor. 11:19), but I don’t think this is at all what is going on here. This has far more to do with the sort of identity politicking and social self-branding that has become fetishized in late-capitalist culture. What is ultimately important to Miller and Wallis, or at least the sort of spiritual-political sensibility that they have come to represent, is that they be differentiated from the Religious Right, this barbarous Other which they despise. What is crucial for them is all the trappings that come along with their differentiation from this Other. Their politics are reactive from begining to end. Thus, if praying at the DNC stands in opposition to praying at the RNC then that is clearly the move to be made. By making it Miller brands himself the certain sort of religous-political persona with whom the current culture of disaffected evangelicals have come to identify. The notion that it might be just as problematic for two political parties to have sectors of Christianity in the pocket as one is not really a consideration.

All of this points to a fundamental problem with the evangelical ethos in the United States from which the emerging church movement springs. Evangelical identity, at least in the U.S. is so utterly determined by the American political imagination and the capitalist economy which grounds it, that it is unable to express or realize itself except through the political-economic architecture of America, regardless of what political subdivision it finds itself in. It is part of the fabric of evangelical identity to be beholden to a certain notion of what meaningful political existence means, namely good citizenship, responsible participation in the “public sphere” for the sake of ordering society towards the relative good. As such, any and all forms of evangelical religious practice must by definition take their  bearings and derive their intelligibility from their participation in the American political apparatus which is constituted by late-capitalism.

Thus, the whole capitalist superstructure — upon which Democrats and Republicans feed like pilot fish upon an whale — constantly absorbs any and all evangelical political action into itself. It doesn’t matter to the capitalist structure whether or not evangelicals are in the pocket of one party or two in the least. As long as evangelicals remain within the orbit of their historic ethos they will always be seamlessly enfolded in the capitalist tapestry. Donald Miller praying at the DNC says absolutely nothing whatsoever to allay or contrast the captivation of evangelicals to the rhetoric of the religious right. It makes absolutely no difference to it whatsoever because it simply occupies an opposing nodal point within the binary antagonisms which make up the fabricated antinomies that run the capitalist order. Insofar as evangelicals, emergent or not continue to simply take their place on either side of the given polarities of micropolitics, they will continue to remain satiated subjects of capitalist discipline.

The only truely theopolitical form of Christian witness in the world will be one that is not caught up in the binary oppositions that obtain in contemporary political discourse. By remaining within the polarity of action and reaction, Christian politics is endlessly determined by the political logic of the civitas Cain rather than the civitate dei. Christian politics can only truly be Christian when it is not determined by the cycle of action and reaction that establishes the agonistic order of the earthly city. For Christian politics to be truly Christian they must be, at their very core, nonreactive. The peace of the city of God is in no way determined, constituted, or defined by the agonism of the earthly city. In the same way the translation of human bodies out of the body of Adamic death into the body of Christic life in baptism is in no sense determined by the powers of domination. Baptism is the translation of bodies into the realm of gift-giving and receiving, a realm which is not determined by the logic of violence that underwrites the reactive nature of all earthly politics.

Of course, there are many objections that could be lodged against the positing of this nonreactive theopolitical alternative that I have just hinted at. Surely all churches and all Christians are always-already circumscribed within the violent agonistic logic of the earthly city. Simply to pretend that we inhabit a pristine paradise of gift is nothing more than the construction of fictions, is it not? To this I can only say no. And I can say this on no basis other than the promisory reality that lies at the heart of the gospel. To be sure the line between the earthly city and the city of God runs through each one of us, but that by no means entails that we should settle down and break off our pilgrimage toward Jerusalem simply because we are not there yet. To inhabit the city of God is not to inhabit a stable defined space which we could counterpose with the earthly city. The city of God is the company of pilgrims who journey eschatologically through the present age, bearing within themselves the firstfruits of the age to come. We live not by the stability of something given, but in the instability of promise and gift. The nonreactive politics of the pilgrim people of God is not a total system which could supplant the earthly city or which is free from the violence of the earthly city. It is rather the proclamation, expectation, and experience of the apocalypse of God’s gift which breaks into the totality of the earthly city opening up spaces of infinite peace in which real human life can and does take place in the midst of this present world. What we are called to believe is that this sort of thing really happens. And such a belief cannot be inferred from the logic of prior sequences of events. What we are called to, as Craig Hovey has helpfully pointed out is not the stability of prediction, but the insecurity of promise.

To live in that promise would be to inhabit a space in which we are willing to do that hard work of problematizing our attempts to easily participate in the political binaries of this present age. To live in light of the Trinitarian future of promise and gift is to live in the realm of inutiliy, in which our political practices are likely to look like utter foolishness. But what else would we expect when the criterion of political intelligibility in our world is based on the very structure of reaction that the Christian order of peace calls into question?

It may be that I have finally drifted too far afield from my initial questions about the political and theological logic of Miller’s participation in the DNC. Ultimately  the question revolves around political content of the gospel. Insofar as we allow the promisory imagination of the gospel of Christ to be circumscribed by the political logic of the earthly city we are failing to truly embody our theopolitical calling as the ekklesia of of the triune God. And in so failing we become simply another branded commodity to be bought, sold, and fetishized in the ubiquitous market of global captitalism. I fear that Donald Miller, by casting in his lot where he has may have done just that. It is my hope that ultimately the call of the pilgrim people of God will be sweeter and more alluring than the apparent utility false polis and the cool trappings of insidious agora of this age. And I think that hope is not ill-founded.

New Books by John Milbank

I’m sure that some have noticed the dearth of posts over the last few days. Well, part of the reason for the current lacuna is that I have been in the process of moving back to Portland from Eugene, Oregon where I have spent the last two months. I was spending some time working out of the offices of Wipf and Stock Publishers, though from now on I will be working off-site, and in fact for the next two months I will be working from my own home. So far so good.

There are a lot of exciting projects happening at Wipf and Stock with which I’m excited to be affiliated. Right now I’m spending the bulk of my time on a forthcoming book by John Milbank, entitled The Future of Love: Theological Interventions. It is a collection of some of Milbank’s most important essays, both early and recent, dealing especially with the issues of theology and politics, religious pluralism, and Milbank’s overall theological agenda. It promises to be an important volume to anyone interested in Milbank’s theology.

Also, incidentally, we have also just finished up another book by Milbank entitled The Legend of Death which is Milbank’s collected poems. It promises to be a good read for anyone theologically-minded who also has an interest in poetry. It should be available in a matter of days or weeks and most. Here is one of the many notable poems (page 10):

Early Autumn Vagrant

A day brushed with lemon.


Luminous wafts
of light lapping frequently
like inverted shadows
beneath a dull-cast heaven.

All ignored by the brimming
schemes of afternoon pastures

for their harvest of sun-tide,
with wave after wave of
wind at last blindly illuming

the bench of the end of everything:
all cast-up, awaiting unknown salvage.


It has all been perfect,
but has left me languished,

my world swept away from me
and myself along with it.
My bodily eyes, self-bereft,
watch my soul depart on its last
and surest voyaging,

while I read on eagerly
in the book about love
as the dusk sweeps out
the open clearness.

Finally Out! Race: A Theological Account

I have waited for this book expectantly for the last five years or so. It looks to be more than worth it. I just recieved my copy of Race: A Theological Account by J. Kameron Carter today. I will be sure to blog about it when I have read it, but for now I don’t want to steal the thunder from David Horstkoetter, who has already done a great job writing two posts on the book. If you care about issues of theology and racialization in the contemporary world, you simply must read this book. It will, I think, quite literally change everything related to theology and race. For a taste of Carter’s earlier work, here are a couple samples.

Here is the book description from the publisher:

In Race: A Theological Account, J. Kameron Carter meditates on the multiple legacies implicated in the production of a racialized world and that still mark how we function in it and think about ourselves. These are the legacies of colonialism and empire, political theories of the state, anthropological theories of the human, and philosophy itself, from the eighteenth-century Enlightenment to the present.

Carter’s claim is that Christian theology, and the signal transformation it (along with Christianity) underwent, is at the heart of these legacies. In that transformation, Christian anti-Judaism biologized itself so as to racialize itself. As a result, and with the legitimation of Christian theology, Christianity became the cultural property of the West, the religious ground of white supremacy and global hegemony. In short, Christianity became white. The racial imagination is thus a particular kind of theological problem.

Not content only to describe this problem, Carter constructs a way forward for Christian theology. Through engagement with figures as disparate in outlook and as varied across the historical landscape as Immanuel Kant, Frederick Douglass, Jarena Lee, Michel Foucault, Cornel West, Albert Raboteau, Charles Long, James Cone, Irenaeus of Lyons, Gregory of Nyssa, and Maximus the Confessor, Carter reorients the whole of Christian theology, bringing it into the twenty-first century.

Neither a simple reiteration of Black Theology nor another expression of the new theological orthodoxies, this groundbreaking book will be a major contribution to contemporary Christian theology, with ramifications in other areas of the humanities.

Further Response to Lauren Winner: Clarifications and an Emmendation

It may be that my post on Lauren Winner’s review of Electing Not to Vote yesterday produced more heat than light. The responses were pretty much split down the middle between enthusiastic supporters and militant detractors. Given how much this has stirred the pot, and in light of more information that I have obtained, I’d like to make a few clarifications, and at least one emendation. 

Emendation first. It has come to my attention that Winner did indeed carefully read the book in question. As such, if this information is accurate, and I have no prima facie reason to doubt it, I will happily withdraw my charge of not reading it. However, the point of that charge was not simply to claim that she had not read the book, but rather to point out the depth to which the review failed to adequately enter into the thought of the book itself so as to critique it from within. This is what a book review should do. The reason I surmised the she did not in fact read the book was based on the utter failure of her review to actually enter into dialogue with its contents. For myself and many other readers of the review who contacted me, a failure to read the book was quite literally the only explanation we could think of. Winner’s review positions itself entirely outside the book, not engaging with any of its specific contents with anything other than passing remarks. In other words, even if Winner did read the book, she might as well have not, given the degree to which her review refrains from actual engagement or substantive critique.

Moreover, there remains an ethical question to be asked of Winner in that her review, rather than carefully articulating the views put forth in the book and voicing disagreement, blatantly mischaracterizes them for the purpose of making them appear foolish. In many ways, I am even more disappointed to learn that she read the book, given the way in which she mischaracterizes it and the contributors. Intentional misrepresentation I find perhaps more troubling that mere ignorance. The accusation of quietism is just absurd, based on the biographical sketches of the contributors alone. While I am glad to hear that the book was read, I am all the more disappointed to see how it could be read so woodenly, characterized so inaccurately, and argued against so disingenuously.

Now, clarifications. In my response, I put forth three criticisms of Winner’s review, responding to her three primary criticisms of the book. Perhaps the rhetorical verbosity I couched these objections in turned people off. That is unfortunate. However, I think that all three of these criticisms are quite germane and significant. For the purpose of clarity, I shall unpack them a bit more.

First, Winner claims that voting as such should not be seen as idolatrous or sacred, since the problem really just lies in our expectations in voting. If we expect Barack Obama to be our savior, then sure, that’s a problem, but if we just realize that he’s not, it’s fine to vote for him. But for her to transfer the locus of sacral idolatry from the act itself to the dispositions and feelings of the voter is to simply make a move that the whole book is designed to question. The book claims that “the very act of voting itself is problematic in the same way that participating in warfare or in retributive punishment would be problematic for Christians. Below the surface, voting implies a devotedness that cannot mix the politics of the world with the politics of Jesus.” (p. 113) Winner does not engage the argument made for this claim, she merely dismisses it by positing the seemingly obvious claim that it is our thoughts and feelings about voting, rather than the act itself that make it problematic or not. A viable critique would have been one which engaged with the contributor’s arguments for their position, rather than one that merely asserted a seemingly self-evident counter claim. The self-evidence of Winner’s assertion is exactly what the book seeks to question, which is precisely why her objection constitutes a failure in legitimate dialogue and disagreement with the book.

Second, Winner makes the claim that, given that we don’t know for sure if a potential president will commit an immoral action, we should go ahead and vote. I had strong words for this argument, and really, I feel I must stand by them. This is just a terrible argument. It asks us to believe that because we do not have an omniscient knowledge of the future we should just go ahead and act, come what may. There is a profound air of unrealism to this notion. We never know for sure what is going to happen, but we judge persons and institutions on the basis of their history. The notion that we don’t have reliable enough information to reasonably project the sorts of things that presidents will do if elected is just incorrect. Sure, sometimes we may get surprises, but we shouldn’t throw our lot in with the powers in the hopes that maybe they will, contrary to all reasonable expectations, do something good.

Third, Winner argues that ultimately we should vote because not all people in the U.S. are given that opportunity; we should cast our votes “for” them in some sense. This I called paternalistic, and I stand by that claim. The notion that we should make sure to assert our rights because they are not shared by all seems quite counter-intuitive. How could we, in good conscience, practice rights and privileges that are systematically denied to others? Now, to be sure, we do this sort of thing all the time. All our hands are dirty, but that does not invalidate the point in relation to this issue. Surely we are all complicit, but recognizing, rather than denying or justifying it is surely the only way towards addressing it. Rather than voting “for” the illegal immigrant or the convict, what would happen if we followed the works of mercy that are handed down to us in the Christian tradition? What if we visited those in prison, gave clothing to the naked, and food to the hungry? What if we took them into our homes rather than satiated our consciences by casting a vote for the candidate we think will do the most relative good? Winner’s claim that we should get “messy” by voting is problematic, not in that it is too messy, but in that it is too clean and easy. What would truly be messy, complicated, difficult, and substantive would be a theopolitical vision which called upon us to move from aloof advocacy to proximate solidarity. The problem with voting isn’t simply that it is somehow tainted and we must avoid it to be “pure.” The problem is that is far too easy, too deceptive, too simple. What the book in question does is seek to cultivate a theopolitical imagination which moves us beyond the bourgeois fixation on legislation which keeps us happily safe in our suburban homes and jobs, and impels us to seriously consider how we must reorient our lives to actually bear the shape of a solidarity that is not determined by the principalities and powers of our age.

Now, to be sure, I don’t expect many people to agree with this book. Surely a book ballsy enough to suggest that Christians should not, for theological reasons, participate in voting will not get wide affirmation. Nevertheless,all books deserve to be critiqued carefully and on their own terms. The fact that most will disagree with this book heightens, rather than lessens the need for careful and thorough interaction. As such, I remain as disappointed in Winner’s review as I was to begin with. The contributors to the book deserved better, indeed any book under review deserves better.

Electing Not to Vote: The Ethics of Lauren Winner’s Book Review

A recent issue of Sojourners Magazine features a book review by Lauren Winner (of Real Sex fame) on Electing Not to Vote, one of the latest releases from Cascade Books. This book consists of nine essays by Christians from a wide spectrum of confessional backgrounds, all of whom offer theological and biblical arguments for refraining from voting as an act of theopolitical witness. The articles are quite diverse, some taking their cue from John Howard Yoder, some from Karl Barth, while others reflect on the resources of their ecclesial traditions, be they Catholic or Pentecostal.

All of this can be ascertained by perusing the contents page of the book. And it seems Winner has done little more than this to inform her “review.” What passes for book reviews in Sojourners these days is quite pathetic if Winner’s attempt at engaging this book is typical of their publishing quality. It engages with  none of the book’s essays with any sort of concreteness, opting instead to broadly characterize the perspectives therein and then move on to pontificate about why she thinks the book is wrong. What we have here is not, in fact, a book review at all. It is a truncated, rather belabored protest against what Lauren Winner thought the book was about. As such it represents the epitome of unethical book reviewing. Regardless of what one thinks about the theopolitics inherent in a call to Christians not to vote, certainly it is not too much to ask that our arguments and counter-arguments be grounded in an actual engagement between competing claims and perspectives. Winner’s review offers a few tired platitudes and engages in some clumsy sloganeering, but in the process does little more than prove that she simply didn’t read the book. I mean, come on. The only specific chapter in the book that she even mentions at all is the first chapter!

Virtually all the objections to the idea of not voting that Winner raises are dealt with thoroughly in Nekeisha Alexis-Baker’s chapter, “Freedom of Voice”, to say nothing of all the other chapters. If she had bothered to read the book, she could have at least crafted some legitimate arguments against it rather than simply spouted off a few classic slogans about why Christians should do their voting duty.

First, Winner objects to the book’s claim that voting is something of a sacred rite in the American imperium; the problem is really just “what we expect when we vote.” The sacral character of voting, she claims is simply a matter of our subjective feelings about what we are doing when we vote. However, this is to simply ignore the material claim of many chapters in the book which is precisely that the sacral character of voting is inscribed in the very act itself. Perhaps this really just indicates a difference in sacramental theology between Winner and the contributors to the book. For her, the reality of one’s acts in the political realm really lies in the numinous realm of one’s subjective intentions, whereas for the contributors to the book it is the acts themselves that matter; our action inevitably participates in some sort of sacral economy, the question is which one we are willing to devote ourselves to. 

Secondly, Winner objects to the notion that we should abstain from voting because the future actions of a president are immoral. Rather, she makes the bizarre argument, that since we don’t know for sure what people will do, we should just go ahead and vote. “We should vote because we cannot say, with certainty, that the future practices of the president will be those we cannot condone.” This is, perhaps, one of the most insanely stupid arguments that I have ever heard. We should just go ahead and haphazardly vote because, after all, we really don’t know for sure? When John McCain makes clear that he will keep us bogged down in the Iraq war for years to come and Barack Obama makes clear that he is a voracious supporter of abortion on demand, how can we really say that our act of casting in our lot with one of them does not morally implicate us in these actions? And if it does, how can we participate in it, regardless of whatever good things might come from their presidency?

Thirdly, Winner asserts that we should vote on the basis of the fact that countless residents of the United States are disenfranchised from the voting process. She asks, “is the best form of solidarity with the disenfranchised to sit the election out? Or is it to ask your nanny (who cannot vote, because she is not a citizen) and the janitor who empties your office trash can (who cannot vote because he was incarcerated) who they would vote for, and then cast a vote on their behalf?” Now here is a rather odd argument as well. Ultimately, it seems, for Winner, that our reason for voting should be out of pity for those outside the system; we should vote on the behalf of those from the lower sectors of society. We, the privileged, franchised few, should make sure to exercise our rights because, after all, not everyone has  them. We must nobly, and honorably discharge our duties because the rights we have are not shared by all. How wonderfully paternalistic! The aristocrat should only more strongly embrace his position in the aristocracy, because after all, not everyone is as well off as he, and ostensibly by embracing his position within the aristocracy he could ‘do some good’ for the huddled, unwashed masses. Winner turns out, oddly enough to be quite patriarchal at the end of the day. We should embrace our middle class privilege in order to be benevolent benefactors to the underclass. That’s a bit too Victorian for my taste.

Winner closes her “review” with the claim that, “especially in a world where love of neighbor is tied to citizenship, not voting may be equally seen as a kind of quietism—quietism that a Christian who must be active in the world cannot afford.” If anything this sentence only further shows the lackadaisicalness of Winner’s attempt to critique a book she has not read. Packed into this statement are so many of the notions that the book critiques. Is is the case that Christian duty of love of neighbor is somehow mediated by the apparatus of the nation-state? Winner, wittingly or not, is here committing the worst of theopolitical errors: falling into the belief that ultimately Christian political action and witness must derive its intelligibility from the nation-state. This is precisely the sort of thinking that the book calls into question throughout its pages. But, I suppose for Winner to have known that, or objected to it in a convincing way she would have had to read the book. . . .

Edited to add: The reader should note that I am employed by Wipf and Stock Publishers, and that the opinions I express are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect that of anyone else affiliated with Wipf and Stock.

Theological Verbology

Its always wonderful to read books that are at once theologically insightful and literarily creative in their ability to twist and tweak language. Here are a couple of superb, creatively phrased passages from Douglas Knight’s The Eschatological Economy:

“Although [Jesus] is the resurrection, the one who may never die, he suffers and dies. He suffers the world. If we are allowed to abuse the language a little, we could say that Jesus is worlded. He calls out from the world what is most intrinsic to it — death — and summons it together to a single point, that of the cross. When Jesus calls, death comes out of the world. Jesus is able to break open the world and separate death from it. The indivisible Spirit drives division out. The world is Jesused. Death has no claim on him, so it finds nothing in him by which it can gain purchase. Death is deathed. The Spirit makes the Son indivisible and so impregnable: the world cannot break him.” (p. 128)

“In killing Jesus, the regime made the sacrifice that put the whole people out of relationship with their God. Yet this was not finally definitive of this event. Jesus made this the sacrifice that was righteous and life-generating. The cross was the act by which the regime gentiled itself and Jesus righteoused himself, and as such this was the joint act of God and human beings, in which the act of humankind was redeemed by God.” (p. 128-29)

Martyrdom and Self-Denial

“Self-denial does not kill the martyr. The martyr does not die of neglect or self-mastery, which we would more accurately speak of as suicide. Rather, self-denial enables the martyr to face with courage the situation that calls for death, though that death is inflicted by someone else. In this way, the martyr is freed from the necessity both of killing his accusers and of killing himself. Rejecting the necessity of both requires the kind of formation intrinsic to the askesis of a martyr-church, rejecting the offer to take control of the situation through violent means. The martyr exhibits confidence in peace as a powerless hope that is no less hopeful on account of being powerless, disabused of the means of securing life through coercion. The offer of Christ’s peace cannot be safeguarded from rejection without imperiling its peaceableness. Those who bear crosses do so in the confidence that a new world has been created in which, despite appearances, the peace of Christ is a more sure reality than the violence of human agonism.”

~ Craig Hovey, To Share in the Body: A Theology of Martyrdom for Today’s Church (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2008), 61-62.

A Pacifist Ethic of Romantic Love

I’ve written previously regarding the issue of a theology of romantic love in conversation with Dietrich Bonhoeffer. That post was, in many ways an elaboration on earlier posts related to the nature of sexual identity in Christian perspective. Here I want to explore the issue further from the standpoint of a pacifist ethic. Whether or not one accepts a thoroughgoing pacifism, I think that this sort of ethic of romance will prove germane to all. 

The key issue, as was explored in conversation with Bonhoeffer comes down to the sort of love that we are called, as Christians to embody in our relationships with one another. The love that is propagated in our late-capitalist culture is one that is fundamentally acquisitive. The only sort of romantic love we really know is one which obtains satiation through possession of the other. This is displayed poignantly in the Death Cab for Cutie’s most recent single, “I will Possess your Heart.” The music video makes supremely explicit the sort of possessive and indeed, coercive love that lies at the center of this sort of notion of romance. In the video (which is prefaced with a four-minute jam session, so we get to see quite a lot) we see an alluring, yet somewhat plain young woman traveling the world alone, experiencing all sorts of exotic and different places and realities, all the while listening to an unseen male suitor sing to her that, given enough time spent together, he will possess her heart:

How I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me 
It’s like a book elegantly bound, but in a language that you can’t read – just yet 
You gotta spend some time–love, you gotta spend some time with me 
And I know that you’ll find–love, I will possess your heart

What is fascinating about this song is its utterly coercive and (epistemologically) violent perspective. The male interlocutor can clearly see the potential of their union as lovers, which the female cannot see or even understand — its as unintelligible to her as a foreign language. She is told that she must spend time with him and as the result of that, her hear will be possessed by her aspiring lover. What is fascinating about these lyrics is their foregone closure. He knows that her heart will be possessed by him should they spend time together. He is certain, that, if he can simply draw her into his field of influence, that he will be able to possess her, to win her love, to realize the potential that she cannot see in their union. 

Eventually the song bridges into its finale which is ultimately a turn to outright coercion:

You reject my advances and desperate pleas 
I won’t let you, let me down so easily, so easily 

In the face of potential rejection, the male refuses to allow his beloved’s rejection to have determinative value. He will not let her rejection have any final value or significance; her desires or lack of desire for him cannot ultimately be an object which is respected, it is always an obstacle to be overcome. No matter what, his pre-ordained design to “possess her heart” will be realized, whether she wishes it or not. The end of the desire for possession is ultimately violent coercion. The only possible peace and concord that can occur is through submission of the other to the desire of the self.

This, if anything is the romantic mythos of our age. What I wish to centrally highlight about this notion of romance is that it is, from beginning to end, agonistic and violent. The object of desire is just that, an object to be possessed and overcome through persuasion, and if necessary, violent coercion. The proliferation of sexual violence and the current mythology of romantic conquest and possession lie but a hairs breadth from each other. The disciplined male in this mythos, if rejected, must ultimately become a rapist, whether the violence employed be rhetorical or physical. To live within the contemporary myth of romantic love is to live within the economy of rape.

This is precisely why a truly Christian ethic of romantic love must differ fundamentally from that of the reigning mythos of romantic conquest, which for all practical purposes is the glorification of rape as the proper mode of eros, rather than its deformation. This is the most outrageous of the failures of the contemporary evangelical masculinity movement which explicitly enshrines this notion of violent conquest as the normal mode of maleness and male-female love. (See for example, the “ministry” known as “Godmen” or the many books of John Eldredge, which I will not offer links to.)

A truly Christian ethic of romantic love, however must take its bearings, not from the libido dominandi which rules our world’s imagination, but from the cruciform witness of Christ who loved, not through domination, but through serving and self-giving, even to the point of death. In accepting the cross, as John Howard Yoder notes, “Christ renounced the claim to govern history.” Christ refused to violently seize the wheel of history and attempt to turn it to his own ends, but rather, in complete faithfulness to the Father’s mission, embodied the self-giving love of the Trinitarian God to the fullest in the world, to the point of the dissolution of his own self in death. And it is only in this radical act of total self-giving, the very act of refusing to possess his own identity, that Christ receives from the Spirit of the Father the fullness of inexhaustible resurrection life. Christ’s eternal reality as the Trinitarian Son comes by way of the refusal of possession in the constant giving away of his self to the Father in the Spirit, and only thereby is Christ truly alive. 

Thus, as Yoder goes on to say, “what Jesus renounced is not first of all violence, but rather the compulsiveness of purpose that leads the strong to violate the dignity of others.” It is precisely this compulsiveness of purpose leading to violence that underlies the current mythos of romantic love. Beneath the dark desire to possess the heart of one’s beloved lies a seemingly irrepressible obsession with the outcome of one’s romantic life. The movie Bridget Jones’s Diary or the much more erudite show, Sex and the City are perfect examples of this (which interestingly transpose the “male” anxiety for possession and conquest of the other onto female characters). Underneath the desire to allure and win the heart of the beloved lies a bottomless fear of being alone, of being undesired, of being a failure. In short, our romantic longings are but microcosms of the greater tendency of sinful humanity to seize control of their existence through violence. As such, our romantic mythology is simply another specimen of the sort of violence that Jesus rejected in favor of the way of self-giving love to the point of death. And, as the resurrection proclaims, it is only in embracing the way of self-giving that true life can be received. The only way for one to experience the truly redeemed, Christic reality of romantic love is for us to adopt this same pattern in rejecting the myth of romantic conquest and possession.

However, it must be stressed that this is not simply another strategy for satiating our desires through different methods. To again quote Yoder, “The point is not that one can attain all of one’s legitimate ends without using violent means. It is rather that our readiness to renounce our legitimate ends whenever they cannot be attained by legitimate means itself constitutes our participation in the triumphant suffering of the Lamb.” It may well be that we cannot attain our desired ends through the life of self-giving, but should not trouble us. For the life of cruciform self-giving is itself our participation in victory of Christ, and as such in the eternal life of Trinitarian love. Anything that cannot be ordered to participation in this end is not just a waste of time, it is bondage to the powers of death, pure and simple.

What is offered in Christ is not a way to get our perceived romantic needs met through different means, but rather the invitation to participate by grace in the triumphant love of the Crucified. We are invited to let go of our attempts to violently and coercively control our history, including our desires for marital union. To again commandeer Yoder, “might it be, if we could be freed from the compulsiveness of the vision of ourselves as the guardians of history, that we could receive again the gift of being able to see ourselves as participants in the loving nature of God as revealed in Christ?” Yes, I submit that this is indeed what we must hope for and live into in our attempt to subject our romantic desires to the discipline and transfiguration of the kingdom of God. In renouncing the claim to govern our own stories we are given the gift of crucifying the contemporary idol of romantic love. This is the ethic of romance appropriate to the endlessly exciting vision of peace that is unveiled for us in Christ, through whom we are admitted into the Trinitarian discourse of love. It is in this way that we are invited into the apostolic mission, of having nothing and yet possessing everything.

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