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Good News for Whom?
Your emphasis on the importance of a living community is good, too, though I don't think that is opposed to the usual interpretation of the parable. The evangelicals have a good point in their interpretation, and so do you.
I think you went a bit overboard, though, with your climactic "this God only exists to the extent that such love is made manifest in genuine human contact." You may not be aware of the contemplative experience of God, but I expect you know of prophetic inspiration, where God is not mediated through another person but is experienced directly, spiritually. God exists quite well, and can make himself known, with or without our help. "With" is better (for us), of course. But God exists, period.
I believe he even once called himself "I AM."
I had no doubt you would find something to take me to task on, Paul. You do not disappoint.
God's "isness," however, is of little meaning without being made manifest. The contemplative experience of God (yes, I'm familiar, thank you very much, but I don't pray and tell) is mediated through our humanness, or we could not experience it. The prophetic experience is always for others. And most of the time, even in the Bible, God works through human agency, through those willing to open themselves kenotically to not only experience the presence of God (whoop-de-do, St. John of the Cross might say) but to manifest it to others. (God even uses the unaware and unwilling, or those who just happen to be about.)
This, I think, is very Christian, rooted in the Incarnation. My loaded rhetoric was intended to make visceral the extent to which an ostensibly loving God that is not realized by our willingness to extend that love to others isn't worth a bowl of warm spit.
Paul, I find so much that you say encouraging, but when it comes to the way in which you understand community I usually disagree a little. Your personalist (at least it feels like personalism) perspective pushes against the way in which I understand the Church to be the sole incarnation and revelation of Christ to the world (although, to complicate matters, I also believe that the poor are the sole incarnation of Christ to the Church).
Certainly, Christ can reveal himself to someone individually apart from the church, but such revelation is introductory and incomplete. And, as Ted suggests, it isn't entirely unmediated anyways.
The most important question here, I think (and this comes from church history and my own experience in a number of communities), is that if "the Church [is] the sole incarnation and revelation of Christ to the world," who does this Church include? Does it include Martin Luther, after his excommunication? How about Simone Weil, who never officially joined the organized church? Or Soren Kierkegaard, who left the state church of his time (and launched his "Attack on Christendom")? All of these, and many other "prophetic" types found inspiration and the confidence to challenge or oppose "the church" of their day, and they found it through their personal experience of God. The community always needs correction, and God picks and inspires and uses individuals as he wills to speak to the community when it seems to have lost its way.
Yes, this revelation is "for" the church. But my point is that, in cases of prophetic challenge such as I have described, these individuals are often denounced and condemned (even killed) by "the community" on the grounds that "the Church is the sole incarnation and revelation of Christ to the world."
I agree that the church is a very important revelation of Christ to the world, but "sole" seems hard to back up. What about nature? Psalm 19 refers to this (and Paul references it when talking of evangelism in Romans 10.18):
Perhaps you would say this is "introductory and incomplete." Sure. But it is not an insignificant revelation of God.
There's also the question of those people in the world who, for various reasons, never encounter Christians. Can they have no experience of God? Does God not speak to them? I think we have ample evidence that he does. And I believe Jesus shows himself to the extent people are willing to receive him, "by any means necessary" (to quote Malcom X).
God's revelation is not limited by our ability to mediate it to others.
The contemplative experience of God, for instance, is interpreted as such by the Christian contemplative, but there's actually nothing that says it must be what they assume it to be. It could be an artifact of a natural brain state cultivated by centering prayer or lectio divina. Someone from a different religion undertaking similar practices would interpret such an experience through a different grid.
Or, if that is too relativistic and/or reductionistic, let's say the experience is incontrovertibly a personal experience of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Even this is predicated on having been formed, in community, as the sort of person who is prepared for such experiences and to whom God might come in such a way.
You have a unique predilection for latching onto hyperbole and throttling it within an inch of its life. So -- okay, okay, we can know God through trees.
But can we? In a sense that does justice to the Incarnation? Can a tree visit me in prison? Wash my feet? Sit up with me in the hospital while my loved one struggles for life? Share bread with a stranger or be the stranger with whom I share my bread?
As for the Church, we have been down this road before, you and I, and we disagree sharply. I claim no right to decide who is "in" or "out." I would include both the institutional church and its dissidents. I might wax poetic and suggest that Christ is to be found wherever bread is shared with a stranger, regardless of the religious affiliation of those involved.
But none of this is the point. My point, at least, is that those of us who claim any sort of allegiance to Jesus Christ must reckon with our responsibility to embody Christ, to become Christ, to be Christ, because I don't think we have reason to believe that Christ is present any other way. Not that it is necessarily impossible another way, but that to count on it is to forfeit our calling.
And it is interesting that Paul mentions the Spirit, because that seems notably missing from this discussion so far. Yet the Holy Spirit is the primary way Jesus talks about his presence with us, and this is not a humanly "mediated" presence. Some of his last words to his disciples offer them this comfort:
I can appreciate the desire to push back against evangelical individualistic spirituality, but you seem to be going far overboard and denying major parts of Jesus' teaching (and major parts of spiritual reality) in order to make your point more strongly. I know you are not alone in this. Much of the new "community" movement does the same.
We should most definitely "count on" Jesus being present to us whether or not people are Christlike to us, and Jesus being present to others whether or not we manage to be Christlike to them. That was Jesus' promise to us before he ascended. "Lo I am with you always." Always. And that is precisely what we should count on, not the embodiedness of Christians (who have so often and so terribly failed to mediate or embody Jesus to so very many people).
This does not in any way diminish our call (or motivation) to be like Jesus and embody his presence to others. Because our motivation is not one of duty, or concern that there is no other way for Jesus to be present. Our motivation is the Holy Spirit, real and living and present, God himself present in us, Love in us.
And I don't see how that is relevant, unless you are trying to say (as I've heard some say) that Jesus' presence is promised to the church as a whole always, but not necessarily to each of us individually. That's not much of a promise, now is it? "Lo I am with you always... you as a group that is; I may or may not be with any particular one of you at any particular time..."
I also think it's worth saying that making dismissive comments without actually engaging the arguments that are presented to you won't go far in convincing people of your point.
As for the topic, I think the most productive thing for me to do is simply admit that I'm riffing on the NT texts, primarily Ephesians, which has a "high ecclesiology," one that expresses the relationship between Christ and the church in terms remarkably similar to the language describing the relationship between God and Christ that led to the formulation of the trinitarian doctrine.
Anyway, no, I'm not adhering to strict rules of exegesis, and that's probably frustrating. But I don't think I'm doing something that is fundamentally different from what the NT writers did with the OT, and as such I don't think I'm engaging in a practice or making a call to action that is fundamentally at odds with the Christian tradition.
In my comment above, I am not rejecting personalism...in fact, I would consider myself a personalist. However, within personalism there is a danger of collapsing towards individualism (of a sort).
We are members of one another. Christ is present within US in a fuller way than Christ is present in ME. Within that, a personalist perspective refuses to abstract what I mean by "us." There is no abstracted Church...Christ is actually present in the least of these--the brother or sister who struggles. Actual persons (not this abstraction called the "State" or programs or "movements" are responsible for other persons in need.
Some personalists and anarchists will challenge abstraction to the point of saying that community itself is too much of an abstraction. And while often rejecting individualism, they will embrace an unmediated understanding of Christ's presence to the extent that we are left with a collective of individuals who are largely unable to submit to one another.
I love that Dorothy Day quote. But I'm quite not sure where you get "Christ is present within US in a fuller way than Christ is present in ME." Or how you can support it. There is only one Jesus; present to "us" or to "me," it is the same person, isn't it?
I'm not sure exactly what you mean by "present... in a fuller way," but it suggests a closer presence or deeper, more complete experience of Jesus. If that's what you mean, I think that sometimes the "us" has a fuller experience and sometimes the "me" (the individual) does. Usually depending on the spiritual maturity of the people in question, and their willingness to listen at that moment. Doesn't the history of the church clearly demonstrate this?
In my previous comment I pointed to examples such as Luther and Kierkegaard, who seemed to be in closer touch with Christ than the vast majority of the church of their time. Of course there are many other examples of prophetic types like these. And the great danger is that the belief that "Christ is present within US in a fuller way than Christ is present in ME (or YOU)" served then to justify the rejection and condemnation (and sometimes execution) of these prophetic witnesses. I would also say it played a role in justifying Jesus' crucifixion: Who is this individual to be speaking for God—WE, who represent God's people (and uphold the traditions of God's people through history) know God's will much better than this one man.
Am I wrong here?
I believe individuals can experience Jesus' presence fully, the same presence that can be experienced fully in community (and we are all called into both individual and communal experience). One Jesus, making himself present to whom he will. These are not in conflict with one another, but support and compliment one another. What is important is not the primacy of "individual experience" or "communal experience" but whether what we are experiencing is the one, real Jesus.
And "submit to one another"? Aren't we rather called to submit to God? ("Submit to one another" has been used again and again by Christian communities to exercise power and dominate individuals. I have first hand experience of this and have heard so many stories....) Yes, God often speaks to us through others, perhaps a group of others, but also through individuals. Which is why we should not put the group over or against the individual, but should be listening for (and submitting to) God's voice speaking through whomever he chooses. Right?
And the interpretation that "be subject to one another" means "submit to the group (or majority?)" is far from clear. I'd interpret it "submit to others when Jesus is speaking through them" (which fits well with "out of reverence for Christ"), and that fits with all the other teachings about obeying God alone, having one master, one Lord.
You're right--language about submission isn't found in Jesus' own teachings. But why is that? Language of the Church is rare as well...language of submission flows out of discussion about the Church.
All we know about Jesus we learn from the Church. It was early Christians whose oral traditions are captured in the four Gospels. Jesus' teachings shaped the early church, but so too did the Church's own experience of Christ in and through one another. And also through their own personal experiences of Christ, to be sure.
I don't see the submission question being at all unclear in Jesus' teaching (and example). "You have one master."
As I've been saying, the one Master can speak through anyone, so we should listen for his voice in the words of others. But we do not submit ourselves to any person or group of people. We have one, and only one, master.
Alas, here is the problem. In this case, you seem to find that you need not submit to the Tradition that has brought us the teachings on submission contained in the writings of Peter and Paul, because the Gospel accounts (according to Mark, Matthew, Luke and "John") seem to call us to something else?
I don't see any inconsistencies between submission to God and mutual submission. Mutual submission isn't calling my brother or sister "Master" it is simply recognizing that our relationship with God is made complete in one another.
And, interpreted rightly, Paul's words don't contradict Jesus' teaching, in my opinion. C'mon, we interpret Paul and Peter often in light of Jesus (like about slavery, women, etc). That's not rejecting those guys.
I think you're going to have to explain your understanding of "submission" a little more clearly, Mark. Because I've seen it mostly interpreted as "obedience" (throughout church history and in the histories of many Christian communities). And I've heard lots of stories of its misuse in communal situations.
This is not just a theological argument, but one that very forcefully impacts people's lives, especially in community.
I agree, of course, about reading all of Scripture in light of Jesus; I don't hold to a "flat" view of Scripture.
I don't equate submission to obedience. In Romans 12-13, Paul seems to liken obedience to turning the other cheek. In danger of being anachronistic, such submission seems more like Gandhi's understanding of Satyagrah than like whatever we usually think when we hear "obedience." In other words, submission is the opposite of coercion. It is subordinating your will and desire for the good of the other. Submitting to one another is what it "looks like" to love one another. Just like wives and husbands are to submit to, and love, one another (which is how I tackle the other parts of that Ephesians passage).
But then the submission you describe, being the same usage as when Paul talks about "submitting" to earthly authorities in Rom 13 (which I agree with), that doesn't seem anything special or unique for relations within the church. It sounds like the way we should love anyone. Is that what you mean?
This is where the epistles are so helpful...especially, perhaps Romans, in guiding us through what the bonds of Christian familial love looks like and what enemy-love looks like to a mixed ethnicity group of Christians in the heart of Empire. It is sad to me that Romans has become a blunt object of intellectual Christendom rather than the radical document that it is intended to be.
You mention family life, but usually, even in the best families, there is hierarchy and struggles with somewhat oppressive social dynamics and constructs (that was my experience, at least). Isn't the life of the Body supposed to be something even better? Jesus uses family analogies to describe it, but then also says things that show that his Body is meant to be the one, true family that our biological families can never be.
I think it is our common (personal) connection with and undivided obedience to God that unites us in a way that blood cannot. And allows us all to be subject to the one Master without needing hierarchies, all being brothers and sisters, as Jesus taught.
Indeed, we are called to be subject to One Master as we enter into humble mutual love as brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus, who is our Brother.
I agree with Mark about the contingency of the gospels, perhaps taking it farther (it's not something we've discussed). The Jesus of the Gospels is a Jesus we know because communities passed down those stories and members of those communities eventually recorded them at least partially as a benefit to those communities.
Further, my understanding is that prophecies were to be tested, just as tongues were to be interpreted, etc. This is not to say that God never speaks to us from outside our given community, or the church at large -- I certainly believe he speaks to us from the margins. And so on. But the normative means, I think, is through the wisdom of the collected body, and, in the spirit of Chesterton, the communion of the saints.
[And, as with other things, I would guess that I find the prophetic voice today in places you would not.]
How, precisely, do I encounter this Master to whom I'm exclusively beholden? If it is through prayer, how do I know I'm not just gazing at my navel? If it is through scripture, how do I learn to read and interpret scripture? And -- to be fair -- if it's in community, how do I know I'm not just drinking the Kool-Aid? I'm not advocating for slavish devotion to a community or a tradition (or clearly you haven't met me). I think these elements -- contemplation, revelation, community -- are to be held in tension.
Can I ask a personal question? I assure you I am merely curious and there is no trap. Do you see yourself as a prophet? You seem, at any rate, to identify with the prophetic animus in a way that I don't (which is not to suggest that you shouldn't). I just want to see if there's anything to that or if I'm just guilty of blog-comment eisegesis. :)
And I think all the ways you mention, Ted, (plus a few more) help us discern the voice of the Master. It must be discerned in prayer, interpreted in scripture, and sorted from the various voices in community—but when they are all saying the same thing we can be pretty sure. (Maybe this is part of what you mean by "holding them in tension"?) I think we can also learn from experience what the voice of the Master sounds like, becoming more sensitive to hearing it through all these ways. "My sheep hear my voice." Ultimately, though, there has to be a certain amount of trust (faith) that the Spirit will help us sort it out, just as the Spirit helped the authors and communities sort out the scriptures. That's what we have faith in, rather than in the written word, or our own prayers, or even the consensus of our community. Our faith needs to be in God.
Prophet, hmmm. Yes, I suppose I do identify with prophetic types, and admire them. Personality-wise I think I'm also more suited for their tasks and challenges (very sensitive to group dynamics and pressures—and group mistakes—and quite introverted, independent-minded, tending toward the mystical). I've tended to take powerfully (even violently?) emotional stands against the group when they seem to be dominating the individual. And I'm extremely anti-institutional, as I'm sure you've noticed. Yes, that's pretty perceptive on your part.
These days, though, everyone seems to be "prophetic" (even Michelle Obama's starting a garden at the White House was called prophetic). So I'm not sure the term "prophet" means much anymore.
Jesus, as far as we know, did not write anything (well, there was that bit in the dirt). He entrusted his teachings to a plurality of others. Peter, when he received his vision in Acts 9, took it to the others to help clarify its meaning and implications for the community.
And we cannot know about the Holy Spirit in the way you describe without these texts that we believe come to us by the Holy Spirit. There's an unavoidable circularity here. I'm not suggesting an invalidity, I just think we need to own up to that circularity.
We know Jesus (in part, at least) because his story was preserved in the Gospels. We have the Gospels through the communities that preserved them. We accept particular Gospels (and epistles) because we trust (or at least agree with) those who later deliberated on the canon. And so forth. I'm not denying the work of the Holy Spirit in this process, but describing what it looks like on the ground.
My list (contemplation, scripture, community) was not intended to be exhaustive, though I think as broad categories they're not half bad. I just want to bring you into my world for a moment, in which there is no single locus of knowing/experiencing God that trumps all others. So, faith in God -- yes! But how does this faith come to us? How is this faith tested? Where do we cultivate this faith?
The community is more than a collection of individuals, and the church is more than a collection of communities, and our faith tradition is more than the historical record of such communities. I locate the work of the Holy Spirit in this "more," the impetus of a dialectical tension between story and peoplehood (which is not to suggest this as a robust pneumatology, but merely a fragment).
But I also cannot know the tradition apart from that history, and I don't know that history apart from the communities that preserved it, and I am not a part of that history independently of my involvement in a particular community, and I don't experience community apart from my interaction with this sister or that brother (which is my nod to personalism). Again, this is not intended to be exhaustive or exclusive, but I do think it's indispensible.
Let me be personal and transparent in a way that might be dangerous in this context (and this early in the morning). My impression is that you've been shaped by one or more bad experiences of community, vicariously if not personally. That's fair. I don't suggest this is as something that invalidates your observations, nor do I suggest that you are colored by your experience in a way that I am not.
More importantly, you seem to be blessed with a great faith such that what I'm reading as a fierce individualism leans nevertheless in the direction of Jesus. Maybe you do have a kind of prophetic calling, and I see you has having a kind of eremitic or anchorite vocation (the married thing notwithstanding), a bit of a voice calling in (and from) the wilderness. Again, please don't read that as dismissive, and I may not have it quite right. I'm just trying to name what I see.
So here's the transparent part: my individualism goes the other direction. Left to my own devices, I'm more likely to be an atheist than an anchorite. I need the tether of tradition and community in order to remain faithful. I can't make it on my own, and this surely colors my theological reflections. But I also don't think I'm alone -- or all that unusual.
Yes, maybe I'm more inclined to solitude, but following Jesus has led me into a life shared closely and intimately with others in the Body. So I've been shown how essential it is, despite my inclinations.
The difference is, I didn't come seeking "community." I was seeking Jesus and found his Body. Which is the right way to do it, I think, because we should be followers of Jesus first (and completely), right?
I accept our personal differences (as natural and good) and agree they may contribute to certain misunderstandings. But I'll also insist that, if a tether is needed (and we all need it, I think), "tradition and community" are not completely dependable or secure in themselves. Not worthy of our faith. Only God is.
Abuses aside (and there are plenty of examples in history, to which my own experiences add little), tradition and community need always to be interpreted, don't they? Their myriad of voices tested and challenged to discern where the voice of God is speaking in them? So we must depend on something higher (deeper?) to guide us, and Jesus offered us this, the Spirit of God working in us. This is worthy of faith and complete trust.
And just like in Jesus' life, this faith is necessary for the Spirit to work. "Your faith has healed you." The full experience of God's presence and guiding is contingent on our utter trust in him.
The difference is, I didn't come seeking "community." I was seeking Jesus and found his Body. Which is the right way to do it, I think, because we should be followers of Jesus first (and completely), right?
In my opinion, wrong. God brings us to himself in a variety of ways, none of which is more holy than the other. And my guess is that before you were actually seeking Jesus for Jesus sake, you sought God in ways that were much more self centered. I remember reading a church father discuss this, I can't remember which one at the moment.
I'm also not, just to be clear, attempting to reduce our differences to the vagaries of our personal histories. That's a part of things but hardly the whole story. I think there are some pretty significant gaps in our respective epistemological and phenomenological perspectives -- but this isn't the place for that.
I do not question the primacy of Jesus, nor do I deny the importance of faith in God. You bring that up a lot, and I'd like to point out that I'm not suggesting that we don't need faith in God. But let me push a bit here: how did you know it was Jesus you were seeking? Or, more pointedly: where is this faith in God that exists apart from everything else? I quite literally have no way to conceptualize that. To be honest it starts to sound like magic to me -- which I'd like you to read as saying more about me than it does about you.
So, faith in God: of course. We agree on this. I do not reduce this to the communal context, but I cannot imagine faith without that context (on some level). So it makes no sense to me to posit faith in God over and against community and tradition, nor (on my side) is a fetishization of community and tradition (which happens often enough) tantamount to faith in God. (C&T being a shorthand for a larger constellation of factors -- hopefully you're tracking.)
Perhaps I've been unclear -- I'm not trying to play one against the other, but argue that they cannot be separated. Even when a given expression of community goes badly, and we must offer critique and/or prophetic witness, we do so from a place that is (I presume) informed in some way by the larger tradition and offered (on some level) to protect the integrity of the body.
I'm not throwing down a gauntlet here, but I don't think you can identify a single way that we know or experience God, or faith in God, that I can't narrate as being related to or contingent upon our participation in and formation by community and tradition. This doesn't prove anything, except maybe my own recalcitrance, but it might help your understanding (and/or confirm some of your suspicions).
I don't think I've ever suggested a faith without context. What I said was that the contexts you mention—tradition and community, but also prayer and scripture—are not dependable (worthy of faith) in themselves, and always need to be interpreted or tested.
My point is quite a practical one, actually (reinforced by experience in community). Voices in tradition say many things. Voices in community say many things. And sometimes, even when those in community around us are speaking with an apparently unanimous voice, what they are saying is not coming from God, is not the voice of God. So their voices must always be judged, tested, interpreted, and cannot themselves be the basis for this judging.
I'm saying there must be something else that we can trust to help us discern the voice of God in these things (not apart from them). That something else is the Spirit of God living and active in us. Given for precisely that purpose.
And trust in this Spirit is exactly what we are called to: faith, trust in God.
Your language suggests, however, is that there is Something Else that we test these things against, where all I can see is that we basically test them against each other, and trust that in the aggregate process we end up where we need to be. I don't think this is far from Kierkegaard's leap of faith, for instance. Now maybe this aggregate is that Something Else, and I'm just stubbornly refusing to start there or use conventional theological language to narrate it.
I'm not particularly offended by expletives, but this is a public forum. :)
Okay, test them against each other, yes I agree. But then if it's me, the individual doing that comparing and testing, deciding what material (scriptures, traditions, other voices) to work with in the discernment and determining when a satisfactory conclusion is reached... aren't we back to individualism again?
I'd say that faith is relinquishing control of that, depending completely on the Spirit (the Someone Else), and letting ourselves be guided in the comparing and testing and discernment. Guided spiritually, God's will pressing on ours ("unmediated"?). Which is not individualism at all, but submission to God.
How well we are able to do this (our faithfulness) usually has much to do with the honesty and completeness of our submission to God, and our experience (maturity) in being guided by his Spirit. That's what I've seen, anyway. But then I'm often surprised by how God can make himself heard even when I'm trying not to listen or submit.
How does this come to us? Where and how do we learn that such surrender is what we need, and how to do it?
I thought you'd question that middle line the most.
Really, there's not much to it: I don't think unmediated experience exists. You do.
But let's say it does. Then what? This is good for you, I suppose, but it does the rest of us little good. We can't have your experience. You can testify to it, but then we have to interpret that testimony -- just like everything else. (I would suggest that you are always already interpreting even the experience itself, and this even before you try to put it in language, but I suspect you don't see things that way.)
I don't think we can totally escape the charge of individualism, no matter how we slice things, because the toothpaste of the Cartesian subject won't go back in the tube (and we don't really want it to). So there is always a personal/individual component to our experience, even our experience of (and in) community.
To me a person is only open to the charge of individualism if he or she regards the individual as more important than or ontologically prior to the overlapping social matrices in which identity is forged. Simply acknowledging our subjectivity is not individualism.
I'm not sure the individual even exists, as such, apart from those matrices. But now we're in super-squishy territory (that was for Nathanael) and nobody wants to go down that rabbit hole. I don't. Actually, I'm getting tired of reading my own writing. I can only imagine how the others feel... :)
I think we might be missing each other because you seem to be talking about knowledge of an experience, i.e. our understanding or interpretation of any experience is always mediated through our cultural/ideological lenses, etc., and if we try to communicate that knowledge then it must be interpreted by others.
But that doesn't mean the actual experience itself must be interpreted (or mediated), does it? The touch, the vision, the feeling? (The contemplative tradition even intentionally seeks to avoid interpretation or language and emphasizes the direct experience of God, simply loving and being loved, inexpressibly.)
It's this actual experience of God that I want others to have for themselves. Not my experience that I offer to them (other than to encourage them that it's possible), but their own experience which connects us not through common language or conceptualization but because we are both actually in touch with the one God.
I only ask that you don't deny that this is possible.
Okay, sorry. I took the DISQUS link...
"But that doesn't mean the actual experience itself must be interpreted (or mediated), does it?"
Actually, yes. But it might be more helpful to speak of contingency. I don't mean that a given experience comes to us in raw form but we can't do anything with it until it is interpreted (and thus are aware of the interpretive process). I mean that the experience never actually comes to us in raw form -- it doesn't exist as such -- because having a certain kind of experience is contingent upon our already having been formed and shaped as a particular kind of person, whether this formation is something we have cultivated actively or is merely a product of being born in a particular time and place.
The contemplative experience (and I'll stick with that, which could be a discrete event or a constellation of experiences that help to shape our perception of the world) is contingent in this way. Before we ever approach the cloud of unknowing, before we engage in centering prayer, before the Jesus Prayer leaves our lips, before we take up and read in lectio divina, before we pick up that first straw for the love of God, we have been formed as the kind of person who would do such a thing.
The contemplative experience is contingent upon those practices we engage in as a means of cultivating such experience, and contingent upon being the kind of person who places value on such an experience in the first place. How we understand the experiences that come out of those practices is formed and shaped by the contemplative tradition itself, which provides a frame within which we can understand the experience and without which such an experience might not come to us at all.
This formation, which can happen in a variety of ways but does not happen apart from the practices, habits, and modes of discourse that characterize the tradition, is why we understand this experience to be an experience of God -- and not just God in the abstract, but the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, as revealed through Jesus Christ. We could narrate this experience differently, and even the fact that we might not think to do so is determined by our formation.
Contemplatives and mystics in other traditions have similar experiences that they interpret in light of their own traditions. We may or may not consider this to be the same as our experience, but we will do so on the basis of our relationship with our tradition.
If we conclude that this is irrelevant, that this experience only comes to the believer, then we are saying that it is contingent on our faithfulness and obedience, and what we consider faithfulness and obedience to be is formed and shaped by the particular way in which we relate to our tradition.
Our decision to use a particular theological language to narrate this experience, or to avoid language, is likewise shaped in this way.
I will go this far: I think there are experiences available to us that we would both narrate as an encounter with the living God, which you would understand as unmediated and I would not. 99 times out of 100, however, the conversation doesn't need to go there; I suspect most people would not find it edifying.
I'm not sure how you would understand my position. For me, the fact that you see the experience as unmediated is already an interpretation.
A mother picks up her baby and moves it and feeds it and puts it to bed and the child doesn't know what to make of all that (having no framework yet to interpret it). Yet it's still real and the child is actually moved and cared for, and experiences that in some way. A good analogy, I think, for how God often interacts with us, even before we perceive or understand what is going on.
I'll be satisfied, Ted, if we can agree about the reality and trustworthiness of "an encounter with God," God's Spirit working within us. It sounds to me like you don't trust it, since it's always filtered through so much of me and my culture, which seems to undermine the whole thing, making us dependent not on God but primarily on the tradition and community that shapes our filters (which are often screwed up). That's what seems to me to be rather "unedifying."
But please correct me if I'm reading you wrong.
God is not my experience of God, and to place value on that experience is itself an act of faith and not an ontological claim.
That may or may not be satisfying. It may be a bunch of hooey. Heck -- it might just be my interpretation. :)
Don't you trust that the almighty God can get past screwed up filters and limited interpreting abilities (or even use them effectively) to actually meet and communicate with you in a clear and trustworthy way?
This isn't to say that we all have to submit to groupthink or to majority. If the Spirit works through us as a Body, there are certainly times when one member speaks a strong word of challenge that doesn't seem to fit within the larger Body...but we ignore such words at our own peril.
However, my experience is that most of the time, God doesn't speak primarily through the lone prophet. Kierkegaard and Luther are prime examples. Neither were unique in their day. Other prophetic voices were speaking in their day with similar words. The question isn't "why were they the only ones speaking out", but "why were theirs the only voices being heard?"
I don't believe that I can submit to God without also submitting to the Body, for she is the incarnation in Christ. I am just a part of the Body. If I have something important to say that corrects the Body, I am to share it humbly. If what I say seems to go against the whole world and the entire Body, then the only way forward is going to be if the Church can hear and submit to the word of God. Is this the group submitting to the individual? No. It is the church being the church.
And I agree that submitting to Christ is the same as submitting to his Body—as long as it truly is his Body. So how do we discern that? And yes, the Body is the incarnation of Christ—but it is only truly the Body when it is the incarnation of Christ. I completely agree with your identification of the Body and Christ, but this is always determined by its actually having and demonstrating the nature of Jesus. If (and where and when) it does not, it is not the Body and we should certainly not submit to it. To do so would merely be submitting (once again) to the social Beast.
It always come back to submitting to and obeying God, and only God. Completely, single-mindedly, unconditionally. "You have one master, the Christ."
Ahh...here it is. This seems like the question worthy of deep reflection. I can agree with what you say here. I personally am NOT a fan of some abstracted definition of Church as "the Invisible Church." There is only the Church in front of me. And it looks like Christ. If it does not, it isn't really the incarnation of that Christ. That isn't to say that some stodgy old First Baptist Church of Whoville is going to Hell if they don't look like Jesus. But it is to say that if it don't look, act, or smell like Jesus than I don't have to submit to it as if it were the embodied Jesus.
So, how do we discern? If I had more time (this summer has been over-full), I'd craft an article raising this question (that's a hint to anyone out there reading this who feels the mojo and has time).
Ted: I need wood to keep warm.
Paul: No, what you need is fire.
Ted: Well, okay, but we don't experience fire apart from the wood.
Paul: But the wood can't keep you warm. You need fire.
Ted: True enough, but I only know this "fire" you speak of because the wood is burning.
Paul: The "wood" is not enough. In order to keep warm we need Fire. The Fire alone warms us.
Ted: Look, I'm assuming the "fire" bit, okay? It's not like I was going to build a lean-to or anything. But we still need the Wood.
Paul: What good is the wood without the fire? There's some really wet wood out there.
Or maybe it sounds more like this:
Ted: He could grip it by the husks.
Paul: It's not a matter of where he grips it...
And I don't think the fire/wood analogy is quite accurate, but I'll go with it for fun. Can I suggest my own response?
Ted: Well, okay, but we don't experience fire apart from the wood.
Paul: What about Pentecost?
As for Pentecost, were you there? Me neither. And probably not the author of Acts. So we're getting it at least secondhand. And the fire in question went -- where? Into (or onto) people? Involving language? And the event then had to be interpreted by Peter in light of Joel's prophecy? Seems like an awful lot of wood there.
And I think Pentecost works well (and was pretty witty, I thought) because there fire was a symbol of the presence of the Spirit in the disciples. A gift given to them, something sudden and powerful and real, not just the accumulation of their cultural, social, religious experiences (though, yes, God was also in those, too).
And yes, invoking Pentecost was clever -- even elicited a wry smile from me. But you didn't think I'd let it go at clever, did you?
Should we maybe just sing together the Lumberjack Song, and leave it at that? "Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay..."
(Incidentally, I did happen to use the lava-tree today.)
From the preacher's point of view, such repetition is an easy way to get away with laziness. I heard so many sermons on the prodigal son at one church of my youth, that I groan inwardly whenever I discover I am about to hear one again. Unless, of course, the speaker directs us to consider ourselves the older brother. You have again refreshed me by encouraging me to empathize with the father.
The political message communicated by repetition is static. It says: This is where we are, and where we have been, and as far as we can tell, where we will be. The action required of the believer is continued penitence, and subjection to the father, and His representatives, the preacher, and the state...
The medium of repetition encourages stasis - lack of movement. Apathy.
Capitalism, as the best that unregenerate souls are capable of on their own, is just as easily derailed by stasis and apathy. Capitalism has as its aim the satisfaction of human wants by the most efficient means. When a man becomes apathetic he stops acting productively and becomes nothing but a, a, a consumer.
Capitalism works in such a way that in order for a person to become a consumer he has to act productively for others. But if a person can possibly get for themselves some privilege or entitlement to exact the production of others for themselves for nothing in return, well then its not capitalism any more.
But that the aim is empty - consumption as a satisfaction of spiritual wants - well, that's the old evangelical reading of the prodigal story.
What seems to be true is that evangelicals, amongst others, are failing to move beyond stasis, to move past repentance, into action. The best they seem to achieve is empathy with the older brother. Hardly at all are we encouraged to live like the prodigal's father.
Nathanael Snow
Thanks for allowing my thoughts to springboard your own, which I enjoyed. To push things a bit farther, is repentance without action really repentance? This is not to make people feel bad or take them on a guilt trip, but to point out the poverty of a evangelical milieu (of which I am a part) that does not move them past the "narrative transaction" and seems to equate salvation with simply feeling really good about being saved. The point is not that we suck (which is unremarkable), but that we're being cheated.
I think we might have different assessments of capitalism. I don't consider it to be the best of anything, nor do I recognize consumerism as an evil distinct from the system -- capitalism -- that gives rise to it. I would agree with McCarraher here: "Consumerism is not the problem—capitalism is. Consumerism is the work ethic of consumption, the transformation of leisure and pleasure into duties. Talking about consumerism is a way of not talking about capitalism, and I've come to think that that's the reason why so many people, including Christians, whine about it so much. It's just too easy a target."
I don't know McCarraher, but I will follow the link and see what I think.
I can only defend Capitalism as "the best that unregenerate souls are capable of on their own" and limit the definition of Capitalism to "unlimited voluntary exchange." I don't know how a Christian can argue against unbelievers adopting this ethic of exchange. They are incapable - apart from grace - of anything better. What would you replace it with?
The more loaded definitions of Capitalism - those which are intended to protect some set of vested interests, or those which intend to incriminate one class or another - are not what I am interested in.
I am mostly concerned that the possibility of a pure form of Capitalism is being rejected based upon the mercantilist-empirialist system we now have which is wrongfully labeled "Capitalism."
Nathanael Snow
One thing I keep coming across is a squishy idea of "formation of moral imagination" or some other such language.
The claim appears to be that dwelling in a Capitalist environment shapes people's morals in such a way that they find their only meaning in work and desire, not even consumption. Window - shopping defines the person living under Capitalism. Do I have that right?
Suppose this is true. What are the alternatives?
Of course, there is the Christian Ethic. We want to have our moral imaginations shaped to match Christ's sacrificial love for others, sensitive to the unctions of the Spirit. But this is only possible for the regenerate soul.
If we live in a pluralistic society (I hate that word), where the majority of unbelievers (and even professing Christians) can not (or have not) adopted the Christian Ethic, and where through the democratic process and the public forum we have the opportunity to help form the legal environment, what sort of economic system ought we to advocate?
Shall we just avoid the discussion altogether? Just direct all of our energies to serving the least of these, and despair of influencing policy for the better? Perhaps.
But supposing we are to get involved. We must advocate voluntarism. We must seek to have privileges repealed. We must seek equality for all under the law. We must seek limits to (if not elimination of) arbitrary political mechanisms, which are the granters of unjust privileges. I perceive each of these as effective power-under methods of serving the poor and oppressed. I also see them as being consistent with pure capitalism. I set distributive justice aside as a peculiar function of the church, as I do all concern for the least of these. While many do, I don’t see why unregenerate people *should* give a damn about the poor or least of these except out of empathy, which is really selfish in its motivations.
McCarraher seems to have been reading all of the wrong economists. Marx and Engels on the one side, and I am supposing the mainstream on the other. I'd recommend looking into Murray Rothbard and Friedrich von Hayek instead. Rothbard, in particular, has as his aim when constructing his capitalist system a "principle of non-aggression" which is entirely consistent with the Christian Ethic, and he’s an Anarchist.
Again, my concern is that in rejecting Capitalism we instead advocate some other more statist system. The question becomes: would we rather the poor be constantly starving – as is the case under statism, or constantly hungry – as McCarraher implies would be their condition under Capitalism.
Inasmuch as both are inferior to them being satisfied, I think we would both prefer them hungry rather than starving. Satisfaction seems to me only possible for the Christian.
Many imagine that the random altruism we observe among people might be organized and systematized in order to make it more effective. Again, this is a pagan desire to concentrate and centralize power, even power for good. I might argue that power-under actions should not and cannot be centralized. To do so is to subjugate them to some other law than the movement of the Spirit. It is to create an idol. All such imaginations should be rejected. We really are much stronger when we don't work together for the sake of working together, but only so much as the Spirit directs us to.
I may simply have a more pessimistic understanding of unregenerate human nature. But my outline works whether or not I am right. Systems which depend upon a more optimistic view of human nature risk failure if they are wrong.
Nathanael Snow
I'm not sure a pure form of capitalism exists -- or, if it existed at one time it led to what we have now, and I don't think it's possible to go back. Whether it ever existed or not, to suggest that it would be better is, to me, a little like suggesting that riding a unicorn to work would be more environmentally friendly than driving my old truck; it's true enough, but I'm not going to spend a lot of time trying to work it out.
Since I'm piling on the colorful (or just lame) analogies, I don't fault you for taking an interest in the political and economic landscape of the world at large, and you're correct in your intimation that I don't have a ready substitute -- but there's an extent to which arguing global or national economics is like asking my opinion as to the best way to get to LA when I'm convinced that we simply don't need to be going to LA in the first place (no offense to LA, I just picked it at random).
The only economic system that I can enthusiastically endorse is a gift economy (which might mean Paul and I agree on something) or some form of anarcho-communism. But these are not practicable on a national scale, and I think your recognition that whatever the ideal might be is not available to the unregenerate speaks to this (even if your concept of the "ideal" differs considerably). So pondering the most workable economic system for the world and coming up with some kind of pure capitalism is fair; I'm just not sure I buy it (pun shamelessly intended).
I picked on capitalism (as I understand it) in this piece not because it is the most heinous example of economic injustice imaginable but because it is our present economic environment, and it is unjust.
I want to point out that certain systems are dependent upon central direction, and others emerge spontaneously. I claim that those which emerge spontaneously are better reflections of human nature as it really is. Power-over influences distort these reflections. Free markets emerge spontaneously in the absence of too-strong power-over agents. Free markets are the exact image of how people would interact with one another if power-over were suppressed. Altruistic cooperation is emphatically not how self-interested individuals (unregenerate) would interact if power-over were suppressed.
So, in our interactions with public policy it makes more sense to try to encourage public opinion toward adoption of free markets and other emergent voluntaristic mechanisms rather than the expansion of political franchises and privileges.
For example, as Christians we can recognize that the state affords a privilege to married couples which functions as a discount coupon on transactions with the state. That such a privilege is denied to homosexuals should not make us want to expand the franchise and provide the privilege to homosexuals as well, but rather to repeal the privilege altogether.
Again, when some complain that illegal immigrants take advantage of welfare programs, we ought not to encourage the state to extend the welfare programs to all, but rather to repeal them to all, and assume full responsibility for the least of these ourselves.
Whether or not any such changes in policy ever take effect, we at least have a right understanding of what the ideal is in each debate and can, by making an argument for radical practice of the Christian Ethic by Christians, and unfettered free voluntarism for others, challenge every premise of the power-over structure. Such a testimony shuts the mouths of Christian progressives and fundamentalists alike, and surprises those who have never heard the gospel applied to real life and politics so radically.
There is incredible value or clout gained, and amazing opportunity for sharing the gospel, when we adopt such a stance toward policies.
Again there is both an ideal for Christians to adopt, the Christian Ethic, or the gift economy you spoke of, and a separate ideal for Christians to advocate on behalf of the unregenerate – that is, for public policy – which is unfettered voluntarism / anarchism. Any other system advocates for some power-over agent or other. It is this advocacy for the power-over which I cannot abide, which must be rooted out from the church wherever it occurs, which has enslaved evangelicalism, fundamentalism, progressivism, and so many other –isms alike.
We must have an ideal in order to know which direction to push policy in (at the margin – or in individual debates) consistently. Otherwise we wind up pushing in one direction on one issue and then in the opposing direction on a similar issue. Witness the right-to-life / pro-war dichotomy, for example.
What is difficult about all of this is that in the end, only Christians can do volitional good. We have to be brutally honest about the self-interested nature of the unregenerate man. Almost every other system tries to overcome this obstacle by power-over methods. Only anarcho-capitalism allows each person’s self-interest to work to the benefit of his fellow man, and avoids employing the power-over explicitly.
There remains the question of whether the formation of moral imagination by capitalism is a power-over mechanism. If it is, then it is only so implicitly, certainly not explicitly. Perhaps that makes it all the more demonic. I am unclear of the precise way this occurs, and would appreciate being directed to good resources for understanding the mechanisms involved. Too often I hear that such things all occur through narrative, etc. Such arguments are too squishy for me, and would be completely un-compelling to most audiences. I am reluctant to accept or employ them. I might just have to get over that.
I am vitally serious about understanding these issues clearly and honestly. It is my life’s work, most likely. To have Stanley Hauerwas meet James Buchanan, if only conceptually in my writings, would be climactic for me.
Nathanael Snow
ndsnow@gmail.com
Is that close? And let me be honest: I'm intrigued but I'm probably not going to get on board, at least partially because you seem to have a more reified sense of what regeneration means (I'm guessing a Reformed background?) among other things. I'm not convinced you can get Hauerwas and Buchanan in the same universe, but it might make an interesting book.
I'm unfamiliar with "reified" and google didn't help. What do you mean?
I like Piper a bit, but my background is mostly Baptist/evangelical, with a strong helping of Calvary Chapel, until I snuck into a class Hauerwas was teaching at Duke.
I attend a Presbyterian church, but still doubt I know how to spell presyptyrian correctly. I also ask a lot of questions that surprise people in Sunday School.
How would you contrast our different perspectives on regeneration? These fundamentals are often the key to understanding the rest of the conversation.
The reason I guessed you as Reformed is because of the role regeneration plays in Calvinist theology, and the fact that the word doesn't get used a ton outside those circles. Of course that doesn't automatically make you a TULIP 5-pointer, but I was guessing it put you somewhere in the flower patch.
It probably won't surprise you at this point that I'm more of a "social construction of reality" guy. I don't draw a hard line between the power of the Holy Spirit to effect change in a person's life and our formation in the habits of faith learned in community, which I submit is the normative means by which such power is made manifest. For some this is too bleak or reductionistic, and I understand that.
So I bristle at a phrase like "only Christians can do volitional good" because I don't have a theological mechanism for locating the point at which someone goes from being incapable to capable of such good.
Now, I'm curious: when dealing with Christian anarchists, people love to bring up Romans 13. There are ways that the Christian radicalism with which I'm most familiar handles this, but the more robust of those ways are rendered unavailable by your "two anarchisms" rejoinder to "two kingdoms" theology. Can I ask how you handle that?
I do accept most of TULIP. I also employ mostly modernist methods of discourse. And I bristle a bit at social construction of reality theories. I’ve also read too much Ayn Rand.
That is, I usually want to hold individuals accountable, and not communities. It seems very difficult to me to relocate the decision-making agency from the individual to the community.
However, I fully recognize that the whole is seldom the sum of the parts. This is actually the vanguard of the sort of macroeconomics being taught by Richard Wager at George Mason University, where I am. He’s a little late to the game, but he’s first among economists. The interactions among independent individuals combine to create macro movements which none of these agents intended. The cars in a traffic jam are all moving forward, while the traffic jam itself is moving backwards.
I do see salvation as a transforming moment in a person’s life. I see empowerment of the Holy Spirit as the invitation to join God in His continuing creative work. I see regeneration as a moment when the self-interested nature of fallen man can be cast off in favor of Christ-interestedness.
With Ayn Rand and other Objectivists I find it inconsistent with human nature for people to act charitably. Most charity is imposed by irresponsible people, or is a signaling of power to the recipients and those who observe the gifting. It is a manipulation, a power-over weapon. Society itself is an aberration, a power-over construct, a squelching of individuality and dignity.
But regenerate people are no longer solely self-interested. We are Christ-interested. We want to do what we see our Father doing, even as Jesus did. We want to have a sensitivity to the Spirit to know what He is doing. We want to say with Brother Lawrence that we don’t even bend to pick up a straw except for the love of God. We do nothing for reward or personal gain. We already have our reward, Christ is our reward! What more could we want? Our charity asks for nothing in return. It seeks no political advantage, favor, or position. We do it in response to the Spirit. We receive joy alone, the sensation of being used by Him, as our motivation.
Rand’s philosophy removes the right of anyone to make a claim on the life of anyone else. The wealthy have no obligation to the poor. The mother has no claim to her son’s produce. All social norms which imply such claims are evil. I’d have to agree that such claims are vehicles for powering-over others, even for the poor to power-over the wealthy.
As believers we first give up our rights to ourselves to Christ, in acknowledgment of His deity and in acceptance of his salvation. We remember this in communion. We then give up our rights to ourselves to the body – the church – and grant them the right to make claims on our life. This is the act of baptism, and the entry point to the community, the only legitimate collective on earth, because it renounces power-over and practices mutual power-under. Some marry and give our spouses the right to make claims on our lives. I count marriage among the sacraments for this reason.
I am resistant to the concept of habit formation in general because I prefer intense sensitivity to the Holy Spirit. Habit forming cannot tell you when not to help the sick person. Yet Jesus did not heal everyone. The goal is not to help and love people, but to love God (ah, here I am reformed again), and to glorify Him. God is sovereign over the suffering of His innocents. We don’t have to save them all. Yet we alone are empowered to save. It is a hard thought to know that some will not be saved.
Now, Romans 13. I often backpedal from anarchism at this point to a minarchism including courts which operate according to common law processes. God provided Israel with Judges and with a basic set of laws, out of which the people could count on protection of property and enforcement of contracts. He also established precedents and appeals processes.
So the authority wields the sword for justice. Some anarchists suggest the function of courts could be decentralized and subjected to market discipline. It may be possible. But I can accept a monopoly among courts.
Romans 13 is mostly telling the Christian that the method for practicing the gospel is not political rebellion. Pay your taxes – just don’t expect them to do any good.
Beyond this I recognize that the unbelievers will construct power-over institutions, despite our power-under attempts to dismantle them. We are to be subject to these institutions, recognizing God’s sovereignty, and to use interactions with these institutions as opportunities to demonstrate to peculiarity of the Christian Ethic. Where such institutions generate injustices were are to step in and offer ourselves as surrogates, or offer to redeem the innocent at our own expense. We are never to rebel. Again, the practice is to constantly push public opinion and policy at the margin in the direction of the ideal, never deceiving ourselves as to the possibility of achieving that ideal. It would be vanity if it were not purely service to Christ.
There is then, no justification for the formation of a movement. There are only individuals choosing to be in community, and to be responsive to the Spirit. There is complete decentralization of action, which God sovereignly directs to His macro-purpose. We are just to obey.
Nathanael Snow
ndsnow@gmail.com
And I mostly agree with your explanation of Romans 13, except I think the Judges were much more like prophets (sensitive to God's wisdom and will, and chosen by God) than like our modern (elected) enforcers of state law. And then Jesus calls us to much more than the OT models, doesn't he?
Your understanding of the church also seems quite accurate to me (have you seen what Kierkegaard wrote about it, such as this, or his words here?).
In a nutshell, you're suggesting that Rand was right, at least as pertains to the world, and the only way out of Rand's quasi-nihilistic maelstrom of competing self-interests is to have our interests changed through the regenerative power of the Holy Spirit. Since this will happen to a limited number of people, the answer for the rest is the mediation of a free market that allows for something like the "greater good" as an emergent property of the interplay of interests, along with a minimal legal apparatus that serves to protect the freedom of the market and wield the sword for the limited purposes suggested by Romans 13.
To sum up: for the elect, a new heart and a new spirit; for everyone else, the Invisible Hand.
What I find interesting here is that while other versions of Christian anarchism generally (and it is notoriously difficult to generalize radicalism, but those who study it can't resist trying) recognize that a power-under society is not practicable in the world at large, and will only become universal in the eschaton, you are suggesting that some limited version of such a society is at least theoretically available to the world even if it is unlikely to be realized.
This would serve to function as a guidepost for involvement in the democratic process -- as Greg Boyd puts it, they ask our opinion, we might as well give it -- while retaining a realistic sense of what is possible in the world.
But this almost seems an extra step: if the church is a sign, a foretaste, and a herald of what God will bring about in the eschaton, and thus a testimony (however faltering) to an ideal, why a separate ideal for the world that is no more likely to be embraced by the powers that be? I can think of answers that would seem to be consistent with your reasoning, but I don't want to presume.
And, again, you have summarized my position eloquently.
That my thesis provides a guidepost for involvement in the democratic process is most likely the reason I developed it. You may be quite right that we don’t need to be involved. I don’t suppose I shown that we must be. However, if we are going to be involved, I find my thesis most consistent with the Christian Ethic as I understand it. There are several focal points where my understanding may be significantly flawed. The only venue for having my thoughts rigorously tested has been the blogs. (You should see what happens when I make some of these suggestions over at Sojourners or World magazine!)
Perhaps my thoughts are useful for radicals who must converse with conservatives who say they believe in free markets, but really just want to maintain the current oligarchy. Each set of beliefs must be pushed to its limits and tested under various assumptions. Otherwise the robustness of the theory is left unknown.
Anyway, if I have successfully defended my thesis here, I feel very excited indeed. Not only have I had the opportunity to articulate it more carefully than before, but I have learned to be more careful in explaining my assumptions and in drawing logical connections. Most importantly I have shown a way to challenge progressives and fundamentalists on their own terms and to move them toward a purer Christian Ethic.
Thanks for listening.
See!
Thanks for the compliment on the pic, Ted. My son made that face after my wife and I told him we'd be selling his crib and blankets, so that he could follow Jesus too. We suggested he pray about it.
As far as spaces or no spaces...Nathanael is obviously just a straight-forward kind of guy (spaces be cursed!). And you, Ted, are quick but also thorough because of your spaces-in-between posture. Plus, you gives us the "space" we need to look up big words (i.e., reified--good explanation, by the way!).
I think you've done a good job presenting your thoughts, and it's clear that you've put a lot of thought into working things out. I'm unconvinced, for reason that are not necessarily internal to your project, but it helps me see at least one of my conservative/libertarian friends in a different light and may afford me a different approach to our conversations, which don't usually go well. He has no use for Christian radicalism on my terms; he may be more amenable to yours.
Your thoughts are coherent and I certainly think you have something to contribute to the larger discussion. I do think your system is predicated on seeing life and scripture through the lens of modernist discourse, and I don't feel the need to address that beyond pointing out that there are other lenses, and this will partially determine the kind of audience you're able to appeal to. Pursuing that further would take us much farther afield; just know that it's out there. I also think your thoughts are predicated on Reform theology, perhaps more than you recognize, which not to cast aspersions on that theology but to point out an additional consideration of audience.
You had asked about resources for the critique of capitalism, and I can't think of anything that addresses your question directly, though I can point to some titles that will put you in the ballpark. Most of it, however, is squishy stuff by people who use the word "narrate" a lot. There's an article by John Milbank called "Stale Expressions" that informed my essay. Try this link if your school subscribes to Sage; otherwise try googling it. Hardt and Negri's Empire might be worth a look. I would assume that Cavanaugh's On Being Consumed would be helpful but I haven't read it. You might also try Alisdair MacIntyre's After Virtue and/or Dependent Rational Animals as an alternative to Randian ethics that I don't think is super-squishy.
A charge that I think your thesis is open to, and for which you may want to be prepared, is that -- at least in what you have described so far -- it doesn't account for the possibility that the market is among the principalities and powers against which we are called to wage war. The market is a system, and not something we can really control. The diehard libertarian says: of course, we only screw things up when we try to control it. This strikes me as a tacit acknowledgment of the quasi-godlike status of the market, which is my point. Even the "invisible hand" metaphor speaks to this. You recognize the potential oppression in social systems but seem to limit your critique to overt power-over dynamics. Since the market as a system of control does not appear this way, you regard it as inert (or you seem to), which I find ethically problematic.
You could address this by rejecting such a reading of the powers (which follows Wink but also Yoder and Berkhof) and making a robust argument that the market is no more a principality or a power than, say, gravity. I probably wouldn't buy it, but it would do the work. You could also incorporate it by arguing that subjection to the ruler of the powers of the air is the lot of the unbeliever, which is why Paul can narrate expulsion from the social and economic care of the assembly as handing someone over to Satan. That would make for an interesting conversation. But hey, this is your life's work, not mine, and I don't want to sound too much like your thesis advisor. :)
Anyway, fun stuff. Thanks for indulging me.
You rightly identify the real point of departure as whether the market is a power. The trivial response, “no,” is unsatisfying. Where does the onus lie? Well, on the person who is trying to do the persuading, I suppose, and differences in starting places may indeed leave us at loggerheads.
I think I have given an explanation of how emergent phenomenon based on voluntary action can’t hardly be described as a power-over influence. But if we can remove all power-over actions or attempts, perhaps this influence creeps in and changes the situation. I am tempted to move the analysis to game theory - which I may for more publishable works.
I really appreciate the references. I will look into them sometime in the future. I should probably drop the whole discussion for a while, since I have tests to pass, etc.
I found Cavanaugh's On Being Consumed very, very squishy indeed, couldn’t quite finish it.
My reformed position is also something that I really need to investigate more. I left behind (heh) more conservative theological positions (pre-trib, ceasationist, etc.) once I opened up to pacifism. I have not carefully re-structured my systematic theology again since then. Of course, you might challenge the very idea of a systematic theology!
I must be a total modernist. I really want for there to be a theory which expounds how exactly the market can be a power. Mostly it is just asserted that it is. If something other than modernism in thought is applied, I don’t know how conversations like ours could proceed. I want for there to be things we can know.
Oh, well.
Most conversations never get to the place where first premises are exposed, but this one has. Mark and I also once went fairly deep into a conversation, where my “two-Kingdoms” paradigm was exposed. I don’t know exactly what that means, or what the alternatives might be. Mark promised to get back to it someday, but has been busy.
Anyway, thanks.
I’ve reposted our conversation on my blog.
Nathan
Just an idea here, but in studying ecosystems and the cooperative structure of biological systems I have discovered that the natural order of things follows an economy very similar to capitalism. I have not been able to philosophically determine whether or not such a natural system would be under the power of evil influences since the Bible claims power over death as a spiritual victory. Death being a result of the natural principle of entropy. However, this side of the resurrection, entropy is necessary for life to exist, so I haven't been able to puzzle it out yet. Suffice it to say, it is at the least another example of how God turns evil into good. And if God can do that with entropy, then I would think he could do that with other natural systems such as capitalism.
And to clarify: I'm not suggesting that the market is surreptitiously a power-over phenomenon. I'm suggesting that relying on the over/under distinction, which I think helpfully describes the kinds of power that characterize human interaction, might blind us to the ways in which we are held in bondage by social systems. I think there are places in world where, thanks to capitalism, the choice really is between hungry and starving, to allude to a distinction you made above. Of course hungry is better -- but what kind of justice is that?
If a better way of life is possible, and if the people of God have resources for living such a life, it would seem that our ethical responsibility is to extend that way of life to as many as possible. Sussing out what might be the best they can do otherwise is not, for me, a satisfying exercise, owing at least partially to the fact that I'm not terribly Reformed in my theological thinking (I think you get that).
Normally, I don't point out my own handiwork, but I feel fairly proud of my work on this one. ;)
I'm hoping the whole personalism thing will get unpacked, simply because I want to understand personalism and its implications a little better.
I agree about the Church being the sole incarnation and revelation of Christ to the world, and also with the complication. We are God to the Other; we find God in the Other.
I enjoyed your piece very much. You are very eloquent and have a terrific sense of humor. I have been impressed with the thoughtful discussions you have had with your readers.
As I have struggled with how to raise my teenagers, I have come back to the story of the Prodigal Son in hopes to learn something about how to be a gracious parent. I was struck by the fact that the loving father in the story enabled his wayward son to leave. And by the fact that even though he was looking for the return of his son, he did not go searching for his son as maybe the story of the lost sheep would imply.
I thought about your comments of how evangelicals find the need to keep rehearsing the story of the prodigal son with very little emphasis on the faithful son or the father as states of Christian practice/experience. Since I am a creature of habit, a creature with an appetite, I like reviewing such stories, consuming the grace for my needy soul. But I have found that instead of creating a rut, leaving me where I began, that I move through the story first as the prodigal conscious of my waywardness in need of grace, then as the older son faithfully following Christ, yet lost in legalism unwilling to live in the grace provided, then as the Father, letting go of my expectations for myself and others, and finally receiving with open arms the contrite spirit, being generous with what has been generously given to me. This cycle of grace keeps me growing in faith, continually being transformed, rather than frozen in time at a moment of transaction.
Thank you. Your reading reminds me of a wonderful treatment of this parable by Henri Nouwen, which follows the same trajectory. It's a viable reading. I did not mean to suggest that every evangelical is hopelessly trapped in the way I describe; in fact, the cultural analysis I attempt in the essay, which was fun to do, is actually something of a sidebar. But I was seeking less to adjure us to a particular personal reading than to point out that if the would-be prodigal is not embraced by a community willing to extend to them the love and grace of the father, then Jesus' parable is just a heartwarming story.
Ted
So we're left with an apparent detachment, which makes it easier to analyze all the various accounts of God's activity in people's lives, comparing and contrasting their confessions with those of others, which might lead us to any number of interesting conclusions about the nature of religion and belief. But what seems to be left out (conveniently?) is the voice of God speaking directly to us. Presenting us with the choice: believe or reject, act or do not act. The "voice of God" becomes an object of detached study, never the prophet Nathan standing before us saying, "You are the man!"
And doesn't that easily turn us into consumers as well? Eagerly devouring and digesting all the various religious confessions and theological viewpoints, churning out our educated theories, without ever having to face the choice, the demand, God's voice speaking directly and clearly to us, his eyes on us waiting for our answer?
Maybe that guy that asked about "theoblogs" had a point...