Capitalism and Individualism (not what it seems)

As far as I can tell, it has now become something of a truism to connect rampant individualism with the economic structures of global capitalism.  Individualism, to borrow the words of Fredric Jameson, is a part of ‘the cultural logic of late capitalism’, and one sees this idea expressed in the writings of everybody from Catholic theologians, to Communist economists, to Post-Marxist cultural theorists.
In fact, while initially an exciting thought (‘ah yes, capitalism has fractured us from our communities, leading us to live as isolated monads, so a renewed investment in the Church/the vanguard of the revolution/the multitude/the neighbourhood/our tribe/whatever will produce change!’), I have recently been thinking that it is a somewhat deceptive line of criticism.
The truth is that capitalism would be completely unsustainable if it genuinely did produce a sweeping form of individualism across all layers of society.  Instead, the inculcation of the type of individualism we see expressed today is a part of the old ‘divide and conquer’ technique employed by those who benefit the most from the world of global capitalism.  Individualism becomes an in-habited ideology that ensures that the many remain fragmented from one another, and therefore also remain impotent, poor, or just trapped in the cogs of the machine.
Meanwhile, those who are at the top of the chain live anything but lives structured as individuals.  This is easily illustrated in the common expression, “It’s all about who you know.”  Knowing the right people, joining the right clubs, living in the right (gated) communities, gets you into the right schools, which gets you into the right jobs and the right marriages, and so on.  So, while the many in the middle or on the bottom of society are encouraged to live as radical and free individuals, those at the top are maintaining and consolidating networks of power and control.  Individualism for the hoi polloi, community for the wealthy and powerful!  (So, community ends up becoming the private property of the rich.)
To me, then, this suggests the priority of class-based analysis over criticisms that rely upon subsidiary notions like individualism.  Why is it, I wonder, that people talk far less in class-based language these days?  Is it, perhaps, because some many of our critics are themselves members of the upper classes?

July & August Books

Well, as always, these are long overdue and far too brief for the attention that some of these books deserve (especially the one by Jennings).  So it goes.
1. Reading Derrida/Thinking Paul: On Justice by Theodore W. Jennings, Jr.
As the title says, this book is a reading of both Derrida and Paul in relation to the subjects of justice (those dikai- root words in the New Testament, which are commonly and perhaps deceptively translated as ‘righteousness’), law, grace, gift, debt, duty, and hospitality.  Most of these subjects exist in something of an aporetic relation to one another (duty and gift, justice and law, etc.) and Jennings spells out the ways in which both Derrida and Paul negotiate those relations.
This a rich text and provided a lot of food for thought.  What I really appreciated about Jennings was the way in which he expounded Derrida.  Unlike most Derrideans I have encountered (who tend to get off on speaking their own argot), Jennings writes with precision and clarity and actually made me want to read Derrida some more (and that’s saying something, as he has been my least favourite of the Continental philosophers I have studied).
Recommended reading.
2. Violence by Slavoj Žižek.
For some reason, I can’t seem to get away from Žižek.  I’ve got a list of ‘books to read’ that is about a mile long, but then I always seem to just end up picking up another title by this crazy Slovenian.
However, I’m glad I did.  Of the Žižek books I have read (seven now), Violence is probably the most readable (I can’t tell if he is getting better at structuring his thoughts — hell, in the epilogue of this book, he even summed up  his argument in its various stages! — or if I’m just getting better at understanding what he is talking about… it might be a bit of both).
Anyway, what Žižek does in this book is explore some of the facets of the structural or objective violence that undergirds our contemporary world of global capitalism.  That is to say, instead of understanding violence simply as immediate subjective outbursts (one person strikes another, somebody flies a plane into a building, etc.), Žižek looks at the ways in which violence lies at the foundation of our way of life, our economics, our ideologies, our language, and so on.  So, violence is not something that bursts into a previously ‘neutral’ environment; rather, violence already suffuses our environment and the outbursts we see manifest that.
One of the points that ends up being hammered home is the inescapability of living violently.  Therefore, Žižek concludes that we must engage in a form of redemptive violence.  For him, this amounts to doing nothing (which can be the greatest form of violence — where violence is understood as a force that actually creates a change… which is also why Žižek can say that the problem with people like Mao or Stalin or Hitler is that they were ‘not violent enough’… i.e. they continued to practice the type of violence that didn’t really create the space for a genuine change [or Event, or Novum, or whatever language you want to use for that]).  Now, I may not agree with Žižek’s understanding of redemptive violence, but I do agree that violence is inescapable and am left thinking that our choice is not between being more or less violent, but between two kinds of violence.
Recommended reading.
3. How Nonviolence Supports the State by Peter Gelderloos.
I am now convinced that it is the anarchists who most urgently need to gain a voice in the Church — and particularly amongst Christians who are seeking ‘alternate’ ways of living Christianly in today’s world (those involved in New Monasticism, the Emergent Church, Sojourners, whatever).  Seriously, these people are showing us the Way (of Jesus Christ).  So, if you’re asking yourself ‘What Would Jesus Do?’, I think you’ll find your answer amongst the anarchists… and I don’t think I’m overstating my case by saying that.
Anyway, in How Nonviolence Protects the State, Peter Gelderloos continues Ward Churchill’s daming criticism of the ideology, impotence, and perversity of nonviolence.  He demonstrates how a good many of the heroes of nonviolence relied upon violence or spoke approvingly of it in other contexts (King, Gandhi, Mandela), he demonstrates how nonviolence regularly fails to attain its goal (such as the worldwide protests against the Second Iraq War… while violence, like the train bombings in Spain did prove efficacious), and he drives home the point that nonviolent means of resistance are almost always a way in which people of privilege alleviate their own guilt for continuing to live as (oppressive) people of privilege.  Therefore, nonviolence actually becomes a means of maintaining current structures of power, rather then being an avenue for change.
I strongly recommend this book and, true to anarchist principles, it is available for free online.
4. The Just by Albert Camus.
I know I just read this play recently but I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit and decided to reread it.  Last time I read it in French, but I was able to find a free English version on line (see here).  Of course, the English isn’t nearly as good (yep, I’m looking down my nose while saying this!), but it’s okay.
What I love about this play (which is based upon the true story of the bombing of the Uncle of the Tsar in Russia in the late 19th century) is all the questions it raises.  What constitutes a truly ‘revolutionary’ act?  Can poetry be revolutionary are only bombs revolutionary?  What does love require of us?  Can taking the lives of some constitute and act of love for the many?  When one begins to kill out of love, where does one draw the line?  Further, when our love of ‘the people’ prevents us from being able to love the ones we are actually with, what does that say about our love?
I would like to use this text in a discussion group.  Recommended reading.
5. A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews.
This book was lent to me by a co-worker and, given that I don’t read a lot of contemporary, popular fiction, I didn’t have very high expectations.  However, I was very pleasantly surprised and enjoyed the book.  It’s the story of a misfit girl growing up with her dad, abandoned by her mom and older sister, in a small Mennonite town — and it contains a lovely swirl of beauty, laughter, and heartache (a bit like The Brothers K that way… although not as good).  Good fun.
6. Black Hole by Charles Burns.
It has been awhile since I read any graphic novels.  I’ve been hesitant to go back to that genre.  My problem was that I stumbled onto (what I consider to be) the best works first — Blankets by Craig Thompson, Maus by Art Spiegelman, Epileptic by David B — and everything else I read ended up feeling like a let down.  So, having lowered my expectations, this book was recommended to me (it tells the story of teens in the seventies who start contracting a strange plague-like disease and then spirals off from there).  There’s some pretty rad horror- or apocalyptic-type art in the book, and it was fun enough to read, if you’re in the mood for something mindless.

Group Identities and the Question of Boundaries

A little while ago, one of my brother’s wrote a post that mentioned how the founder and former CEO of Blackwater (now Xe) had contributed significant sums of money to a number of Conservative Christian groups like ‘Focus on the Family’.  In response, I asked if ‘Focus on the Family’ should be considered a Christian organization.
On the one hand, I was having a bit of a laugh, as ‘Focus on the Family’ is probably one of the most influential and widely known ‘Christian’ groups in North America.  On the other hand, I was being completely serious, and this had gotten me to thinking about the following questions:
What determines whether or not a person or group is ‘Christian’?  Is it the affirmation of certain propositions (as many today tend to think)?  The embodiment of certain practices (as Jesus appeared to argue)?  Both?  Neither?
More generally, what role do boundaries between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ play in the formation of group identities?  Who determines those boundaries and patrols them?  What positive function do these boundaries serve?
Finally, if a person self-identifies as belonging to a certain group, is it appropriate to contest that?
I would be curious to hear how others might respond to these questions.

Rejecting the God(s) of the Triumphant: Texts of Terror and the Ideology of Conquest

Some recent conversations and readings have caused me to revisit my thinking on portrayals of divine violence within the biblical texts.  Specifically, I have been asking myself: what exactly am I to make of the fact that the bible often portrays God as violent or as commanding or approving of massive acts of death-dealing destruction?
Now the reason why these texts strike me as troubling isn’t necessarily because they portray God as violent, unattractive, and evil but because this portrayal of God seems inconsistent with the God portrayed throughout most of the biblical narrative.  If this portrayal of a violent God was consistent with the rest of the bible, then it would be easy to simply close the book, and move on to better things.  However, as far as I can tell, the bible primarily presents God as the God of life, of creation, of healing, of forgiveness, of the oppressed, and so on.  Therefore, those who are drawn to this (dominant) portrayal of God are left to struggle with the texts of terror.
When approaching these texts, it is important to remember that the authors are shaped by the contexts and ideologies that they inhabit as they write.  Indeed, what I think we see reflected in these texts is the extra-biblical ideology of conquest as it is proclaimed by the triumphant or by the oppressed who unconsciously adopt the ideology of the oppressors.
Thus, for example, in the Old Testament narratives related to the conquest of Canaan, we encounter history as it is written by the triumphant.  Not surprisingly, as with most stories of conquest, we read of how the victors experienced divine assistance and, even at their most vicious (say when they were slaughtering women, children, and animals) they are portrayed as simply ‘following [God’s] orders’.  Of course, such narratives are strikingly similar to the stories told by other Powers, from contemporary American narratives about the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan, to most of the parties involved in the two world wars, to empires as diverse as the Babylonians, the Ottomans, the British, and so on.  Therefore, during the moments of history when the ancient Hebrews (briefly) enjoyed some relative military success, it is not surprising to see them relating history through lenses tinted by triumph.
Stated bluntly, this is what war criminals tell themselves (and end up believing) in order to sleep with clean consciences — which also means that the overcoding involved in these stories tends to be bullshit… regardless of whether or not they come to us from Obama or the Deuteronomist.  So, truth be told, I just don’t buy it.  I don’t buy it that God has called America to be the policeman of the world, and I don’t buy it that God called Israel (past or present!) to slaughter the people who live in the land they wish to inhabit.  The day God starts telling you to slaughter innocents, is the day that you should start looking for a new God… because the odds are the voice you are hearing isn’t God at all.
This way of thinking covers a good deal of the violence described in the Old Testament, but it still does not explain references to divine violence in the New Testament (notably references to the damnation and torment of those who are perceived of as enemies of God and God’s people), which was written, not by the triumphant, but by members of an oppressed and subversive minority.  In these instances, I think it is best that we understand references to divine violence to be an expression of one of the ways in which oppressed people end up internalizing the ideologies of their own oppressors.  This is, after all, a common thing to see — rather than finding a third way of being and acting, oppressed people often fall victim to the propaganda and the spectacle imposed by the oppressors, but simply wish that the tables were turned.  Of course, much of what attracts me about the biblical narrative is the struggle to discover, express, and act out a third way (the Way of Jesus Christ) but it is not surprising to discover that those who follow this way do so imperfectly and — despite their best efforts — still end up enmeshed in some of the violence of their times.  The same is true of any of us.
In sum, I believe that there are various and competing traditions and voices found within the biblical narrative.  Some of these traditions are more prominent and carry greater weight than others.  It is my opinion that the traditions that speak of God as the God of life, creation, healing, liberation, forgiveness and of the oppressed, outweigh the traditions that speak of God as the God of death, conquest, destruction, and of the triumphant.  Therefore, I reject such portrayals of God.  These texts of terror just might be Christianity’s ‘Satanic verses’.

Talking with Evangelicals about Sexuality

A little over a month ago, the kind folks over at Bridging the Gap invited me to participate in a ‘synchroblog’, wherein various contributors would reflect in one way or another on matters related to Christianity and homosexuality.
At that time, I decided to abstain because, to be honest, I’ve got a bit of shortfuse with (mostly Conservative and Evangelical) Christians when it comes to these things.
However, I find myself compelled to engage these Christians on this topic and here is the reason why I do so:
In my ten years of working with street-involved and homeless youth, I have gotten to know a good many youth who were physically and sexually abused and then abandoned (or driven to run away) solely because of their sexual orientation.  Further, I know that this experience is not unique to homeless and street-involved youth — I have many friends in the LGBT community who have had similar experiences, but who had other supports in their lives, and so were able to avoid the street.  The catch is that most of those engaging in the abuse of non-heterosexual youth appear to be Conservative or Evangelical Christians.  Almost every kid I have known who has come to the street due to abuse related to his or her sexuality has told me that s/he comes from a Christian family.
This is what compels me to dialogue with Evangelicals and Conservative Christians about sexuality.  Just as we will always need John Schools (to teach men about the realities of sex work), we will always need those willing to tell Evangelicals and other Conservative Christians that it is not okay to beat, rape and abandon your children — no matter what their sexual orientation.

The Plague

For the most part, the wheel of history grinds on as it always has.  Empires rise and fall and power balances shift, but always there are the wealthy and privileged few living off of the broken bodies of the poor and hungry multitudes.  Always there is apathy and injustice and everywhere we look we encounter the triumph of death.  It surrounds us and fills the air we breath like a plague we have lived with for so long that we have forgotten what we are losing and what we have lost.  So we live our lives — we work, we eat, we drink, we fuck — vaguely sensing that something is missing, longing for we don’t know what, and making the best of the only option we feel that we have.
***
But perhaps there is another option.  Although we will never stop the wheel of history from grinding on, perhaps we can change its course.  In the end, it comes down to the question of what price we are willing to pay in our pursuit of a history marked not by apathy and injustice, but by love and justice; permeated not by death, but by life.  This, I believe is what Albert Schweitzer saw in Jesus:

[Jesus] lays hold of the wheel of the world to set it moving on that last revolution which is to bring all ordinary history to a close.  It refuses to turn, and he throws himself upon it.  Then it does turn; and crushes him… The wheel rolls onward and the mangled body of [Jesus] is hanging upon it still.  That is his victory.

Perhaps this is what is required of those who claim to follow this person.  Perhaps this is the pearl of great price (cf. Mt 13.45f).

Culture (again)

In the same way that religion may be considered the opiate of the masses, the Arts should be considered the opiate of the middle-classes.

June Books

Here we are:
1. Galatians and the Imperial Cult: A Critical Analysis of the First-Century Social Context of Paul’s Letter by Justin K. Hardin.
 In most counter-imperial readings of Paul, Galatians tends to be a bit of a neglected letter.  Therefore, I was thrilled when I first stumbled across Justin Hardin’s reading of Galatians (even if it did take me awhile to track down the book and convince myself that it was worth what I had to pay for it).  The book did not disappoint my expectations.
What Hardin does is establish the (quite significant) presence of the imperial cult in Galatia and the way in which the imperial cult was deeply woven into the civic, political, and religious areas of the lives of the Galatians (of course, within first-century Galatia it’s pretty anachronistic to speak of the civic, political, and religious as though they are distinct areas of life, when in fact they were not).  From this, Hardin then draws the highly probably (IMO) thesis that the persecution that Paul’s opponents in Galatia were trying to avoid was social and civic persecution based upon their unwillingness to participate in matters related to the imperial cult.  Thus, for example, when Paul talks disparagingly of those who observe special days and weeks, he is speaking of Roman cultic celebrations (and not of the Jewish calendar).  Therefore, over against the gospel of Caesar as Lord found in the imperial cult, Paul reaffirms the gospel of Jesus as Lord and encourages the Galatian churches to stay firm in their radically subversive lifestyle.
Not surprisingly, I like what Hardin has to say.  Recommended reading.
2. Pacifism as Pathology by Ward Churchill.
Within the North American context, discussions related to violence and nonviolence tend to mostly take place between those in dominant positions of ower (who, surprise, favour violence) and those in places of resistance to the Powers (we tend to favour nonviolence).  In these discussions, I have consistently sided with the ‘pacifists’ (or ‘nonviolent activists’ or whatever you want to call them).
However, this book brings a very different angle to the discussion of violence.  Churchill writes as a member of what could be termed ‘the radical Left’ and so he writes as a person who is also unconvinced by the standard Statist or Right-wing arguments regarding violence.  However, he also wants to avoid the ‘pathological’ aversion that those on the Left seem to exhibit around violence.  Thus, he argues that we must be willing to pursue all possible avenues to change — violence and nonviolence can both be appropriate at different moments and different places in the same struggle.
Now what is especially good about Churchill’s book is the way in which he demonstrates how nonviolent movements, when they are effective, are reliant upon other violent movements.  Thus, for example, the nonviolent wing of the American Civil Rights movement gained the attention the media and the other Powers, not because of anything integral to that wing, but because the Black Panthers were also rising and arming the ghettoes.  Similarly, Gandhi’s success in India was also premised upon the violence that had devastated the British Empire during the two world wars and other areas (notably in the Middle East) that were rising more violently.  And so on.
In the end, Churchill drives home that point that nonviolent ‘resistance’ (if it even deserves that name), tends to be little more than impotent (and self-righteous) posturing by people of privilege.  This particular criticism hits home several times, and I ended up agreeing with Churchill on this point.
Therefore, I can only conclude that Christians that go on and on about nonviolence aren’t worth a damn unless they bear on their own bodies the brandmarks of Christ (cf. Gal 6.17) — for those are the marks borne by those who truly resist the Powers and enter into solidarity with the crucified.  Any resistance that leaves the resisters (or the Powers!) unscathed is probably not worth mentioning. 
Regardless, I recommend that others read this book and decide for themselves about these things.
3. The Cross by Sigrid Undset.
This is the third book in Undset’s Kristen Lavransdatter trilogy and, as Halden stated in a comment below, the trilogy is ‘fucking amazing.’  This is a genuinely epic series — and I use the word ‘epic’ advisedly (I hate the way that word has been popularized and every bon mot or humourous episode or whatever else ends up being labeled as ‘epic’).  Anyway, this series is a fantastic portrayal of people as people.  No heroes.  No villians.  Just people longing to love and be loved… but ending up, more often than not, hurting each other and trapping themselves in places of self-destruction (yep, that’s pretty much the way I understand people).  It is also a marvelous and captivating portrayal of life in medieval Norway.  I highly recommend the trilogy to those who are willing to read 1000+ pages.