A good many New Testament (NT) scholars have demonstrated the value of reading the NT in light of extra biblical sources — be those sources literary, epigraphic, numismatic, or archaeological. Hence, the NT scholar finds it necessary to explore the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Greek and Latin classics, public inscriptions, images on coins, and the city plans and buildings found within the NT era. All of this leads us to a fuller, and more accurate, understanding of the content of the NT scriptures.
However, where this becomes curious (at least in my own particular area of study) is the way in which the genuine Pauline letters are still, by and large, studied without serious regard given to The Acts of the Apostles or, more especially, the Deutero-Pauline epistles. Why is it, for example, authors like Virgil, Tacitus, and Suetonius are given so much weight in our readings of Paul, while Luke's narrative account of parts of Paul's life is given less weight? Or, to take another example, why is an author like Juvenal considered an useful resource (even though he wrote after Paul did) when the Deutero-Pauline epistles are not (even though they were likely written earlier than much of Juvenal)? Or, to mention an even later work, on what basis can we refer to The Acts of Paul and Thecla while simultaneously ignoring 1 & 2 Timothy?
It seems to me that, given the tensions (and, perhaps, even contradictions) that exist between the genuine letters of Paul and the Deutero-Pauline epistles (especially the later pastorals), it is easier for us to ignore the epistles and find extra-biblical sources that verify what we want to find in Paul. The problem is that the Deutero-Pauline epistles might be closer to Paul than a good many of these other sources.
Perhaps another reason to ignore these epistles is the bulk of material a person would have to address. Academic specialisation leads to narrow foci within scholarship, and it is probably easier to, for example, read Paul in light of Virgil (a relatively unexplored realm, which also makes this more excited work — and work that is more likely to gain recognition) than it is to read Paul in light of the Deutero-Pauline letters.
Of course, there are scholars who continue to view these Deutero-Pauline epistles as genuine letters of Paul, but, IMO, this is an oversimplification. Rather, what I think we should be asking is 'how was it that these epistles developed out of Pauline communities, and in what ways are they faithful and unfaithful to Paul?'
Consequently, given all the appeals currently being made to extra-biblical sources, I am somewhat baffled that The Acts of the Apostles and, more particularly, the Deutero-Pauline letters are still largely neglected in Pauline scholarship. Indeed, those scholars who engage in 'counter-imperial' readings of Paul (i.e. the scholars I have been reading a lot) should be especially ocncerned with addressing the questions listed above. Rather than brushing aside Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles simply because they were not authored by Paul, they need to explore how communities that begin with such a radical founder can devolve into communities that embrace the dominant sensibilities of the empire (if, indeed, the Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles do this).
Are There Prayers God Always Answers? A Book Review.
[Okay, I know this review is far, far too long, but I guess this book struck a few chords with me. Besides nobody said that anybody had to read all of this. Gosh!]
Introduction
To my delight, I was recently approached by Mike Morell from http://theOoze.com. Mike offered to send me a few free books every month, so long as I would be open to (honestly) commenting on those books on my blog. I agreed to this arrangement for three reasons:
(1) Given that ‘the Ooze’ is known as an ’emergent’ website, I thought that this would give me some further insight into the so-called ’emergent conversation’. That is to say, I am suspicious of much that goes by the name ’emergent’ but I have read little that has been written (or supported) by those who belong to that conversation, and I saw this as an opportunity to change all that.
(2) Similarly, I thought that this would provide me with the opportunity to see what sort of books are being read and written at the popular Christian level. Until recently, I had no interest in reading any popular Christian writing. However, I was challenged in this regard by the ways in which Žižek and Lacan handle Freud. Freud, as we all know, was pretty much completely wrong about everything (if you think otherwise, spend some time reading his books and essays). However, Žižek and Lacan read Freud and come to some brilliant and stimulating conclusions. Perhaps, I said to myself, what we do or do not take from a book is more limited by our own intelligence, rather than the intelligence of the author. So, with this thought in mind, I felt ready to attempt some readings in popular Christianity. Besides, it is always a grounding experience to recall what it is that so many Christians think and believe in America today (although quite frequently that grounding feels more like Icarus falling into the ocean, than it feels like an airplane coming in for a smooth landing!)
(3) Who can say ‘no’ to free books?
Therefore, the first book, from Mike, that I have chosen to review, is Six Prayers God Always Answers by Mark Herringshaw & Jennifer Schuchmann (Carol Stream, Illinois: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., 2008). I will begin by summarising the book and will then conclude with some points of critical reflection.
Summary
It seems to me that Mark Herringshaw and Jennifer Schuchmann have three primary hortatory reasons for writing this book. First, they want to encourage their readers to approach prayer as a conversation that occurs within a genuine relationship with God (rather than approaching prayer as a technique or formula). Second, they want to reassure their readers that God always answers prayers. Third, the authors want to remind the reader that, although God always answers our prayers, God doesn’t always answer them in the ways we might expect (the book jacket tips the reader off to this point; Six Prayers God Always Answers is followed by an asterisk, and a smaller font, below the title, reads as follows: *Results may vary).
Therefore, after an initial chapter which emphasises that prayer is (1) authentic conversation with God; (2) instinctual and something that all people engage in at some point; and (3) effective, the authors move into their discussion of the six prayers God always answers: bargaining prayers (Chpt 2), questions prayers (Chpt 3), prayers for justice (Chpt 5), desperate prayers (Chpt 6), audacious prayers (Chpt 8), and prayers for beauty and happiness (Chpt 9). Interspersed throughout these chapters, are three further prayers: “why” prayers, or prayers ‘God rarely answers’ (Chpt 4), inauthentic prayers, or prayers that ‘God doesn’t want to hear’ (Chpt 10), and prayers for independence from God, or prayers ‘God hates to answer–but will’ (Chpt 10). In the concluding chapter, the authors return to their point about the significance of prayer being a relationship, for it is through this relationship that prayers are answered (for it is God, not prayer, that ‘works’), and through this relationship that we come to see how prayers are answered.
So, let’s explore these in a little more detail. The first type of prayer that God always answers is ‘bargaining’ or ‘haggling’ prayers. All of us, the authors argue, have tried to bargain with God at some time or another, and God, out of his grace, puts up with our haggling and answers these prayers. Yet God desires that we come to a place where we simply ask and receive from him. So why does God tolerate our bagaining? Well, the authors suggest, perhaps it is through this bargaining process that we will be led to the place where we are willing to trade ‘our all for God’s all’.
That said, the authors also suggest that there are some ‘rules of bartering in God’s kingdom’: sometimes we get more than we ask for, sometimes others get more than we ask for, and sometimes God doesn’t hold us to our end of the bargain. All of this demonstrates that God’s generosity is greater than our ability to ask, and it should, lead us to the place where we simply ask and receive (rather than leaving us jaded by the observation that God seems to have made better deals with other people).
The second type of prayer that God always answers is ‘questioning’ prayers. Questions, the authors assert, function like a ‘spiritual sonar’ in our search for belonging, love, and meaning. Thus, in addition to understanding our own motives in asking questioning prayers, it is important to make sure that we are asking the right questions and understanding the answers that we (always) receive. For example, that authors assert that asking the question, ‘Is there a God?’ is asking the wrong kind of question, because, in order to answer that question, we would require a proof of existence that always eludes us. Instead, they suggest that we are better served by asking, ‘Are you there, God?’ because this requires a proof of presence, which can be found in our experiences. Furthermore, this second question ‘raises the stakes’ because how it is answered could significantly impact our daily living, rather than simply being a topic in an abstract philosophical discussion.
However, the authors then note that we frequently don’t seem to experience God, or find God’s presence as much as we would like. This, they suggest, is because God is ‘flirting’ with us. God is ‘courting’ us and trying to draw us into deeper intimacy, because he is a ‘master romantic’. ‘After all,’ the authors suggest, ‘if we were not separate from God, how could we come to love him, and how could he come to love us?’ They then go on to suggest that ‘maybe God’s elusive nature and our unquenchable yearning for him are themselves the biggest proof of his presence.’
The third type of prayer that God always answers is justice-oriented prayers. Noting that an awareness of in/justice is ingrained in all of us, the authors suggest that our prayers for justice are a sign of our moral health and of our movement towards God. The problem is that our prayers for justice are often ‘shortsighted’, ‘mean-spirited’, and blind to our own guilt. This is why God does not answer our prayers for justice in the ways in which we desire. Consequently, we must ‘leave room for the wrath of God’ and wait in faith to see justice enacted, even if we have to wait ‘all the way to eternity.’
However, there is more to this. Because God also suffers and mourns the injustices of the world, when we cry out for justice we come closer to God, and this ‘partnership in pain’ is itself ‘a form of answer to our prayer.’ Therefore, the authors conclude, God’s answer is his ‘intimate tear-laden friendship’.
The fourth type of prayer that God always answers is desperate prayers, which arise from our location in a broken world, full of danger and unintended harmful consequences. In this regard, the authors suggest that God seems to work by allowing things to get desperate, so that we will call out to him. Thus, God uses evil (although he doesn’t cause it) in a pragmatic way, in order to lead us to ‘the end of ourselves and the beginning of him’. Here, again, the role of faith is important for it is faith that allows us to believe that God answers our desperate prayers, if not now then in the hereafter. Thus, the authors conclude:
God always answers desperate prayers.
We have to believe that. Not just to get the answers, but to believe that God has answered—that he has responded in some way… faith helps us to see answers that are beyond an immediate yes…
If not here and now, then in a not-so distant Tomorrowland.
The fifth type of prayer that God always answers is audacious or selfish prayers. This may seem confusing to the reader, but the authors say that is is natural for us to desire something more, or something better, than what we have now. That is to say, ‘[m]aybe being selfish isn’t a part of our sinful nature, but rather comes embedded as original hardware’. Indeed, if we track characters from the biblical stories, we notice that those who go to God the most, and who demand results from God, tend to get what they want more than others. So, why does God reward this sort of ‘persistance’? Because, once again, it lays the foundation for a deeper relationship. Thus, the authors argue, the fact that we bring these desires to God is a sign of our dependence upon him. This, then, leads to the conclusion that ‘[o]ur most selfish prayers are our truest form of humility.’ Using their own aspirations as an example, the authors show how praying to be best-selling authors would bring benefits to many others — the charities they support would gain more recognition, they could increase the fortunes of those around them, they would aid in the employment of those in the book industry and so on and so forth — and so they ask: ‘When looked at from this perspective, could it be that asking for riches and fame is a noble prayer after all?’
Additionally, the fact that the act of prayer is, itself, beneficial to the pray-er should make us feel less discomfort with selfish prayers. Highlighting the (utilitarian) perspective of J. S. Mill, the authors argue that even our most altruistic prayers can be described as selfish — Mother Teresa found pleasure in seeing prayers answered for the sick people with whom she worked and so, yes, even those prayers could be termed as selfish. Ultimately, the authors conclude, this should lead us to demand nothing less than what God made us for (and so we also shouldn’t be surprised if God gives us something even greater than that for which we asked).
Finally, the sixth type of prayer that God always answers is beauty and happiness-oriented prayers. These are the prayers which arise from our encounters with breath-taking, wonderful moments. Generally, the authors argue, our instinctive reaction is to say something like, ‘Thank you!’ quickly followed by a prayer for ‘more!’ It is this prayer for more that God always answers — not by repeating the wondrous event (for that would pervert the event, and end up taking away from its beauty) and not be completely satisfying our demands (for that might lead to idolatry) but by continuing to provide us with hints and glimpses of beauty and wonder throughout the world. Ultimately, the authors argue, God works through these hints in order to ‘ruin us from ever being content with life here on earth’ so that we will only be satisfied in our future life with God.
So, what then of the other three prayers: the prayer God rarely answers, the prayer God doesn’t want to hear, and the prayer God hates to answer–but will?
Accoring to the authors, asking God ‘why?’ is a prayer that is rarely answered. The reason for this is that ‘why’ is a ‘bottomless pit’ and would require an answer too long, and too complex for our human comprehension. Besides, the authors say, asking why is frequently not a question at all; rather, it is our passive-aggressive way of scolding God. More significantly, they assert that knowing why doesn’t really change anything. Instead, the authors suggest, it is better to ask: ‘How?’ That is to say, rather than asking why there is evil and trouble in the world, it is better to ask how we can act to change those things (indeed, the authors suggest that this is the approach Jesus takes — in Luke 4, Jesus doesn’t ask why people are sick, imprisoned, poor, and oppressed, instead he changes those circumstances). However, despite all that, the authors say that we can continue to ask why (although earlier in the chapter they had ‘Don’t Ask Why!’ as a subheading) because this process of asking can bring us closer to God (even if God doesn’t answer).
According to the authors, posed prayer, prayer performed with ulterior motives, prayer that is inauthentic, is the sort of prayer that God doesn’t want to hear. This is so because such artificial prayer ‘isn’t prayer at all’. True prayer, and the prayer God wants to hear, is that which is earnest, authentic and genuine. However, the authors also remind us that only God can be the judge of what constitutes authentic prayer (while also reminding us that authentic prayer is usually accompanied by authentic action).
Finally, the prayer God ‘hates to answer–but will’ is our own prayer for independence (from God). Because, as the authors argue, free will is the greatest gift God has given us, and because God answers all of our genuine prayers, God also grants prayers that lead us away from him. God seeks genuine love relationships with us, and choice must be a part of that. Therefore, the authors conclude, God leave that choice in our hands and will allow us to be separated from him (even for eternity) should we so choose. Thus: ‘God hates our prayers for independence, but he loves us enough to answer them.’
Critical Reflection
What, then, are we to make of all this? Positively, I believe that the authors should be commended for highlighting the importance of pursuing a relationship with God through prayer. Although they neglect some of the positive aspects of more formulaic and ritualistic approaches to prayer (which understand prayer as a discipline that develops virtue within the character of the praying community), they are correct (although not particularly original) to highlight some of the risks involved with formulaic approaches to prayer. Secondly, without wanting to read too much into the authors intentions, I believe that they are trying to do a good thing — they are trying to encourage and affirm the faith of everyday Christians who struggle to communicate with God, and who are trying to understand the importance or relevance of prayer. This, too, is commendable. Thirdly, in engaging in this process, they do raise some tough questions — questions concerning justice, desperation, (apparently) unanswered prayer, and so on. This is important for it is these tough questions which we must confront if we are to have a living faith in Jesus — or an intimate relationship with God — in today’s world.
Unfortunately, I think that the authors, after posing these tough issues, take the easy way out and refuse to fully confront them. Rather than pursuing their confrontation with reality through to its end (wherever that may be) they retreat from the crises reality poses, and flee into mystifications, and spiritual explanations based upon ‘faith’, which is understood as that which affirms things that cannot be affirmed by any of our other senses. This is most evident in the ways in which the authors continually assert that God can, does, will, and must answer all of these prayers.
The problem is that I am not convinced that God does answer all of our prayers, be they bargaining, questioning, justice-oriented, desperate, audacious, or beauty-oriented. In fact, I am quite certain that God frequently does not answer these prayers, but before I get into that, let me demonstrate how the authors pose non-answers to prayer, as though they were genuine answers (and thereby avoid fully confronting the issues raised).
First, the authors note in passing that ‘no’ can constitute a real answer to prayer. This is an handy way to get around the issue, but leaves the fundamental problem unsolved. A ‘no’ results in exactly the same situation as an unanswered prayer so, from the perspective of material events and their outcomes, positing a ‘no’ simply avoids the issue (and it reminds me of an article from ‘The Onion’ which shows how absurd this sort of reasoning can be; cf. http://www.theonion.com/content/node/28812). Besides, how do we know when God says ‘no’ to our prayers? Is it when they appear unanswered? Or is that God just flirting with us? Or has God answered the prayer already in some other way we do not yet recognise? However, the authors don’t spend much time on this type of answer (it is mentioned briefly once) so we will press on.
Secondly, the authors posit that ‘partial’ answers constitute real answers to prayer. Unfortunately this is also only briefly mentioned, and so I’m not exactly sure how this works. So, let’s try to ground this in reality and walk it out. When he was very young, my oldest brother was diagnosed with a chronic and painful illness. Throughout his teens and early twenties, my brother’s illness got progressively worse until he was emaciated and, despite his prescription painkillers, unable to eat or sleep due to the pain. At that time, a good many of us were praying for my brother to be healed. Instead, my brother had an emergency surgery that momentarily reduced the severity of his illness and saved him from imminent death. However, my brother is still ill, and it appears as though the pain has been returning with more frequency recently. Is this the ‘partial’ answer to prayer that the authors or talking about? Is this the ‘answer’ to our prayers for my brother’s healing? Am I supposed to be satisfied with this? Unfortunately, the authors don’t tell me.
Thirdly, the authors emphasise that God frequently answers our prayers by giving us something greater than that for which we asked. Now this is easy to accept in some scenarios — say we pray for a Nissan but end up with a Porsche, or something like that. But it is more difficult to understand when it comes to other scenarios. Take Job’s experiences as an example. Job, as a faithful and religious sort of fellow, likely prayed for the well-being of his children. But his children all died. Of course, at the end of the story, Job seems to receive new and improved children… does that mean he got something better than what he originally asked for? I don’t think so.
You see, I believe that there are situations wherein there is nothing better than that for which we are praying. The best thing for my brother would have been for him to be healed. Granted, he didn’t die, but can his added years of life, and his ongoing battle with his illness, be termed something better than a complete healing from his illness? Not in my books. So maybe we get ‘something better’ when it comes to inconsequential prayers related to ‘stuff’ but the idea doesn’t seem to carry much relevance when it comes to life or death issues. Of course, the authors tend to focus a lot on the idea of praying for (more) stuff, so that may be part of the reason why they miss this point. (Actually, related to this point, I found myself frequently thinking that the book reflected a great deal of the middle-class, bourgeois environment of the authors.) Not all of us are just praying for more and nicer things, you know? Some of us are praying for freedom from addictions, healing from illnesses, liberation from bondage to the powers of Sin and Death, and the new creation of all things. I can’t think of anything better than that, so when those prayers go unanswered, I’m not saying it’s because God gave us ‘something better.’ Tell me God has given me something better than the new life that I wish for my friends, and I’ll tell you that you are blindly propogating religious ideology (or, if I know you a little better, I’d just call bullshit).
Fourthly, and most frequently, the authors emphasise that God does answer prayer, but that God’s answer usually looks a lot different than we imagined it would. Hence that following string of quotations:
If God always answers our prayers for justice, it must be that he answers them differently than we expect or desire…
A prayer that appears to be so obviously ignored is granted in some way that we can’t see here and now…
If we feel like our prayers aren’t being answered, perhaps it is because we don’t see the answers. We don’t recognize God’s responses. The way to correct that is not learn better techniques, but to learn more about God…
[F]aith helps us to see answers that are beyond an immediate yes… If not here and now, then in a not-so distant Tomorrowland.
The problem for these authors arises from the fact that the assertion that God always answers these prayers is not a conclusion, but an a priori assumption that they then must go on and affirm in every given situation. Hence the quotation I provided in my summary above:
God always answers desperate prayers.
We have to believe that.
Actually, we don’t have to believe that. But, the authors seem to be unable to believe in a God who does not answer desperate (or many other) prayers, and that is why they take the easy way out and argue that God always answers all these prayers (regardless of what the evidence tells us). Look, then, at the lengths to which they go, in order to try and cling to this idea. In their exposition of the ways in which God always answers questioning prayers, specifically, the question “Are you there, God?” they argue that God’s elusiveness is the proof of his presence. Essentially they are saying that, if we pray “Are you there, God?” and don’t experience God’s nearness to us, precisely this is the sign of God’s presence! Thus, the feeling of separation from God is converted into a sign of intimacy, and that we don’t feel closer to God shows that our prayer has been answered!
The authors refer to this as ‘flirting’, ‘courting’, and signs of God as a ‘master romantic’, but this needs to be challenged. Again, let’s bring it down to earth. Some tease, some distance, something of the unknown, all of these things can be exciting in a relationship. But there is a time and place for these things. For example, if I was married to a lover who didn’t answer me, who chose not to come (tangibly) closer to me, when I was going through a terribly rough moment in life, I wouldn’t call her a ‘master romantic’, I would call her an asshole! Similarly, if God tells me he stayed away from me, and those I know, when we were going through our hardest times, because he was ‘flirting’ with us, I’ll probably call him an asshole as well. Because that, my friends, is not a a part of an healthy love relationship; in the real world, we call that abusive (if it’s deliberate), or sick (if it stems from a mental health problem). Further, although there is some romantic truth in the idea that absence ‘makes the heart grow fonder’ ( or, as the authors ask,’if we were not separate from God, how could we come to love him, and how could he come to love us?’), the truth is that if all one has in a relationship is seperation and absence, the result isn’t deeper love, the result is a nonexistent or fictional relationship.
Therefore, pace Herringshaw and Schuchmann, I believe that the true challenge for believers, and the place where faith is truly born, is in the recognition that God does not always answer these prayers. Faith is not that which we cling to for answers that we cannot see in the material here-and-now of life; rather faith truly comes into its own as faithfulness when we choose to continue to follow Jesus Christ, even when our prayers go unanswered, and even when we are abandoned by God.
Thus, my most fundamental objection to the authors is to their assertion that God always answers the prayers listed above. Maybe Harringshaw, as a well-situated pastor of a 7000 member church, and Schuchmann, as a well-established writer, simply haven’t seen enough of the real world. Maybe their places of privilege and comfort have blinded them to what goes on in the lives of so many. Because I can tell story after story of men, women, boys, and girls who have had these sort of prayers — desperate, questioning, prayers for justice — go unanswered.
Let me provide just one real life example. Surely the nineteen year old girl crying for help while she is being sexually assaulted is praying a desperate prayer for justice.
It goes unanswered.
Or did God just say ‘no’?
Or did he ‘partially’ answer her prayer by keeping her alive?
Or did God have something ‘better’ planned, and that’s why he didn’t intervene? Not after the first guy. Not after the second. Not even after the third. Boy, God sure must have something real good planned.
Or, wait, maybe God did answer the prayer but not in a way that is obvious? Like… um… you know… um… how exactly?
Get my point? Offer any of these ‘answers’ to this girl and all you will do is alienate her, and, more often than not, drive her away from Christianity. Indeed, if anybody even considered offering these answers to this girl, that would simply demonstrate how incapable they are of moving from suburbia to the inner-city — from places where people pray for more ‘stuff’ to places where people pray for life to conquer death.
Which leads me to my second major objection to this book — the way in which ‘prayers for justice’ are treated by the authors. You see, the authors continually assume that our prayers for justice are punitive prayers for vengeance. They align prayers for justice with punitive prayers oriented around the fate of the one who has caused harm (i.e. ‘God punish this evil-doer’, that sort of thing). What they altogether fail to consider are prayers for justice, on behalf of victims and survivors. Praying for a traumatised person to stop having nightmares has nothing to do with ‘spewing vengeance’; praying for an abused child to develop a sense of self-worth has nothing ‘shortsighted’ or ‘mean-spirited’ about it; praying for a person dominated by the powers of Death to break free into new life in Christ isn’t at all punitive. Therefore, when one prays for justice in this way, and those prayers go unanswered, we cannot simply say, ‘well, our understanding of justice is perverse’ so we’ve got to ‘leave room for God’s wrath’ or whatever. That sort of thinking doesn’t apply here. Unfortunately, the authors appear incapable of, or unwilling to, imagine a person praying for justice in the ways I have described and so the fact that so many of these prayers (appear to?) go unanswered is unaddressed.
My third major objection to this book is related to the comments the authors make about God answering audacious and selfish prayers. Here, especially, the middle-class — dare I say ‘health-and-wealth’? — sentiments of the authors come through. After all, selfish prayers are said to be the ‘truest form of humility’ and considering the good we can do with money, ‘asking for riches and fame is a noble prayer’. Further, an utilitarian perspective is adopted, wherein all our good actions are seen as expressions of selfishness, and selfishness itself is posited as part of our original good human status.
On this point, it is important to distinguish ‘desire’ from ‘selfishness’ (something the authors never do). Certainly God has created us with desires, and in such a way that we only find our sustenance and fulfillment in things and beings outside ourselves. However, affirming the goodness of desire, is a far different thing than affirming selfishness or Mill’s utilitarian perspective. For example, here are the first two entries found under ‘selfish’ in the Merriam-Webster dictionary:
(1) concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself : seeking or concentrating on one’s own advantage, pleasure, or well-being without regard for others;
(2) arising from concern with one’s own welfare or advantage in disregard of others.
If anything, Christianity teaches us the opposite of this way of behaving. Granted, we are aware that our own well-being is caught up in the well-being of others, but this leads us to concentrate ‘excessively’ on others, not ourselves. It even leads us to disregard ourselves out of concern for the ‘welfare and advantage’ of others. I know that this is a hard thing for suburban Christians to hear, but it is an unavoidable point made, time and again, within the bibles read by those Christians.
However, we also need to recognise that even our desires have been perverted — some would say by original sin, others would say by socio-cultural influences, but I don’t think we need to distinguish between the two — and so we cannot adopt an utilitarian perspective. Our desires need to be disciplined, so that we learn to want to do that which we should be doing. Consequently, there are times when we do what we would rather not do because, rather than seeking our own happiness, we are seeking to be faithful disciples of Jesus Christ. This, after all, is the fundamental tension of the Christian life. God offer us new life, and life in abundance, in his world, through his Church, in the power of the holy Spirit… but that new life in abundance is only encountered by taking up our crosses and traveling the via dolorosa. The authors of this book seem to want to affirm the first part of that sentence, while ignoring the second half. But, hey, don’t we all? That’s why we need pastors and writers who, unlike Herringshaw and Schuchmann, continue to challenge and remind us of the cost of disciple.
These then are my three major objections to this book: (1) God does not answer all these prayers; (2) the authors never address prayers for justice that focus on new creation and redemption; and (3) the authors are mistaken to affirm selfishness in life and in prayer.
Apart from these, I have six other objections to this book. First, I challenge the extent to which God really does answer ‘questioning prayers’ according to the authors — they essentially narrow all questioning prayers down to the question ‘Are you there, God?’ Further, given that most of our (or at least my) questioning prayers are ‘why’ questions — ‘Why didn’t you stop Steve from overdosing?’ ‘Why didn’t you stop Nancy from jumping in front of that train?’ ‘Why didn’t you stop Jackie from being assaulted?’ ‘Why don’t you come for your shattered, broken, children, children who are longing for you, and make them new?’ — it is rather convenient for the authors to bracket out these questions. Really, in saying that God answers ‘questioning prayers’ they only asserted that God answers the question ‘Are you there, God?’ and, as mentioned above, sometimes God even ‘answers’ that prayer by not showing up!
Thus, implicitly, there are a whole load of other questioning prayers that God doesn’t answer — although the authors simply seem to suggest that God doesn’t answer these because we’re asking the wrong questions. This seems to start pushing prayer back into the ‘technique’ approach the authors seem to dislike so much — God only answers questioning prayers, if we ask the right questions? That sounds rather formulaic. Oh, and it also sounds like ideology.
Second, while I find myself in agreement with the authors when they assert that God rarely answers ‘why’ prayers, I find myself in disagreement with them regarding why this is the case. The authors assert that answers to ‘why’ prayers don’t really change anything, and they argue that it is better for us to focus on ‘how’ issues. Simply put, rather than asking why something went wrong, it is better for us to figure out how to fix the problem. Indeed, the authors quote Luke 4 in order to argue that this was precisely the approach that Jesus took.
Unfortunately, what the authors miss is that the ‘why’ of an issue can be crucial to the ‘how’ of our response. Take another real world example. I meet a lot of homeless young men with missing teeth. Now, granted, I can refer those men to dentists who will fix their mouths for free, or for a reduced rate… but what if I want to try and stop homeless young men from losing their teeth? Then I need to ask why those young men are missing their teeth. To know how to solve the problem, I need to know why the problem keeps showing up. Consequently, when I discover that the police who work in downtown Vancouver (and Toronto) like to zip-tie young homeless men, take them to a secluded area, and beat them up (thereby knocking their teeth out), I also learn that, to address this problem, I need to address the systemic and consistent abuse of power exercised by police officers. Thus, the ‘how’ that I end up practicing — speaking out against police corruption and sending the young men to caring dentists — becomes far more useful and significant than simply approaching a problem from the more superficial perspective taken by the authors of this book.
Indeed, I would suggest that the approach Jesus takes is much more in line with the example which I have provided. Jesus didn’t ignore ‘why’ questions after his Luke 4 manifesto, when he went about engaging in acts of healing, liberation, and solidarity. Rather, Jesus spoke out against the corrupt socio-political and religious structures that perpetuated abusive cycles of illness, bondage, and marginalisation. This, after all, is why Jesus was put to death. The people who killed Jesus, didn’t do so to save the world from sin (although that may have been an unintended consequence). They killed Jesus because his ‘how’ of liberating communal activity, was intimately connected to a ‘why’ which highlighted the corruption and violence of the powers-that-be.
Of course, when authors are comfortably situated in proximity to the powers-that-be, rather than in proximity to those who suffer under those powers, it is easy to forget, or overlook, this point. Asking ‘why’ questions lead to searching for systemic sources of problems, and might end up challenging the very position in which they find themselves, so it is only natural that they would rather focus on other things.
Third, I would also like to register my disagreement with the point that the authors make about free will being the greatest gift God has given us. The authors write the following:
Christians might argue that the greatest gift we received from God was the gift of his Son, who died on a cross to save us from our sins. But perhaps that wasn’t the greatest gift.
To accept the Cross as the greatest gift, to be the recipient of salvation, one has to choose to believe in the saving power of Jesus at the Cross. Without making the choice, it is an unopened gift.
Perhaps the greatest gift God has given us isn’t the Cross. It could be that the greatest gift is free will.
If, as the authors assert, our salvation really does come down to the decision that we choose to make, then perhaps free will is the greatest gift (and greatest curse!) of all. However, I continue to think that those who would base our salvation upon our decisions have fallen into a popular and persistent form of Pelagianism. If we wish to affirm a God of grace, and a God who has overcome all the powers of Sin and Death, then that which is revealed upon the cross truly is the greatest gift given to us — for is shows us a God who refuses to allow us to damn ourselves to hell. The cross shows us a God who descends into hell, and in his solidarity with the damned and the godforsaken, bursts the gates of hell and sets the catives free. Of course, this then leads us into discussion regarding ‘universalism’ so I’ll simply refer the authors to the writings of Hans Urs von Balthasar, Jürgen Moltmann and Gregorgy MacDonald.
Fourth, I was also disconcerted by the naïveté the authors exhibited in relationship to themes of American and British patriotism and military conquests. I counted ten different examples of this — from speaking of the role prayer played in the formation of the American constitution, to speaking of prayer in American after Sept 11, 2001, to speaking of the prayers of American marines in Iraq (a particularly interesting passage: ‘Paul [the marine] gave up wussy prayer, and when he prayed selfishly, he bound out God was strong enough to hold his own’), to speaking of how patriotic music makes the authors ‘weep for God and country’, to speaking of how God heard the prayers of Protestant England, and destroyed the Catholic Spanish Armada, to speaking of how God heard the prayers of Columbus and allowed him to fulfill his destiny and take ‘the gospel of Christendom to heathen ports around the world’ — all of these show a shocking degree of historical and political naïveté — or just plain, good old ideological blindness (after all, one can only assume that God answers the prayers of Protestant England in the 16th century, if one also assumes that God did not answer the prayers of Catholic Spain… because, you know, Catholics are bad or something). If one is even a little critical of America and Europe’s, military conquests, if one has even a little familiarity with post-colonial studies, then one would likely speak differently about these subjects. Of course, that comfortable, middle-class American authors fail to see the importance of these things is not surprising, but it is unfortunate.
Fifth, although I am glad to see the authors pressing the point that prayer should take place within the context of a genuine relationship, I sometimes think that the authors overstate, or misrepresent, this point. In particular, I was bothered by their assertion that relationship with God ‘ensures special consideration’ of our prayers. I was equally bothered by the way in which they illustrated this point: ‘Prayer is the equivalent of having a few drinks with the boss after work. It doesn’t ensure favor, but it ensures face time.’
What exactly is it that they are saying here? On the one hand, they appear to be saying that God does privilege the prayers of those who have a relationship with God (a point I must disagree with — it smacks too much of elitism, and neglects the fact that God is Lord over all creation and all people), but on the other hand they seem to suggest that relationship doesn’t ensure favour… so what’s going on? It seems to me that what they are really saying is this: God doesn’t show special favour to those who believe in God the way that we do, but those who believe in God the way that we do will be better equipped to see how God answers prayer (this, I think, is what they mean by ‘face time’). This, then, leads us full circle to my first major objection.
Oh, and prayer is much, much more than face time with the boss over a few drinks. Prayer is also a process of individual and communal discipline and formation. And the communal emphasis is important. Prayer is something Christians are to do together. Unfortunately, when the authors talk about prayer, they only seem to talk about an individual talking with God.
Sixth, and finally, the authors display an odd reliance upon popular psychology — and child psychology in particular. Hence, when speaking of the six prayers God always answers, they always try to argue that these prayers — like prayer itself — are somehow instinctual and grounded in our psychological make-up as humans. Of course, this leads to some interesting problems for them. For example, when speaking of ‘why’ prayers, they suggest that although asking ‘why’ appears to be instinctual, in actuality it is a learned behaviour (besides, they go on to say, child psychology teaches us that kids who ask ‘why’ are just looking for attention, and not for an answer — so, of course, this lets God off the hook for not answering our ‘why’ prayers!). Essentially, I am at a loss as to why the authors display such a dependence upon popular psychology. Personally, I would hope that Christian pastors and writers were a little more informed by theology, biblical studies, or social theory… but maybe that’s just me.
By way of conclusion, let me say that I am happy to have read this book. This is not because I find myself agreeing with much of what the authors say. Rather, it is because it has given me a glimpse into popular Christianity and allowed me to formulate my own responses to some of the issues being presented there.
Jesus Saves (a prayer of sorts)
You know, it's all well and good that Jesus saves us from the consequences of our own sins, but I'd much rather he spent more time saving us from the consequences of the sins of others — or, for that matter, saving others from the consequences of our own sins. In particular, it would be nice if he spent a little more time saving the dis-empowered and vulnerable from the sins of the powerful and predatory. Yep. That would be really great.
America: Our 'Dark Knight'? Watching Batman with Zizek
In contrast to the simplistic opposition of good guys and bad guys, spy thrilers with artistic pretensions display all the “realistic psychological complexity” of the characters from “our” side. Far from signaling a balanced view, however, this “honest” acknowledgement of our own “dark side” stands for its very opposite, for the hidden assertion of our supremacy: we are “psychologically complex,” full of doubts, while the opponents are one dimensional fanatical killing machines.
~ Slavoj Zizek, In Defense of Lost Causes
The same, I think, could be said of superhero movies with artistic pretensions. Take The Dark Knight. Batman’s psychological complexity, his struggle with the moral ambiguity related his own actions, and his status as a “Dark Knight”, do not level the playing field between Batman and the evil he resists. For the Joker is, in his own words, “a dog chasing cars”, he is evil and violent, simply for the sake of being evil and violent. He promotes chaos for the sake of chaos. The Joker has no psychological complexity, no internal moral struggle, he is a “fanatical killing machine”. He is thus completely, and utterly, insane. Hence, Batman’s inner turmoil functions as a sign of his supremacy over the forces he resists, personified in the Joker.
Of course, many people have noted that this moves Batman from the realm of the heroic, into the realm of the anti-hero, and that’s all well and good (i.e. that’s where Batman has always belonged), but it doesn’t take us very far.
You see, Zizek’s remarks about “our side” refer to the ideology of the liberal democratic West, and the United States in particular. The Dark Knight functions as a powerful spectacular (think Debord) defense of that ideology.
In today’s world, America can no longer hold on to her heroic pretensions. It is clear that she is waging an illegal war, breaking UN Charters, and refusing to respect decisions made by the World Court. America can no longer be sustained with stories of innocence, and heroism, and fictions about cowboys and savages. That innocence has been lost, and many of the actions America has engaged in appear morally ambiguous (at best — in reality they only appear morally ambiguous to Americans and their allies, the rest of the world is aware that those actions are morally deplorable!). Thus, according to contemporary American ideology, things go like this: aware of the ways in which she will be (unjustly) villified, America still shoulders the burden of engaging in necessary violent actions for the sake of others (like going to war to save the world from terror), even if those others go on to condemn her for those very salvific actions!
Thus, America has become an anti-hero. She is a vigilante, engaging in actions that others condemn, actions that are illegal, for the sake of the greater good. Like Batman. And The Dark Knight ennobles this ideological (but utterly false) vision of America. Batman represents America and her allies, while the Joker represents all the forces of terror that America is fighting. Not only does this become clear through moments in the film — say when Batman is standing at the site of an explosion, a scene that looks a lot like Batman imposed upon ‘ground zero’ in New York, or when Batman decides to covertly use communication technology to spy on others (an act like phone-tapping), a deplorable but necessary act given the Joker as the creator of ‘the state of exception — it is also clear in the way in which the film was marketed. On one of the posters advertising The Dark Knight, we see Batman standing below an office building. Some of the windows of the building have been blown out, and a fire is burning inside. It is up to the reader to decide whether or not the shape created looks more like a bat-symbol, or more like the gap created by a plane flying into a building (cf. http://blog.ugo.com/images/uploads/DrakKnightPoster-4-24-08.jpg). Significantly, this scene never appears in the movie.
Note, then, some of the things that are masked by this ideology, and its recent spectacular defense in The Dark Knight.
(1) Bruce Wayne, Batman in ‘real life’, is portrayed as one of the wealthiest men in the world. This is significant, not only because it allows Batman to have the best technology for his suits and other toys, but because it portrays Batman as a person without any needs. This, then, highlights the altruistic nature of his character. Wayne acts, not for his own sake, or in his own defense, but in defense of others — especially those who cannot defend themselves. Now, when Batman is used as a stand-in for America, we receive the myth of an altruistic America, acting solely out of her desire to see others living free and democratic lives.
This is a complete reversal of the reality well expressed by Henry Kissinger: “America doesn’t have friends. America only has interests.” Granted, like Bruce Wayne, America is one of the wealthiest powers out there today. But, unlike Bruce Wayne, she is not independently wealthy. She is wealthy because she has been plundering other nations for decades — all the while posing as if she had those other nations’ best interests in mind!
Therefore, although the altruistic Batman is unjustly reviled, and becomes something of a martyr for the sake of the masses he loves so much (or so the story goes), we must not be so foolish as to draw the same conclusion about America’s actions on the world stage today. America is reviled because she is plundering and killing the innocent and those who are without defense against her power, so let us be careful that Hollywood doesn’t confuse us on this point.
(2) As America cannot be equated with the altruistic Batman, so also those who struggle violently against America and her interests — notably groups that are labeled ‘fanatical Jihadists’ or something like that — cannot be equated with the Joker. On this point, let me mention another passage from Zizek’s In Defense of Lost Causes. In discussing the ways in which our society forces certain perspectives and presuppositions upon us, Zizek mentions the Serbsky Institute that existed in Soviet Moscow. This institute existed to torture any who internally opposed the Soviet Union, for “[t]he overriding belief was that a person had to be insane to be opposed to Communism.” Zizek then argues that the same sort of attitude was operative in response to Mel Gibson’s drunken anti-Semitic outburst in 2006. With all the talk of Gibson’s need for rehabilitation and counselling, Zizek argues that our society tells us that “a person has to be insane to be anti-Semitic”. He then draws this conclusion:
This easy way out enables us to avoid the key issue: that, precisely, anti-Semitism in our Western societies was — and is — not an ideology displayed by the deranged, but an ingredient of spontaneous ideological attitudes of perfectly sane people, of our ideological sanity itself. (To be clear: Zizek isn’t defending anti-Semitism in this passage or elsewhere — he believes that Gibson’s attitude, and the popular response to that attitude, are both problematical.)
What I think Zizek is doing in this pasage, is arguing for the importance of exploring the ideological beliefs that inspire and sustain the actions that we perform. He wants to expose those ideologies, and he wants to ask, “why is this particular ideology appealing to this person? Is there, perhaps, some good or understandable reason why this person holds to this belief (say, for example, the person who resists Communism)?” and so on and so forth.
However, this is precisely the sort of discussion that America does not want to engage in. Hence, it promotes the view that terrorists are insane, that they are lovers of death and chaos, operating strictly out of madness and inexplicable hatred. Thus, the Joker perfectly represents the ‘enemy’ as America wishes us to perceive that ‘enemy.’
However, the truth is that most of our ‘enemies’, most ‘terrorists’, are quite intelligent and are perfectly sane. Consequently, we must engage in precisely the sort of discussion that Zizek recomends. Yet, this quickly reveals that some people actually have understandable reasons for becoming militant fundamentalists — American businesses stole our land, and led my family into starvation and poverty; American planes fire-bombed my village; American companies sold weapons to the people who shot my family; and so on and so forth. This, then, is part of the reason why some people would be drawn toward a militant form of fundamentalism, but it is precisely this sort of thing that America must repress. Better to represent the enemy as a Joker. A mad dog chasing cars.
(3) Notice, also, the way in which political acts of lying and deception are justified. Apart from one moment, The Dark Knight portrays the people as always on the verge of hopelessness that quickly turns into anarchic violence and self-destructive chaos. Therefore, the people must be presented with a fictional “White Knight” in order to provide them with hope, and so that order can be sustained. Thus, continuing with Zizek’s comments in In Defense of Lost Causes, the only way to sustain Order is, paradoxically, by transgressing that Order (Agamben’s state of exception, again). But this comes with a price: “The price we pay for this is that the Order which thus survives is a mockery of itself, a blasphemous imitation of Order.”
Unfortunately, what The Dark Knight offers is a noble vision of this transgression. Sure, it may not be presented as ideal, but it certainly is presented as the best possible option for us — and it’s hella cool. Thus, how can we not agree when Dick Cheney tells us that “we also have to work… sort of the dark side… A lot of what needs to be done here will have to be done quietly, without any discussion.” We become incapable of seeing that this sort of Order is actually Disorder, and that this sort of structure is only the systematisation of chaos — the very thing it claims to counteract, it perpetuates (which is why America is always a nation at war, or encouraging, supplying, and funding wars elsewhere).
However, we the people — or, rather, the multitude (which Hardt and Negri carefully distinguish from the concept of ‘the people’) — should take offense at such portrayals of the public. The violence that runs just beneath the surface of us is not a self-destructive, insane expression of chaos. Rather, it is a violence that we wish to direct towards the powers-that-be, towards the political persons who lie to us and deceive us. As such, it is an expression of hope, not hopelessness. America, and The Dark Knight, would have us believe that we need to be saved from ourselves, but in reality it is the powers-that-be who know that they are the ones who may need to be saved from us. Consequently, they portray themselves as our saviours, and in this act, they continue to hold sway over us. In reality, we have nothing to lose but our chains, and the blood of others — our brothers and sisters around the world — that has been poured out over our hands, staining our clothes, the fuel we consume, and the food that we eat.
Back Soon…
Just a quick note to say that I have been out of town and away from any computers, for the last little while. However, I fly home tomorrow, and hope to continue the conversation with Halden, Eric, Jonas, et al., in the very near future (oh, and I also need to write my “Response Part 2: The Need for Academic Endeavours”).
For now, I'll point out that Eric has written his own three part series, in response to my question (cf. http://ericdarylmeyer.wordpress.com/) and Ben has also written a response on his blog (cf. http://benbyerly.wordpress.com/2008/07/02/the-academy-and-the-poor/).
As I said, I hope to respond in more detail soon, but for now let me say that I really am interested in hearing what any and all have to say on this subject. This includes those outside of the realm of academia, for I really do believe that the question posed is one that people in all areas of life should consider. My thanks to Heather and Kelley for speaking from their own experiences and from other areas of expertise. I reckon jumping into a discussion full of people who like to throw around technical words might be a little off-putting, but I'm glad that both of you did.
The Academy and the Poor: Response Part 1. The Need for Justification
During the last nine years more than enough ideas for the salvation of the world have been developed by the International (if the world can be saved by ideas) and I defy anyone to come up with a new one. This is the time not for ideas but for action, for deeds.
So said Mikhail Bakunin when he quit the Jura Federation in 1873. Yet one could easily say the same today. Surely, confronted as we are with the monumental evils and injustices of our world, now is also “the time not for ideas but for action”. Now, perhaps more than any other moment in history, we are aware of the great harm that is resulting both from our actions — be that the harm that we cause to the environment because of our dependence upon things like oil and plastics, or the harm that we cause others through our dependence upon cheap goods, produced by foreign children, or any other number of things — and from our inactivity — be that the apathy we exhibit towards the AIDS pandemic, or our apathy towards the plight of the urban poor in our own cities, or any other number of things.
Furthermore, not only are we aware of the the ways in which we are causing harm to the earth and to others, we are also aware of any number of solutions to these problems. It's just that we choose not to inconvenience ourselves and pursue those solutions. Thus, although we know that it is possible to live without an automobile, we choose to continue to drive; although we know how to reduce our dependence on plastics, we can't really be bothered to follow through; although we are aware of how we can help reduce the impact of AIDS (we've all seen the World Vision commercials, haven't we?), we choose to change the channel; although we know that we can “invite the homeless poor into our homes” (as the Lord, in Isaiah, tells us we should), we choose not to.
Thus, just as there are a great multitude of problems of which we are aware, there is also a great multitude of causes — a host of people already working on implementing solutions — to which we could dedicate ourselves.
Likewise, the Scripture appears to call us inexorably, to simple, straightforward action. Thus Deut 15:
If there is a poor man with you, one of your brothers, in any of your towns in your land which the Lord your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart, nor close your hand from your poor brother; but you shall freely open your hand to him, and shall generously lend him sufficient for his need in whatever he lacks… You shall generously give to him, and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him, because for this thing the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all your undertakings. For the poor will never cease to be in the land; therefore I command you, saying, 'You shall freely open your hand to your brother, to your needy and poor in your land.'
And Is 35:
Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knee that gives way. Say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong; do no fear. Your God will come. He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution. He will come and save you.'
And Micah 6:
He has told you, O you people, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God?
And so on and so forth, right through Jesus' embodied proclamation of holistic liberation, the Pauline and Johannine ethics of cruciform love, and James' definition of true religion. All of this is unavoidably straight-forward. If we are to be like our Father in heaven, we must love like our Father in heaven (Mt 5). And, just as we know God's love because of the actions God has taken with, for, and amongst us, so also our love of others must be demonstrated in our actions with, for, and amongst others. Furthermore, just as God descended to seek and save those who were lost, sick, and damned (Lk 19; Mt 9; Ro 5), so also must we priortise thoe who are abandoned, those who are sick, and those who are damned today. All of this is summarised quite well by the author of 1 Jn 3:
This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.
Thus, I believe that the onus genuinely does rest upon the shoulder of the Academic. In light of these things — and the observations of Wolterstorff, Moltmann, and the liberation theologians, which I mentioned in my last post on this topic — the Academic must justify his or her study, and must justify that study in a way deemed satisfactory by the poor.
After all, it is the poor who will judge us. It is the poor person we encounter in the crucified and risen Christ who calls us to account for our actions, and it is the poor person of Jesus Christ who says to us, “whatever you did or did not do for 'the least of these' you did or did not do for me.” Hence, if the poor will one day judge us, we would do well to be concerned as to whether or not we find them currently accepting the justifications we offer for our Academic endeavours.
Consequently, if in this post I have made the case for the need for justification of Academic efforts, in my next post in this series, I hope to present what I consider to be some worthwhile justifications thereof.
An Interlude on Memes
In a faltering effort to start a ‘meme’, I asked the following question: “when confronted with ‘the Poor’ of our day, how do you justify your own academic endeavours?”
I had only a few people take me up on this question — mostly in the comments section, although Patrik responded on his blog (http://shrinkinguni.blogspot.com/2008/06/meme-academy-and-poor.html). To be honest, I’m not that surprised that few theo or biblio bloggers picked up this meme. I reckon the lack of response is due, in part, to at least two things: (1) the fact that this is a difficult question to answer, and one that most academics prefer to avoid dwelling on in detail (or, perhaps, have never bothered to dwell on in detail); and (2) the fact that most memes operate as a means of self-branding, wherein we increase our own personal brand status by demonstrating our knowledge and diversity of reading or experience in various realms of life and culture. Consequently, memes about things like our favourite books, or movies, or twentieth century theologians, or whatever else, are (1) easy to write; and (2) increase our own brand-status by showing others the depth and (surprising!) diversity of our tastes.
If that’s not bad enough, these memes also operate well within a culture of consumption, and can be an effective means of advertising goods to other consumers. We read these memes and think, ‘I should go buy that book!’ or ‘I should go rent that movie!’ and so on and so forth. The same thing goes for other links we often provide on our blogs — things like amazon wish lists come to mind — a convenient ways of self-branding that also perpetuates cycles of consumption.
Hence, my usual hesitation to take part in these activities (my monthly reading lists being the notable exception). It’s true, taking part in memes is a good way to increase the traffic that your blog gets — it lets you tag others, who then tag you, resulting in new readers coming to your blog, and so on and so forth — but this is why I deliberately chose not to tag anybody in my previous post. Honestly, if we’re writing on our blogs simply in order to draw readers — if we’re writing simply because we desire an (ever increasing) audience — then I reckon we’re writing for the wrong reasons.
That said, I really should get around to responding to the question that I posed regarding the Academy and the Poor…
April & May Books
Unfortunately, I’ve been crazy busy lately, so these reviews (as inadequate as they are) have been delayed. My apologies for any spelling or grammar errors in these reviews. I have yet to reread them in detail (Busy, you know? Did I say I was busy these days?)
1. Making the Best of It: Following Christ in the Real World by John G. Stackhouse, Jr.
I’m still hoping to find the time to write a more detailed review of this book, so I’ll leave this to the side for the moment. Essentially, this book is Stackhouse’s attempt to find a ‘third way’ of being Christian today. Therefore, Stackhouse formulates a way of being Christian that eschews the poles of triumphalism and sectarianism, while actively, but ‘realistically’, seeking the greatest possible good in the world in which we find ourselves. To be honest, I’m pretty conflicted about what Stackhouse has to say. For example, he uses the language of ‘realism’ to argue that perfection is impossible and so we must accept some compromise in order to attain to the limited good we are able to achieve. Hence, amongst other compromises, he argues in favour of ‘just’ forms of violence and war. In terms of accepting violence, Stackhouse and I completely disagree with each other as I believe that — short of some sort of massive divine act of affirmation — violence is never an option for Christians. Therefore, this makes me want to refuse Stackhouse’s understanding of ‘realism’. However, when I think of my own approach to some things, and other non-violent approaches of which I have spoken approvingly (say, for example, those in Europe who lied and deceived the authorities in order to harbour Jews during WWII), I have realized that there is also some ‘compromise’ involved in these things. Thus, for example, I have absolutely no problem with lying to authorities in order to save a life; but I have major problems with taking a life in order to save another life. Consequently, Stackhouse’s argument would suggest that I have created an arbitrary distinction amongst two actions that are both compromised. Very interesting. I haven’t yet determined where to go with this. However, I’ve met with Stackhouse to discuss his book, and will hopefully meet again with him in the near future, so I’ll save further thoughts for later.
2. Experiences in Theology: Ways and Forms of Christian Theology by Jurgen Moltmann.
This book, which functions as something of an introduction to theology, is actually the conclusion to Moltmann’s “contributions to systematic theology” series. Although other theologians tend to deal with method and other traditionally prolegomenal matters at the beginning of their contributions, Moltmann argues that such things are best left to the end, after one has spent several years (or decades) exploring these things. Method, Moltmann suggests, is something that emerges as one actually does theology, not something that can be predetermined. Further, is is only after that work has been done, and those years have gone by, that one can comment on the various foci and emphases that determine the work of other theologians.
So, this book is broken into four main parts plus an epilogue. In part one, Moltmann asks, “What is theology?” wherein he explores the significance of one’s own Sitz im Leben/locus theologicus. He works through the relationship of theology to one’s experiences, to the church, to the university, to atheism, and to other faiths. Ultimately, Moltmann argues that God is the centre of theology and the theolgians is most defined by his or her “passion” for God. Significantly, Moltmann means “passion” in both senses of that word — God is both the torment and the delight of the theologian. From here, Moltmann wishes to draw attention to three aspects of Christian theology: its historicity, its reasonableness, and its natural-ness. The historical aspect of Christian theology must be emphasised because it is grounded in the biblical narrative, the reasonableness of Christianity must be understood in solidarity with (and not over against) Christian hope and love, and the natural-ness of Christian theology is, itself, that natural-ness that is revealed by God.
In part two, Moltmann goes on to clarify some of the key concepts that are central to his first break-out book, Theology of Hope, and which ocntinue to run through his work. He explains his use of the terms like ‘promise’, ‘covenant’, ‘hope’, and ‘future’, which are all a part of his broader ‘hermeneutic of hope’, which seeks to ‘interpret God’s promise, out of which the awakened hope makes men and women creatively alive in the possibilities of history’. This then leads Moltmann to conclude with some reflections on various theological epistemologies.
In part three — probably the part that I found most exciting, although I really enjoyed the whole book — Moltmann explores various streams of liberation theology, from the perspective he brings given his own locus theologicus. Thus, he explores ‘black theology for whites’, ‘Latin American liberation theology for the First World’, ‘Minjung theology for the ruling classes’, and ‘Feminist theology for men’. Throughout, Moltmann is concerned to discovers ways in which both the oppressed, and the oppressor are able to overcome the dehumanization that occurs amongst all parties, when oppression is operative (this particular emphasis has always been one of Moltmann’s strengths — which is quite apropos given that Moltmann writes as a German survivor of WWII).
Then, in the final chapter of this section and, IMO, the best chapter in the book, Moltmann poses a series of ‘unanswered questions’ for liberation theologians. Here are the questions that he asks:
(1) If praxis is the criterion of theory, what is the criterion of praxis? In response to this, Moltmann argues that it is Christ, and the discipleship of Christ crucified (who is also not present in the poor, the sick, and the children), who must be the criterion for praxis, and for the praxis of justice supported by liberation theologians.
(2) If the crucified people are to redeem the world, who then redeems the crucified people? On this point, Moltmann suggests that the liberation theologians are simply adding to the burden of the poor — not only are they burdened with the consequences of our sins, they are now also burdened with being made the agents of our salvation. The people, Moltmann argues, must be called to ‘break their chains and throw them away’; they should not be called continue to bear the sins of the world.
(3) If the goal of liberation is to make the people the determining subject of their own history, what is the goal of that history? In other words: if the goal is liberty, what is liberty for? Moltmann argues that liberty ‘must have as its goal justice, peace and the integrity of creaiton, in expectation of the coming kingdom of God’.
(4) Does liberation theology lead to the liberation of the poor and women from Christian theology? Given what we now know of Christianity’s complicity with forces of colonialism, imperialism, and oppression, Moltmann wonders if liberation theology risks leading people away from Christianity back to pre-Christian forms of religion.
In part four, Moltmann returns to a (perhaps the?) dominant theme in his own work: the Trinity. Here he discusses his reasons for focusing upon this theme (its political significance, its rootedness in a theology of the cross, and ways in which he has been influenced by Orthodox theology). He then reiterates some of what he has said about the historical nature of our understanding of the Trinity, before going on to explore a more spatial understanding of the ‘broad place’ of the Trinity. Hence, Moltmann’s prior, more eschatological, understanding of the Trinity, are filled out by an understanding of the Trinity as a ‘home’ defined by perichoresis. He then relates this to the person’s of the Trinity, to our experiences of the Trinity, to our relationships with one another, and our relationship to society more broadly.
Finally, in the epilogue, Moltmann concludes with some thoughts on the relationship between theology and science.
All told, this is a really excellent book and a fantastic introduction to Moltmann’s own thinking, as well as to the thinking of some other, complementary streams in contemporary theology. Usually I find books that deal with matters of method, and other prolegomenal issues to be rather dry and, well, boring, but this one was anything but that. Damn good.
On another note, it was also interesting to read this book at the same time as Stackhouse’s book as they nearly polar opposite approaches to the voices they choose as dialogue partners. Stackhouse is quite comfortable in prioritising white, middle or upper class intellectual men as his primary dialogue partners (i.e. those who are like Stackhouse) whereas Moltmann chooses to prioritise dialogue with those who are different than him. It makes for some interesting comparisons.
3. Empire by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri.
There are a lot of reasons why this is a really good book but let me be as clear as possible from the start: this is a really, really good book. Indeed, of all the ‘post-Marxist’ theorists I have been reading lately, I would recommend Hardt and Negri (H&N) as a starting point because they are able to saw, with great clarity, what many others say much more obliquely (notably Deleuze and Guatarri, but also Zizek and Baudrillard). If one reads H&N, one will be able to more readily understand the discussion that is going on in these circles.
That said, the primary thrust of H&N’s argument is that the new global form of ’empire’ is found within the politico-economic institutions of global capitalism. Their ultimate goal is to be able to resist this empire, but they emphasise that we must be certain of the nature of the empire we are resisting if we are to be effective. Hence, they argue that the Nation State has now been marginalised within the global context, and efforts that focus there are misguided. In order to make this point, they provide a captivating historical overview that spans from the middle ages up until the present, and focuses upon the ways in which sovereignty is maintained even after the shift from the plane of transcendence to the plane of imminence (i.e. while the plane of transcendence was used to control the masses in an earlier era, the movement into the plane of imminence is one that has the potential to overthrow the powers-that-be; therefore, the powers-that-be must renegotiate the socio-political sphere in order to maintain their sovereignty).
H&N offer a convincing analysis and criticism of the way things are. However, they are hesitant to offer much in the way of solutions, as they believe that such solutions will only be found ‘at ground level’ as the multitude (H&N’s multi-faceted alternative to codified ‘people’ created and controlled by the nation state) continues to assert itself against all forms of sovereignty. Indeed, they argue that it is the resistance created by the multitude that is the driving force of history, for, if things were left up to the power-that-be, they would ensure that everything stays as it is. Therefore, it is the multitude which is responsible for each new mutation in sovereignty, and it is the multitude, H&N suggest, that will ultimately be responsible for destroying empire as we know it.
Okay… hmmm… this reviews doesn’t sound nearly as exciting or stimulating as the book is, so don’t let that throw you off — you should read this book.
4. Social Aspects of Early Christianity by Abraham J. Malherbe
Malherbe, along with E. A. Judge and Gerd Theissen, is one of the key foundations for current sociological readings of the Pauline letters. Such readings were largely inspired by Adolf Deissmann’s classic Light From the Ancient East. In that work, Deissmann argued that Paul, his companions, and the churches he helped birth, were firmly rooted amongst the poor, uneducated, lower classes of Graeco-Roman society. Due to Deissmann, and others like Karl Kautsky and his Foundations of Christianity, this became the dominant sociological reading of the Pauline letters. However, Malherbe, Judge, and Theissen, all challenged this position, and have created a new consensus. They have convincingly argued that Paul’s churches had members from a range of social locations. Although the majority may have been poor and had little status, they have demonstrated that there were currently wealthy and relatively influential people in Paul’s churches and, in particular, in places of power in those churches.
Thus, in this book, Malherbe seeks to demonstrate that Paul would have been a person of relatively high status, with a level of rhetoric and an awareness of Greek philosophy, that demonstrates a level of advanced (i.e. privileged) education. Consequently, he seeks to demonstrate that Paul was drawn to people at a status level similar to his own, who then became the leaders in the local churches. Further, due in part to Paul’s social position, Malherbe argues that Paul was largely a political conservative who trusted in the social structures of power.
In my own opinion, Malherbe, Judge, and Theissen are correct to point out the mix of status levels in Paul’s communities. In this regard they offer an helpful corrective to Deissmann et al. However, I’m not convinced that Paul had such high status, nor am I convinced that Paul wanted those with high status in society to also have that high status within the church. Further, we should not forget that, although there was a minority of people in Paul’s churches who had relatively high status, there still were no members (that we know of) who came from the elite ruling classes, and the vast majority of members were still those with little status, who lived in poverty, performing labour work (a type of work despised by the aristocratic members of society — something those of us with a bourgeois Protestant work ethic should keep in mind when we read what Paul has to say about working with one’s hands!).
Even less convincing is Malherbe’s portrayal of Paul as socially Conservative. However, I’ll hold off commenting on that in detail, as I’m writing a thesis on that topic.
5. Paul: A Jew on the Margins by Calvin J. Roetzel.
I’ve got to say that Roetzel has been growing on me. I worked my way through the relevant sections of some of his earlier writings as a part of my thesis research (and felt mostly ambivalent about what he said), but this book certainly stands out, and seems to mark a self-acknowledged turning point for Roetzel himself.
This is how Roetzel explains the shift, his title, and his thesis:
I have come to see Paul more and more as a marginal Jew who stood on the boundary between religious convictions and cultural commitments that strained in opposite directions… He was marginal… in a double sense. He was pushed to the margin by his critics in positions in power, and he was able to exploit that location as a scene of radical possibility. But his life on the margin possessed a[nother] dimension… He was absolutely convinced that God had assigned him, like Jeremiah, to his location on the margin.
In exploring this type of marginal and ‘radical’ Paul, Roetzel roots Paul firmly in apocalyptic thought, for it is apocalypticism that especially gives to the margins the space for radical, even revolutionary, possibility. However, unlike other apocalpytic thinkers, Paul stresses the need to love and missionally engage with outsiders (rather than simply withdrawing and waiting for the destruction of those outsiders). Thus, Roetzel writes: ‘In a world in which oppressive inertia holds sway, apocalypticism envisions change — radical, dramatic, revolutionary, even convulsive change’. But in all of this Paul, due in part to his embrace of his own marginality, stresses a theology of the cross that counters any theology of glory, or any over-realised eschatology. Thus, Roetzel concludes: ‘Paul’s convictions and fertile mind combined to exploit that location to articulate a vision that was so daring and so demanding that it was soon compromised, and yet it remained in these seven occasional letters to subvert the very compromises made.’
Not surprisingly, I enjoyed this book very much. It is pregnant with (mostly) unexplored implications for how we live today as Christians.
6. Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays by E. A. Judge, edited by David M. Scholer.
Although I mentioned Judge above, in my comments on Malherbe, I should highlight that, although they agree on some things, they completely disagree on Paul’s relationship to society at large. While Malherbe sees Paul as a fairly high status defender of the status quo, Judge sees Paul as a social radical, who is trying to create subversive communities within the cities of the Roman Imperium. Thus, in these essays Judge explores a number of topics: the way in which the Christian associations were a genuine alternative to the ‘family values’ that were the conerstone of the empire, as well as an alternative to the impotent voluntary associations that existed in Paul’s day; the way in which Paul deliberately eschews the relatively high status he possessed in an act of ‘radical self-humiliation’; the way in which Paul conflicts with Jewish and Greek ideals; the way in which Paul subordinates individual rights to the needs of others; the way in which he engaged in an ‘head-on personal assault on the status system which supplied the ideology of the established order’; and so on and so forth.
Judge really does seem to be ahead of his time in a lot of these essays, so it is good to see his insights bearing fruit in our time.
7. Theocracy in Paul’s Praxis and Theology by Dieter Georgi.
In this book, Georgi explores the way in which Paul understands God’s sovereignty, as well as the way in which that understanding impacts the kind of Christian politics practiced in the name of that sovereignty (yep, as you’ve already guessed from this one sentence, this is also a damn good book, and one that had me hooked from start to finish).
Given, Georgi notes, that God’s power and rule always had a political dimension in the Old Testament, it is not surprising to find that this carries over in the New Testament, in the lives of first century Jews. Further, Paul was rooted in rather radical streams of Second Temple Judaism: apocalypticism, Jewish missionary theology, and Gnosticism (well, two out of three isn’t bad!). However, this too is unsurprising, for, as Georgi states, ‘radicalism to the point of intellectual and political rebellion was not an invention of Jesus or his followers. It is the heritage of the Jewish Bible’.
However, Georgi argues that Paul rethinks all of these things in light of the fact that Jesus has been revealed as the Messiah and the Lord who presides over the order ordained by God. This, then, continues to have significant political and communal implications, and leads Paul to shape ‘collective alternatives to the ongoing community of the people of God’. In particular, Paul begins to shape communities that offer an alternative to the order, and power structures, found within the Roman empire. In making this point, Georgi provides a thematic, and rhetorical overview of Paul’s epistles, demonstrating the ways in which Paul is countering imperial ideology (i.e. Augustan theology). This overview (a stimulating read!) leads Georgi to conclude that Paul is not simply engaging in ‘passive resistance’ but is in fact engaging in active resistance — ‘an act of political aggression’ — which is precisely why Paul was charged with treason.
As I stated above, I really enjoyed this book. Another one that seems ahead of its time.
8. Travels in the Skin Trade: Tourism and the Sex Industry by Jeremy Seabrook.
For whatever reason, the location of Thailand (which is the focus of Seabrook’s book) seems to have dominated much of the mainstream press’s attention to the subjects of the sexual exploitation of children, human trafficking, and sex tourism. Granted, things seem to occur on a larger or more public scale in Thailand, but we need to remember that there is nothing going on in Thailand that isn’t also occuring in our own backyards (this is certainly true of the two cities I know well — Vancouver and Toronto — and I am sure it is also true of most other urban centres around the world). For this reason, I have tended to stay away from reading more detailed reports on Thailand, and have been trying to read literature that addresses what is going on in other places of the world.
However, I ended up picking up Seabrook’s book (in a free bin), and am glad that I did so. He brings a couple of comparatively unique emphases to his take on this subject. First of all, he continually links issues of sexual exploitation, trafficking, and sex tourism to the broader economic realities of global capitalism. He also emphasises the role that (predominantly American) military operations and bases have played in developing the sex trade in Thailand, and other Asian countries. This is an important emphasis because it causes us to begin to see some of the ‘big picture’ issues that surround sex work. It distances the subject from the question of personal vices, or morals, and reveals the broader systemic structures that undergird these things. Secondly, Seabrook’s approach is somewhat unique because he listens to voices on both sides of the issue. That is to say, her interviews women, children, and those who work on their behalf, but he also interviews a good many of the johns who go to Thailand. It was especially interesting to hear these men speak of how they understood what they were doing. Frequently, there was an interesting reversal, wherein the men saw themselves as victims (giving women or children money, and then feeling betrayed when it turned out that the women wanted more money!), and there was a continual justification process, wherein everyone involved rationalized what they did (this was true even of the pedophiles Seabrook interviewed — those who slept with thirteen year olds despised those who slept with eight year olds, and so on and so forth).
So, all in all, this book was an quick and interesting read. It is mostly full of interviews, and never goes into too much deal on the broader issues, but it would be a helpful primer for any who are interested in learning more about Thailand’s history with sex tourism.
Meme: The Academy and the Poor
In the final chapter of Until Justice & Peace Embrace, Nicholas Wolterstorff argues that theory must be praxis-oriented (especially given our recognition of the injustices that are rampant within the world, and our recognition of our own responsibilities, and abilities, to effect change). The scholar, Wolterstorff argues, cannot claim a form of rationality that is detached from the struggle, for a “seesaw battle is taking place in history between the forces that advance and the forces that retard shalom” and neutrality is not an option. Hence, Wolterstorff asks: “Is it not the calling of scholars, and certainly of Christian scholars, to participate in that battle?”
Wolterstorff believes that it is indeed the calling of Christian scholars to participate in that struggle by making a commitment to justice as the governing interest of their theorizing. This is theorizing “in the service of the cause of struggling for justice.”
Further, following the insights of both Kuyper and Marx, Wolterstorff argues that one must learn to listen to those who are in very different geographical, social, and economic locations than our own, for socially produced malformations and ideologies will significantly influence one's own religious beliefs and moral convictions.
In all of this, Wolterstorff mirrors much that has been said by liberation theologians, and other political theologians (like Moltmann). And I am convinced by these arguments. I believe that, confronted as we are with the massive brokenness of the world, and the suffering of our neighbours, our academic endeavours must be shaped by certain commitments. We are not free to pursue every little rabbit-trail that we find captivating. Rather, our scholarship is to be part of our participation in the embodied proclamation of the Lordship of Jesus and ongoing his mission of forgiveness, liberation, and new creation. Further, I also believe that, to more fully understand this proclamation and its implications, we must move into the company of the poor, and listen to what they have to tell us.
This, then, is the question I would like to ask, as I attempt to start a meme: when confronted with 'the Poor' of our day, how do you justify your own academic endeavours? I invite any and all readers of this blog to respond to this question on their own blogs (or in the comments section) and to invite others to respond.
I have my own response to this question — my own way of understanding my academic endeavours in light of my commitment to the poor — but I would like to hear what others have to say, before I present my own thoughts.
A Supranatural Sexuality: Further Problems for Those Who Argue "from Nature"
In my recent comments on homosexuality, I attempted to demonstrate that arguments based upon the ‘naturalness’, or lack thereof, of homosexuality cannot be based upon Gen 1-2, when we take those texts at face value. Rather, those who read Gen 1-2 as a condemnation of gay unions, tend to filter the text at hand through the lens of a particular (and rather simplistic) reading of Ro 1. According to these exegetes, Ro 1 suggests that homosexuality is unnatural, and therefore immoral.
Now here is an interesting idea.
Paul’s comments about the ‘unnatural’ nature of homosexuality are based upon his experiences as an observant Jew, living within the diaspora, during the first century CE. From this perspective, I suspect that a case could be made that Paul’s comments about what is ‘natural’ or ‘unnatural’ are based upon his observations of nature. That homosexuality would be considered ‘unnatural’ is just as obvious as, oh, the fact the men should have short hair and women should have long hair (1 Cor 11.14-15: “Does not the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him, but that if a woman has long hair, it is her glory?”).
This leads to two further ideas.
(1) Those who wish to cling to the ‘natural’ argument in Ro 1, need to demonstrate how this ‘natural’ argument is more significant, long-lasting, useful, or whatever, than the ‘natural’ argument Paul makes in 1 Cor 11. (Good luck with that!)
(2) Those who wish to cling to the ‘natural’ argument in Ro 1, now do so against what we have observed in nature. Now this is interesting because, if I am correct that Paul believed that the unnaturalness of homosexuality was actually easily observable in nature, then this position risks contradicting itself. You see, it is now clear that (for many people) homosexuality is not a choice, and homosexuality has also been well documented within nature, and within the actions of other species. In response to these observations, those who wish to assert that homosexuality is ‘unnatural’ simply assert that these things are signs of the truly pervasive nature of the fall. But note what then occurs: (a) that which is ‘natural’ is increasingly defined by that which exists outside of the realm of nature — and so talk of the ‘natural’ is increasingly supranatural (i.e. there is essentially no proof from nature — say the discovery of a ‘gay gene’ or whatever — which would then be convincing to those who hold this position); and (b) Paul’s method of argumentation is reversed and, seemingly, discounted. Paul makes an argument based upon his observations of what appears to be obvious in nature, and now some Christians wish to affirm Paul’s argument while simultaneously arguing that we should not make arguments based upon our observations of what appears to be obvious in nature!