Category Archives: English Language

C.S. Lewis Essay Prize at Notre Dame

For those who are interested, the Center for Philosophy of Religion at the University of Notre Dame has set up a new prize for popular essays dealing with problem of evil in relation to modern thought. The Lewis Essay Prize has been established to provide up to 10 awards of $3,000 each for essays published in popular venues that present the state of the art or make new progress on the topics funded through the Problem of Evil in Modern and Contemporary Thought project during the 2010-2013 academic years.

Essays must be at least 1,000 words in length and must be published in a popular, non-academic publication with a circulation of at least 12,000. Publications can be religious in orientation (e.g., Christianity TodayFirst ThingsChristian Century) or secular (e.g., Harper’sTimes Literary SupplementThe National ReviewThe Atlantic). Selected online publications will also be considered (e.g. Slate.com). Essayists are encouraged to consult with the Center’s director to determine the suitability of a proposed venue for prize eligibility. Entries must be accepted for publication between July 1, 2010, and June 30, 2013.

Hard copies of entries should be sent to:
C.S. Lewis Essay Prize
c/o Michael Rea, Director
Center for Philosophy of Religion
University of Notre Dame
418 Malloy Hall
Notre Dame, IN 46556

Questions about the application process can also be sent to philreligion-at-nd.edu. More information is available online at the C.S. Essay Lewis Prize website.

Unclean

Fellow blogger Richard Beck has a  new book out with Cascade Books entitled, Unclean: Meditations on Purity, Hospitality, and Mortality. This book does a great job of exploring the relationship(s) between notions of purity, mission, theology, and psychology. I had the pleasure to work on the book in its editorial process and am very happy that it is finally in print. The way it gets at the operation of disgust psychology in ecclesiastical notions of moral purity is very, very helpful and I hope this book finds a wide audience in the churches. Here is the description from the back of the book to whet your appetite:

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” Echoing Hosea, Jesus defends his embrace of the “unclean” in the Gospel of Matthew, seeming to privilege the prophetic call to justice over the Levitical pursuit of purity. And yet, as missional faith communities are well aware, the tensions and conflicts between holiness and mercy are not so easily resolved. At every turn, it seems that the psychological pull of purity and holiness tempts the church into practices of social exclusion and a Gnostic flight from “the world” into a “too spiritual” spirituality. Moreover, the psychology of purity often lures the church into what psychologists call “The Macbeth Effect,” the psychological trap that tempts us into believing that ritual acts of cleansing can replace moral and missional engagement. Finally, time after time, wherever we see churches regulating their common life with the idiom of dirt, disgust, and defilement, we find a predictable wake of dysfunction: ruined self-images, social stigma, and communal conflict. In an unprecedented fusion of psychological science and theological scholarship, Richard Beck describes the pernicious (and largely unnoticed) effects of the psychology of purity upon the life and mission of the church.

The gates

He came to those who were his own, but his own did not receive him. They drove him out, outside the gates, exiling him among the sick, the perverted, the disgusting, the damned. And there he made his home. None would have noticed except for the outbursts of life that began to occur in incorrect places. They were regularly stifled, and attacked when necessary. This was often so.

What made for the most consternation was the occasional person who would wander outside the gates and be found by him, or those who claimed to be his people. Sometimes these wanderers were themselves driven outside the gate. Most often they simply happened to go that way. But once in a great while he or his alleged friends would find them, wandering outside the gate and bring them into their  hovel. For reasons unknown some of them would claim to have been housed in mansions beyond count, and to have been fed, clothed, and liberated from the weight and pain of all things. The mud on their clothes betrayed their delusions.

Most returned, happy to be received back inside the gates. The charcoal fires keep warm there, and the smell of food is never lacking. But some still wander outside the gates. Few know why. Less care.

Most Overrated Theological Books?

In a rare, in-person meeting of the minds this weekend in Nashville, Nate Kerr, R.O. Flyer, and myself solved a great many of the world’s theological problems. One, however, we still need your help on. At some point we took it upon ourselves to try to figure out the most overrated theological book of the 20th century. While we couldn’t get near to narrowing it down to one, we came up with some possibles. Here is our top ten (in chronological order):

  1. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Discipleship (1937)
  2. H. Richard Niebuhr, Christ and Culture (1951)
  3. Jürgen Moltman, Theology of Hope (1964)
  4. Karl Rahner, The Trinity (1967)
  5. Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue (1984)
  6. George Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine (1984)
  7. John Zizioulas, Being as Communion (1985)
  8. Sallie McFague, Models of God (1987)
  9. Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon, Resident Aliens (1989)
  10. John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory (1990)

It should be roundly emphasized that we are not saying that these books are not good and important. Indeed some of our absolutely favorite books are on this list. However, the question remains as to whether or not the attention and enthusiasm these books have received has been overblown. Please bear that in mind before unleashing your rage.

Now, over the next week we’ll be narrowing the list down to five, taking into account any comments you all have. Also, feel free to nominate some other books. The one that receives the most nominations will be added to the final vote as a wildcard. Enjoy the harrowing work of narrowing this list down with us.

If he rose

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body.
If the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules reknit, the
amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
eleven apostles;
it was as his flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that – pierced – died, withered, paused, and then regathered out of
enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a thing painted in the faded credulity
of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier mache,
not stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of time will
eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in the
dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not make it less monstrous,
for in our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour,
we are embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

– John Updike, “Seven Stanzas at Easter,” in Telephone Poles and Other Poems (London: Andre Deutsch, 1964), 72–3.

Beckwith’s Rome

Jamie Smith has a review of Francis Beckwith’s book, Return to Rome up at The Other Journal. It certainly takes Beckwith to task for, among other things, making Rome in his own evangelical image. Definitely worth a read. Here’s an excerpt:

Beckwith has returned to the Rome of his evangelical dreams: a pure, pristine defender of truth, justice, and—not so surprisingly—the American way. No wonder, then, that he sees no tension between being “both Evangelical and Catholic.” His is an Evangelical Rome. This plays itself out in a curious conversation with his comrade J. P. Moreland. After reading Moreland a passage from an unnamed author who affirms that “the question about truth is the essential question of the Christian faith as such, and in that sense it inevitably has to do with philosophy,” Beckwith asks his colleague: “Guess who wrote this?” After Moreland reels off some favorite Protestant philosophers, Beckwith plays his gotcha: “It’s the Pope!” “He’s one of us!” Moreland replied in exuberance (78).

But somehow, I can’t imagine Benedict XVI on the faculty of Talbot School of Theology any time soon. So what’s going on here? Beckwith’s Pope is like Norman Geisler’s Aquinas: an anonymous evangelical. On a more macro scale, Beckwith’s Rome is evangelicalism by other means; that is, his is an intellectualized Catholicism—Rome as the home of the true set of Christian propositions or what Beckwith is wont to call “a Christian worldview.” Thus, he criticizes the Catholic teachers of his youth who “spoke of Catholicism as ‘our tradition’ rather than as a cluster of beliefs that were true” (36). The Rome to which he has returned is, ironically, the matrix of Christianity as an intellectual system—“ironically” because Cardinal Ratzinger (just a few weeks before becoming Pope Benedict XVI) has explicitly said that “Christianity is not an intellectual system, a collection of dogmas, or a moralism. Christianity is instead,” Ratzinger emphasized, “an encounter, a love story; it is an event.”

The the impotence of proofreading

This poetry performance will be jarring music to the ears of any English teacher or editorial professional. Too good. (Adult language if you care about such things.)

H/T: Goannatree

Theological capitalization

One of the things you really notice in copyediting theological works is different ways in which authors like to do their capitalizing. This is sometimes fine, like in a given book an author may just always capitalize “Gift” because of how the term is being used. However, for other terms it can get a little weird. Is it Triune God or triune God? And, foremost in my mind right now is the question of why almost everyone capitalizes Eucharist but leaves baptism lowercase. That one I really don’t get. Obviously they’re both proper nouns, but inevitably they are capitalized differently.

My conspiracy theory answer for this that may very well be true is that in much of theological discourse today there is excessive emphasis on eucharistic theology, especially in regard to ecumenism and an abysmal neglect of baptismal theology across the board. Thus we turn eucharist into a proper noun and leave baptism a generic category like “preaching” or “worship.”

Amazon revisited

Some of you may remember a couple years ago when I posted a tirade about Amazon and their attempt to strong arm print on demand publishers into using their own printing service. Well, I did some checking to see whatever happened with that and it turns out that an anti-trust suit was filed by rightfully upset publishers and, unable to get the suit dismissed Amazon ended up settling. Good on the publishers for standing up to them and not letting themselves be swatted around.

Now, this being said I should make a confession. Some months ago I quietly started buying used books, occasionally, from Amazon. It seems like there’s no escape from the beast. And, given that they’ve backed down in their attempt to fuck with the publishing industry, at least in this respect, I seem to have found a way to assuage my conscience a little.

So, with all this in mind I’ve decided that I will start linking back up to Amazon (and the publisher of course) when I review or write about books. The simple fact of the matter is that most readers will buy from Amazon and I’m not helping authors or publishers out by not linking to Amazon. So there you have it. I’ve sold out just a little bit more. But if people get more books because of it, then at least some good has been done.

Best Theological Book of The Decade

The other day on Facebook, a discussion arose on the basis of a claim about what the best theological book of the last decade was. As I thought on the question I found it exceedingly difficult to answer, so I thought I’d pose the question here. What do you think the best theological book of the last decade was, and why?

UPDATE: By “theological” I’m thinking not of biblical studies, religious studies, or  philosophy, but books that are setting out to solve or differently frame central theological issues (God, Christ, church, world, salvation, mission, etc.) from a distinctively Christian perspective (so yeah, we’re just talking Christian theology here). Hopefully that narrows it down somewhat.

How to dedicate a book

Terry Eagleton doesn’t seem to be losing his flare. In fact, he’s just revolutionized the genre of book dedications. From his forthcoming book, On Evil we read the following on the dedication page:

To Henry Kissinger.

H/T: dotCommonweal


Powers and Practices §2: Philip Stolzfus

The second chapter of Powers and Practices is a far cry, in terms of quality, from the first, and hopefully all the following essays. It is entitled “Nonviolent Jesus, Nonviolent God?” and it attempts to critique Yoder for allegedly not going far enough in purging his “concept of God” of violent images, such as those contained in the Exodus narrative.

In the last few pages of the chapter the author makes clear what’s really at work in his critique of Yoder. Stolzfus is really just advocating for a certain sort of well-worn of Mennonite theology that parrots Gordon Kaufman and Sallie MacFauge  by simply discounting all elements of the Bible’s depiction of God that are deemed insufficiently nonviolent. For Stolzfus this means that, in contrast to Yoder who reneged on the task, we need to get down to the real business of “theological construction” (p. 40), that is by articulating a properly systematized and pristinely nonviolent conceptuality of God.

Stolzfus’s chapter amounts to little more than a fit of whining about the fact that Yoder didn’t do theology that way. It also makes clear how deeply Stolzfus really doesn’t understand the nature of Yoder’s project. Ironically, Stolzfus, in his rabbid concern to purge all “violent” conceptions of God from theology in advance, winds up advocating some mode of theological thinking that is, from the outset, totalizing and violent in itself. Stoltzfus has no patience for Yoder’s “dialogical stance” (p. 38)  because it fails to secure, in advance, the concept of God that Stolzfus, as a liberal Mennonite is willing to accept.

But this is precisely where Yoder is, in fact the true “pacifist” while Stolzfus by contrast is utterly, well, violent. He cannot take the risk of letting the reality of God come to him from somewhere other than his own predetermined image thereof. God must be only and always this. Therefore any thought along these lines is excluded. The sort of “nonviolence” that Stolzfus wants to hardwire in advance into our conception of God is hardly the peace of Jesus. It requires the presence of “violent” images of God, against which it must be counterposed to have any purchase. The “nonviolent” God that Stolzfus argues for is defined, agonistically, by what it is against. This “nonviolent” God requires violence and is systematically rendered within a binary (violent) mode of theological reflection that is at once simplistic and lackadaisical.

This is not to say that the images of divine violence in the Bible are not real problems. They are. But it is Stolzfus who fails to deal with the problem, not Yoder. Yoder, in keeping with his commitment to vulnerable engagement with the biblical witness, takes time and patience to actually struggle with the text, rather than deciding in advance what simply must be stripped away because of his own predetermined theological sensibilities.

I’m all for reading solid critiques of Yoder, but a lazy half-baked Marcionism like the kind offered here doesn’t impress me at all. I hope the next chapter is better than this.

Powers and Practices §1: Chris Huebner

One of my new aims this year is to blog more consistently about what I’m reading. One way I’m going to do that is by doing more chapter by chapter reviews/notes on books. I’m hoping to do one of these most weekdays. To kick it off, I’m starting with Powers and Practices: Engaging the Work of John Howard Yoder, edited by Jeremy M. Bergen and Anthony G. Siegrist (Thanks to Herald Press for the review copy). Hope it’s helpful.

This book is one of a couple recent projects that is not merely doing work on Yoder, but thinking with Yoder in conversation with multiple other — and highly diverse — thinkers and ideas. Powers and Practices is a welcome collection of essays contributing to important theological work that takes Yoder seriously — something I am very much on board with.

The first chapter in the book is by Chris Huebner, entitled “The Work of Inheritance: Reflections on Receiving John Howard Yoder.” This essay is a very helpful and readable introduction to Yoder’s mode of theological reflection, and specifically his understanding of “inheritance,” that is of faithfulness to “tradition” or “history.” Huebner notes that “Throughout his meandering engagements and conversations, we constantly find Yoder striving to articulate a posture with respect to history that does not reflect a possessive will to somehow manage and control it” (p. 20). According to Huebner:

[Yoder's] work is everywhere laced with notions of memory and hope, of historical discernment and openness to the surprises of the new. But these themes are not to be understood in a manner that suggests a simple or straightforward activity of repetition, of narrowly factual accuracy, or of what we might describe as archival sensibilities. Neither do they present a vision of hope that consists in the desire to realize some given end, as if the future somehow rests squarely on our shoulders. They reflect neither a primitivist or preservationist reification of the past, not a progressive construal of hope as a future goal to be achieved. Rather, we find in Yoder a vision of inheritance that is interruptive and radically transforms those who are in a position to receive it. Indeed, echoing Barth, he emphasizes that it is not so much we who remember, but rather that we are made a part of God’s memory, and in being so remembered have our very we-ness redefined. At the very least, the question of receiving an inheritance is, for Yoder, fare from straightforward. Inheritance names a kind of work, a life’s work of ongoing transformation in which the very identity of the one said to be doing the receiving is somehow part of whats at stake. (p. 21)

This is crucial to understanding what it means to appropriate tradition and history in the task of theology. For Yoder “inheriting a tradition is thus crucially not uni-directional. It does not consist in a linear gaze backward to the past, nor does it give rise to a clear and unambiguous path looking forward. Rather it involves a constant ‘looping back’ to the origins in light of unpredictable, often surprising encounters with other dialogue partners” (p. 23).

In conversation with Wittgenstein, Romand Coles, and Rowan Williams, Huebner hints at what this notion of “the work of inheritance” means both for theological approaches to tradition and history, and more specifically, for our own approach to the work of Yoder. What this involves then is not an attempt to systematize Yoder or get him “right.” Rather we ought to engage in the ongoing and open work of “looping back” to Yoder and inheriting his ad hoc and diasporic mode of theology in conversation with others. And as Huenber notes, this is a more fruitful and faithful way of engaging Yoder’s work, indeed the conversations into which we can bring Yoder often tend to be “more fruitful that some of Yoder’s own encounters with those same figures” (p. 25). This, importantly gives us a way to be both “for and against” Yoder as with think with him in vulnerable receptivity to other, often unexpected dialogue partners.

One of those deserted island kind of things

What is the one novel for you? The one that you would take up, forsaking all others if you had to choose. And why? Tell us.

Palin Poetry

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