A little while ago, I found myself in a situation where I raised a topic with somebody and, instead of responding to my complaint, the other party responded by ranting about a number of other issues, flipping things back around on me, and basically going on and on until I was too tired to bother saying anything else.  My response to this was: “Wow, forget that I said anything.  I’m sorry that I brought it up.”
Then I had this thought: maybe that’s basically what Job is saying in response to God’s rant.  He brings his complaint before God and God goes off about the creation of the world, sea monsters, and who knows what else.  Job might be thinking: “Wow, forget that I said anything.  I’m sorry that I brought it up.”  Or, in other words: “Behold, I am insignificant; what can I reply to you? I lay my hand on my mouth.”

[What follows is a Liturgy I created and which will be presented tomorrow at the church I have been attending since coming to Sarnia.  Five quick introductory points: first, in the story told by the second character (the so-called “Tax Collector”), I begin the story with an only very slightly modified letter taken from a website created by a feminist journalist, where men write about why they go to strip clubs.  Second, anybody is free to use this liturgy.  I can send the power point slides to anybody who requests them — which include the photo collections I put together, although you may want to sub out the pictures of people from my church and sub in pictures of people from yours.  Third, there are one or two lines that I edited at the request of the pastors in the story told by the first character (the so-called “Prostitute”).  I’ve gone back and included the lines I originally wrote here, because I like them better and think they are more honest.  However, if you use the liturgy, you are free to edit it.  Fourth, please note that the stories told are true, although each character is an amalgamation of people, and so I ask that they be treated respectfully.  Finally, I was working with a talented musician so all music was performed live.]
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One of the truisms at work within certain Conservative Christian circles is the assertion that things like socialism or even anarchy (properly understood) are fine and noble ideals but are far too “utopian” to be worth applying within a world defined by things like “sin” and “fallenness.”  I say that this functions as a truism, and not as any sort of rigourous argument, because it is the sort of thing that is simply repeated ad nauseum and never really critically engaged or sustained.  Additionally, the word “utopian” is always taken to be a bad word, with negative implications.  Christians who utilize this language against their (perceived) opponents are claiming to be more “realistic” than others.
Craig Carter’s recent post on socialism, pacifism and sex illustrates all of this rather well.  While writing about socialism, Carter asserts that “socialism is in many ways a high and noble ideal” but then goes on to write that:

Socialism is utopian in the sense that it is incompatible with the fact of original sin. The reason that socialism always leads to tyranny, poverty and atheism in this world is because of the tragic flaw in human nature – not because of the idea of socialism itself. As an idea, it is wonderful. But when implemented in a society of fallen sinners, it becomes horribly destructive.

There are a few responses one can make to this.  On the one hand, some Christian anarchists have responded to this line of thought by arguing that it is Conservative Christians who are hopelessly utopian and who fail to fully consider human fallenness and sin.  So, for example, some Christian anarchists would say that it is mad utopianism that leads some to think that you can give guns, pepper spray, handcuffs, zip batons and badges to some people — and then tell those same people that they are only accountable to their own internal chain of command — and expect those people to act in a manner that is just and compassionate.  Thus, these Christian anarchists would argue that they are opposed to armed police forces precisely because they take human sin and fallenness more seriously than others (of course, any who have had any sustained experience with the police quickly learn that the evidence favours the anarchist position; however, those who have learned this have usually been minorities and folks without any voice in the broader social discourse, which is why one of the benefits of the Occupy movement have been a partial revelation of the true nature and purpose of the police to the general public as members of the middle-class have now been on the receiving end of the force of the law).
On another hand, however, and this is more to the point regarding my opening sentences, Conservative Christians like Carter are extremely selective with the evidence — essentially they see what they want to see, regardless of what else is available to be seen — and so they term some things (like socialism) utopian but then advocate for other things that the evidence would suggest are equally utopian.  The evidence for this is in Carter’s earlier paragraph on sex.  He writes:

sex is easy. Natural reason tells us that sexual activity is oriented to and leads to procreation and that marriage naturally is the best context for procreation to occur… Sex belongs in marriage and every serious form of natural law or religious morality affirms this conclusion. But sex outside marriage is destructive of personal communion, social stability and children.

There are a few things worth observing here.  First, and somewhat tangentially, “natural reason” and “natural law,” within the context of this argument are not actually rooted in anything we observe in nature.  In nature, we see sexual activity that goes on in all sorts of ways outside of the realm of procreation — we see animals engaging in homosexual relationships and in masturbation (in the Toronto Zoo, not far from Carter, you can find examples of both in the penguin and monkey sections, respectively).  It’s also somewhat anomalous to talk about “marriage” within the context of the kind of relationships other animals enact.  Most species have multiple sexual partners, and a lot of animals seem to enjoy having sex just for the sake of having sex.  So, when Carter grounds his argument in “nature” he is really just grounding his argument in a few verses of the Bible that tell him what nature teaches us (regardless of what we actually observe in nature).
Second, and more to the point, it is easy to charge Carter with being utopian in his observations about sex and marriage.  What about people who are gay?  What about people who can’t have kids?  What about all the violence that has taken place within traditional family settings?  What about all the kids beaten and abandoned by their biological parents?  What about all the wives raped by their husbands?  What about all the affairs?  What about all the failed relationships?  This list of questions could be expanded almost endlessly, but the point is that Carter’s position on sex and marriage is at least as susceptible (of not more so) to the charge of utopianism as the picture he paints of socialism.  His view of sex and marriage could be called “a high and noble ideal” (if we’re being generous) but it surely is “incompatible with the fact of original sin” (to borrow Carter’s language).
The same argument, of course, could be made about the institution of the Church as it has manifested itself throughout history and up to the present day Roman Catholic Church, which Carter seems to particularly admire (despite the evidence that such things as systemic cover-ups of the sexual abuse of children extended all the way up to the level of the current Pope… just to pick one of a million possible examples).  Surely the institution of the Church could be described as a high and noble ideal but one that is far too utopian to play out well in practice…
Anyway, Carter’s approach is true of many of those who hold views like his.  The opposing position is said to be noble but too unrealistic, while the speaker’s position is held without any sort of compromise and without any recognition of the presence of the same criteria that were employed to attack the supposedly utopian position they just rejected.
Carter lays out no criteria as to why one view (his position on sex) should be treated as an ideal that is held realistically and without compromise, while another view (the socialist position) should be treated as an ideal that is too utopian and so should be compromised in the world of realpolitik.  All of this then suggests that Carter is simply making assertions about what he wants to believe and is not actually building any sort of sustained, consistent or compelling argument.  Of course, for any person with half a brain this is painfully obvious (which is why nobody usually bothers responding to Carter) but it bears mentioning for the sake of those kids who may mistake what Carter is saying for some sort of critical thinking.

The other day an old friend — a former roommate and colleague, and one of the few women in the world I would agree to walk with in the alleys of Vancouver’s downtown eastside at one in the morning — was visiting and discovered that I have a very small, “secret” facebook account.  She was appalled that I had not “friended” her online, and took this to mean that we were not actually “real” friends — despite the fact that we do things like actually hang-out in person, or talk about pretty much everything  from our sex lives to our most private struggles.  We’ve had each others’ backs a number of times in a number of situations (including two where people were at risk of dying imminently), but what really mattered to her was that we were not “friends” on facebook — i.e. within an online community wherein personal brand images relate to other personal brand images (i.e. Second Life by another name).
Sure gives substance to Baudrillard’s claims about the triumph of the simulacrum (or Zizek’s remarks about the rise of the internet as the rise of a new form of gnostic disembodiment).

• To say that something is fictional is not to say that it lacks any significance.  Money is a good example of a significant fiction.  The material employed in money — metal, paper, or most recently here in Canada, plastic — has no intrinsic value in relationship to other objects (as far as I can tell — actually, as far as I can tell, nothing has any intrinsic value in relationship to anything else).  So why can I trade two pieces of paper for one piece of wooden furniture?  Because we, as a group, choose to participate within a fictional understanding of that which we call “money.”  Money is like the Emperor–clothed in incomparably beautiful robes… as long as we all pretend that he is not naked.

• Other examples abound: nation-states are also fictions, as are all political boundaries, but our choice to participate in those fictions has serious ramifications for our actions.  As I stated before, we are all creating the world in which we live, and when we create a (fictional) world that has (fictional) components like money and nation-states, how we act in that (fictional) world will be significantly modified.

• Language, itself, may be the most powerful example of this.  Non-sense, or fiction, that we take as “sensible” or “real” based upon the games that we play with it.

• That said,  to  say that something is a game is not to say that it is not serious.  Some games, of course, are more serious than others–usually, what is risked in a game of Scrabble amongst friends is significantly different than what is risked in a game of Russian Roulette and the same spectrum of significance applies, I think, to the different language games we play as we construct meaning and value and, literally, make sense of our lives.  Yes, all language is game playing, yes, all definitions are tautologies as worked out within the rules of a particular game, but that game can be deathly serious.  Again, what matters is the way in which the game impacts one’s actions.

• Of course, all of this assumes that game-playing and participating in fictional constructions of the world do, in fact, impact a person’s actions.  This assumption could be reversed — we could argue that one’s beliefs and values are determined by one’s actions and not vice versa.  In fact, I believe that this is the case far more often than we care to think — we do what we want to do and only then find ways to narrate those actions so that we are good people within the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and within the stories others tell about us.  However, I don’t think this has to be a strict either/or.  Actions (more often? ) influence beliefs; but beliefs (less often?) can influence actions.

• The other assumption operating here is that, while appearing to try to objectively describe things as they are, there is still a system of valorisation operating within this post.  That is to say, I believe that things are significant to the extent that they impact what we do and make our actions more or less life-giving or death-dealing.  I am not just saying that fictions impact action, nor am I saying that game-playing can have repercussions for a person’s lived existence, I am saying those things are significant because of that.

• Everything we believe is fictional.  This does not mean that (some of it) is not also “true” but it means that any belief or system of meaning is true in the same way that The Brothers Karamazov, or the Res Gestae Divi Augusti, or the Bible are true.  All truths are fictions — which is not the same thing as saying all truths are insignificant (to me), or all truths of equal value (to me).

• By saying that all truths are fictions, I mean that we all actively participate in the construction of anything we take to be true.  We choose what we will believe as true and what we will believe is false.  We choose what we will value and what we will disparage.  We choose what is good and what is evil.  We choose how we will construct our understanding of our own selves and of others (“nobody knows who I really am…” more on that in a moment).  We participate not only in the embodiment of our truths (which is what makes them significant), but also in their creation.  Each one of us, recreates the world anew every morning.  For there is no “world” apart from the one we choose to create when we awaken.

• However, because all of us do this, and because all of us do this in different ways, some will say one thing is true, others will say the opposite is true, and some will propose mediating positions or speak entirely different languages.

• Because this has been going on since we first created the world, we inherit many of the truth-full fictions of others.  Some are more susceptible to accepting these than others.  Some will take these truth-full fictions to be “absolute truths” and others will take them to be “objective descriptions” of the “real world”.  So it goes.  Many seem to find it scary to think that “reality” (one of the oldest truth-full fictions ever created and pass on) may be nothing more (nor less!) than a fiction, or an ideological construct… I’m not sure why… so people prefer to hold on to what they receive and find ways to assert that their truth-full fictions are the Truth.

• Perhaps an illustration of this would be useful.  Let us take myself — who I am — as our object of study.  You could ask many people who I am (who I really am) and you would receive a host of different answers.  Some would blatantly contradict each other.  In the story each person is telling him- or herself about the world, I would be interpreted as very different characters, and in the story I am telling myself about the world, I play another kind of character than many of those other descriptions of me and my role.  Of course, it is at this point that many people give priority to the story that they tell themselves about themselves, but why should we think that our story about our selves is any better or more accurate than the story others tell about us?  Maybe you know yourself better than others because you know a lot of what you think and do that others don’t know… but maybe you’re far too close to yourself, and far too personally involved with yourself, to have any more of an accurate read of yourself than any other person.  Or maybe, and this is what makes the most sense to me these days, I am all of the people I am taken to be by myself and others.  Of course, because those people are often the polar opposite of each other, I cannot simply be some compilation of all those people — there is no core, single true, single real, me.  I am a multitude.  I am Legion.

• Of course, this conclusion is no more and no less fictional and truth-full than any other conclusion.  It is simply the one that is the most compelling (to me).

• To do right is to do that which is admirable (to me).  That which I find admirable is sharing abundant life with others.  Thus, being life-giving is right in my eyes.

• To do wrong is to do that which is despicable (to me).  That which I find despicable is taking life from others or barring others from abundant life.  Thus, being death-dealing is wrong in my eyes.

• Apart from these two things, nothing else matters (i.e. is of significance to me).  Or, rather, it is only in the context of these two things, that anything matters (i.e. is of significance to me).  Any belief, any value, any moral, any law, any story or text, any ideology, any construction of meaning or of identity–none of these things have any intrinsic significance (in my eyes).  They are only significant as far as they are life-giving or death-dealing and their significance carries no farther than that (but it does carry that far).

• Here, what is of foremost importance (to me),  are one’s actions.  Again: beliefs, values, constructions of meaning–these are only significant to the extent they they impact one’s actions in relation to that which is life-giving or death-dealing.  Beliefs, values, and constructions of meaning, do not matter (to me) in and of themselves.  Their sole significance (to me) is the way in which they influence what we do.

 

[Tonight, I sat on a panel of three respondents at the (ongoing) Sarnia Justice Film Festival.  The film being discussed was Beyond the Blues: Child and Youth Depression.  The other two speakers were psychiatrists, pretty firmly rooted in the medical model of care, and so I was a bit of the odd-person-out.  This is an extended version of what I said.]
Within his history of madness, Michel Foucault argues that madness, or mental illness, is not a natural and constant phenomenon throughout human history but is, instead, a construct that arises within a given society based upon various cultural, socioeconomic, political, and intellectual structures. Countering political, scientific and psychiatric narrative that posit an ongoing history of discovery and progress – a narrative which assert that we have simply gotten better and better at diagnosing and treating an unchanging historical constant – Foucault argues that societies construct their own unique experiences of madness.
I was thinking about Foucault’s analysis while watching this documentary.
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A week ago, Ruby Violet Beloved was born.  Like her brother, Charlie, she was born at home, but unlike Charlie the labour was relatively short and Ruby was born in the water (also unlike Charlie, she actually sleeps, only cries when she is hungry, and is pretty much the perfect baby).  All is well with my wife and our daughter.
The other day, I think she looked me in the eye, gave me the finger, and pissed her pants all at the same time.  This could get interesting if that sort of thing continues into her teenage years…

(I will now return to my regular irregular blogging routine.)