Well, I had intended to write more detailed reviews of some of the books that I read in July. Unfortunately, I have had little time for reviews (or blogging) over the last month and now I find myself at a place where August has come and gone and I am only just finishing July’s reviews. Therefore, I am posting my reading list in an incomplete state as I don’t know when I’ll have time to get to writing my “reviews” of the books I read in August. I might try to poke away at them, but if there is one book in particular that appears on August’s list that folks would like me to review, then I would be willing to do that. Anyway, these are the books that I read this summer (most of which were read in preparation for a seminar I am taking on “Christianity and Capitalism” — say what you want about “postmodern” philosophy and theory, it is still an important tool for answering the question: “What time is it?”).
July Books
1. Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration by Joseph Ratzinger.
I have already reviewed this book in some detail in a separate post (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/117003.html) so I’ll say no more about it here.
2. Man on His Own: Essays in the Philosophy of Religion by Ernst Bloch.
This book is a collection of pieces selected from Bloch’s oeuvre. By and large, the essays were incredibly stimulating and provocative. Despite the fact that Bloch is an atheist and (gasp!) a Marxist, I think that he has an excellent grasp on some of the major themes within the biblical narrative (his reflections on the exodus, on the prophets, and on Jesus and the kingdom of God reminded my of both Walter Brueggemann and N. T. Wright) although he does seem to go wrong with Paul (i.e. he sets Paul over and against Jesus). In fact, having read their books together, I almost wonder if Bloch has a better understanding of Christianity than Ratzinger! With that in mind, let me quote from what Moltmann says in the introduction to this collection:
God’s defenders are not necessarily closer to God than God’s accusers. It is not Job’s theological friends who are justified, but Job is. In the Psalms, protest and jubilation ring out in the same voice. Wherever in history the combination ceased to work, the theologians would learn as much about God from atheists as the atheists could perhaps learn from the theologians.
3. Forget Foucault by Jean Baudrillard.
Because I think so highly of Foucault, I thought it might be worthwhile to read what some of his detractors have to say. Consequently, I thought I would pick up this piece by Baudrillard (which also includes an interview Sylvere Lotringer conducted with Baudrillard entitled “Forget Baudrillard”). To be honest, I have some rather mixed feelings about this book.
Essentially Baudrillard argues that Foucault, far from engaging in a “discourse of truth,” is actually engaging in a “mythic discourse” that simply mirrors the power Foucault describes. Furthermore, Baudrillard goes on to argue that Foucault is able to speak so compelling of power, only because power is dead. Baudrillard pushes Foucault’s thinking “over the edge” and argues that power hasn’t simply been disseminated, rather, it has completely dissolved. He then spends the bulk of this essay making the same argument in relation to what Foucault has to say about sexuality. Essentially, according to Baudrillard, Foucault’s work is “magisterial but obsolete.”
Over against Foucault, Baudrillard (at least as far as I can tell — I’ll admit that I found this essay somewhat dense) argues that it is better to think through the contemporary situation through the lenses of production and seduction. He argues that “production” should be understood not as material manufacture but as a “rendering visible” or a causing to appear (pro-ducere). “Seduction,” therefore, “withdraws something from the visible order and so runs counter to production.” Furthermore, Baudrillard understands reality as essentially fluid and devoid of meaning and so Foucault’s discourse on sex and power is then understood as a form of seduction (and the mirror of the powers Foucault assaults). Thus, because he understands reality as “the locus of simulacrum of accumulation against death,” and “no more than a stockpile of dead matter, dead bodies, and dead language,” Baudrillard argues that it is seduction that is stronger than both power and sexuality (which are caught up in illusions about the real and, consequently, fall into the realm of the imaginary).
Thus, the true secret of power, and sexuality, is that they don’t exist (indeed, the secret of the great politicians was knowing that power did not exist). Consequently, Baudrillard argues that the way to respond to power is not to resist it but to “dare” those who hold power to push it to its limit. He writes:
A challenge to power to be power, power of the sort that is total, irreversible, without scruple, and with no limit to its violence. No form of power dares to go that far… And so it is in facing this unanswerable challenge that power starts to break up.
What does Baudrillard mean by this sort of challenge? I’m not entirely sure, but I think that he means that, rather than acknowledging power and struggling with it, we should simply choose to disregard it… and in this way we force its hand. This form of action, perhaps, can be seen in the early Christians who said, “Caesar may tell us not to call Jesus ‘Lord,’ and he may threaten to kill us if we do, but we will continue to call Jesus ‘Lord,’ regardless.” In this way power was pushed to its limit, and broken up.
So, what is one to do with all this? To begin with, I don’t entirely buy Baudrillard’s critique of Foucault, rooted as it is in nihilism. If our discourse is somehow related to truth (and not simply to myth), if our concepts and structures are somehow related to reality (and are not just simulacra) then I think that Baudrillard’s case is undermined. Indeed, part of the reason why I am so attracted to Foucault is because of the way in which his discourse on power parallels what the Pauline (and deutero-Pauline) literature has to say about the Powers (cf. Walter Wink’s trilogy).
Furthermore, I think that I was being rather gracious to Baudrillard when I used the example of the early Christians to illustrate his case. Rather than leading to that sort of “radical” lifestyle, Baudrillard seems to live a life that says, “Look, none of this is worth anything anyway, so why waste your time fighting anything.” Ultimately, Baudrillard engages in philosophy because he finds it amusing. And so he lives a rather comfortable life, plays with words, and waits for death.
4. The System of Objects by Jean Baudrillard.
I found this book to be so exciting that I immediately went out and picked up two more by Baudrillard (who, in this work anyway, reminded my a great deal of both Barthes and McLuhan — indeed, unless one is not at least a little familiar with these authors, adjusting to Baudrillard’s topics of discussion may take some work).
This book, as the title suggests, is Baudrillard’s attempt to provide a “system of objects” — i.e. to classify objects the same way that we have classified flora or fauna. However, rather than simply classifying objects by their function, Baudrillard is especially concerned to provide a system of meanings, thereby exploring the process whereby people relate to objects, and the ways in which those objects impact human behaviour and relationships. “In sum,” Baudrillard argues, “the description of the system of objects cannot be divorced from a critique of that system’s practical ideology.”
Consequently, Baudrillard goes on to explore the system of objects in four ways — he explores the “functional” system, the “non-functional” system, the “metafunctional and dysfunctional” system, and the “socio-ideological” system.
In his exploration of the “functional” system (also called “objective discourse”), Baudrillard examines things like interior design, furniture arrangements and materials, colours, lighting, clocks, mirrors, wood, glass, and atmosphere. In the premodern period, Baudrillard argues that the arrangement and use of these things perpetuate a certain ideology. That is to say: “[t]he real dimension they occupy is captive to the moral dimension which it is their job to signify.” Consequently, in the modern period, with the increasing drive for “mobility, flexibility and convenience,” what we see is a form of liberation of the object, as the object is no longer required to signify old moral categories. However, Baudrillard emphasises that what is liberated is the function of the object, and not the object itself. As he says: “[Objects] are thus indeed free as functional objects — that is they have the freedom to function and… that is practically the only freedom they have.” Of course, the corollary of this is that “just so long as the object is liberated only in its function, man equally is liberated only as user of that object.” Consequently, whereas the premodern obsession was moral, the obsession today is functional. People have become “interior designers” living in a world that is no longer given; it is a world that they themselves construct.
If this is the case, if there is a technical need for design, then Baudrillard argues that the functional system is only completed when a cultural need for “atmosphere” is also considered. In particular, in his study of colours, “hot” and “cold” tones, “natural” and “cultural” wood, and other objects, Baudrillard examines the way in which atmosphere is created by a nostalgic echoing of the state of nature, resulting in a (contradictory, and therefore illusory) “naturalness.” What we end up with is “simulacrum of nature… thriving not on nature but on the Idea of Nature.” Of course, the key thing to realise is that all the values being ascribed here (from the way in which we value “warm” colours, to the way in which we value a wooden table more than a synthetic table) are all entirely abstract. Consequently, Baudrillard concludes that “the consistency here is not the natural consistency of a unified taste but the consistency of a cultural system of signs.” Therefore, “‘man the interior designer’ is always coupled with ‘man of relationship and atmosphere’, and the two together give us ‘functional man’.”
Consequently, in concluding this section, Baudrillard argues that the key thing to realise is that functionality has ceased to be about attaining a certain end or goal and is not about the ability to be integrated into an overall scheme. This leaves us with a fundamentally ambiguous system that is, one the one hand, about organization and calculation, and, on the other hand, about connotation and disavowal.
From discussing the “functional” system, Baudrillard turns to discussing the “nonfunctional” system (subjective discourse”) by focusing on “marginal objects” that seem to fall outside of the system he has just described — objects like antiques, for example. However, the central point Baudrillard makes here is that these marginal objects are not an anomaly relative to this system because “the functionality of modern objects becomes historicalness in teh case of the antique object… without this implying that the object ceases to function as a sign within the system.” Thus, the role of the antique is to signify — specifically, to signify time. Just as with “naturalness,” so also with time: history is simultaneously invoked and denied. Essentially, the antique provides the functional system with its myth of origins, for whereas the functional object is efficient, the mythical antique is fully realised — it is “authentic.” Thus, Baudrillard concludes: “Fundamentally, the imperialism that subjugates nature with technical objects and the one that domesticates cultures with antiques are one and the same.”
This signification of time and authenticity within marginal objects also explains the passion that many people have for collecting. Objects that are collected exist, not to function, but to be possessed. Such collections are endowed with the abstraction that is necessary for possession (i.e. they are abstracted from their function and brought into a direct relationship with the collecting subject). Of course, “rare” or “unique” objects are especially prized in collections and the possession of an absolutely singular object is prized because it allows to possessor to recognise herself in the object as an absolutely singular being. This is so because, Baudrillard argues, “what you really collect is always yourself.” However, this form of possession is a tempered mode of perversion: rather than apprehending the object qua object, one transforms the object into the paradigm of various other things which are then seen as referring back to the perverting subject. Ultimately, Baudrillard concludes, “the collector strives to reoconstitute a discourse that is transparent to him, a discourse whose signifiers he controls and whose reference par excellence is himself.”
Having now considered objects from the point of view of their “objective systematization” and their “subjective systematization,” Baudrillard now turns to the “metafunctional and dysfunctional” system and the issue of connotation. In particular, Baudrillard argues that technical connotation is epitomised by the notion of automatism — which grants the object, in its function, “the connotation of an absolute.” Now there is some irony here: because the degree of perfection in a machine is considered to be proportional to its automatism, functionality is increasingly sacrificed and, consequently, risking the arrest of technical advance. The reason why we are so interested in automatism relates back to the ways in which we relate to objects as images of ourselves and objects are increasingly invested with the autonomy of human consciousness, power, control, and personhood (which is why this section is subtitled, “Gadgets and Robots”). Furthermore, this pursuit of automatism explains the category of objects that Baudrillard calls “gadgets,” “gizmos,” and “thingummyjigs.” These are objects that exist without any operational value — they simply function in an automated way. Thus, functionality with this objects is not merely their function, but also their mystery, a mystery that “mystifies man by submerging him in a functional dream, but it equally well mystifies the object.” All of this, then, leads to the “superobject” of science fiction: the (metafunctional) robot. Baudrillard writes: “The robot is the symbolic microcosm of both man and the world… it simultaneously replaces both man and the world, synthesizing absolute functionality and absolute anthropomorphism.” Consequently, we can see a concomitant dysfunctionality running throughout this system of projection which refers all real conflicts to the technical sphere. It appears as though a “short circuit” has occurred wherein, automatism and projection, threaten to end any actual functionality.
This finally leads Baudrillard to reflect upon the socio-ideological system of objects, which relates to consumption. Here Baudrillard notes the use of a “model/series” scheme (wherein the privileged few enjoy the “models” and the less privileged majority consume from “series” that reference the “models”) that is not premised upon an object’s practical functionality but is premised upon the ways in which an object can be “personalized.” Through a proliferation of choices, the consumer is able to transcend the “strict necessity” of a purchase in order to be personally committed the object that is purchased. However, the elements that personalize an object are what Baudrillard calls “inessential differences” (differences in colour, in cut, etc.). Consequently, because these differences are inessential, personalization and integration end up going hand in hand, as our choosing places us squarely within the socio-economic order. This combination is “the miracle of the system” — a miracle that causes people, in their insistence on being subjects, success only be becoming objects of economic demand.
Further, these differences aren’t only inessential, they can also become parasitic as they begin to proliferate in ways that run counter to an object’s technical purpose. For example, Baudrillard mentions how objects are deliberately manufactured in order to become obsolescent. This occurs in three ways: an object can be made obsolescent because a better object replaces it (“obsolescence of function”); an object can be made obsolescent because it is designed to break down or wear out (“obsolescence of quality”); or an other object can be marketed in such a way that the previous object is no longer desirable (“obsolescence of desirability”). Consequently, Baudrillard asserts that: “In a world of (relative) affluence, the shoddiness of objects replaces the scarcity of objects as the expression of poverty.”
Baudrillard then turns to the idea of “credit” and asserts that credit causes a new system of ethics to arise. Because credit allows for the precedence of consumption over accumulation, because it allows for us to possess that which we have not earned, society is returned to a sort of complicit feudalism, wherein consumers embrace an allocation of their labour in advance to the feudal lord (the lords of credit). Hence, that which is taken as a “right” and a basic “freedom” (i.e. credit) is actually form of social colonization.
Finally, Baudrillard concludes his discourse of objects, by exploring discourse about objects — advertising. Advertising, he argues, is not only about objects, but it has, itself, become an object of consumption. Thus, although we may become better at resisting advertising in the imperative, we tend to miss this point and become more susceptible to consuming advertising in the indicative. Hence, it is our ceaseless consumption of advertising that forcibly socially conditions us. Hence Baudrillard writes that advertising ensures “the spontaneous absorption of ambient social values and the regression of the individual into the social consensus…. advertising tells you, in effect, that ‘society adapts itself totally to you, so integrate yourself totally into society’.” But this is a scam because, whereas it is only an imaginary agency that adapts to you, you adapt to an agency that is distinctly real. In this way, advertising creates a “reign of a freedom of desire,” but it is a desire that is co-opted by social controls. Therefore, the message that we are “free to be ourselves” really means that we are “free to project our desires onto commodities.”
Therefore, in his conclusion, Baudrillard provides this definition of consumption: “consumption is an active form of relationship (not only to objects, but also to the world)… consumption is the virtual totality of all objects and messages ready-constituted as a more or less coherent discourse… consumption means an activity consisting of the systematic manipulation of signs.” Hence, the reason why consumption has no limits is because it no longer has anything to do with the satisfaction of needs or with reality.
An intriguing read, no? This book certainly had my wheels turning in all sorts of different directions. It was my favourite book of the summer.
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowlings.
To be honest, I’m sort of glad that this series is over. A few years ago, I decided to see what the hype was about, so I picked up the first few books of this series and, because I’m rather obsessive about finishing what I start reading, I’ve stuck with Harry right until the end. All in all, I found the books to be mostly fun, but neither especially well-written (in fact, Rowling’s presentation of Harry’s character often annoyed me a great deal), nor nearly as “profound” as people seem to want to make them out to be. Unfortunately, in commenting on this final volume, several people seem to be eager to point out “Christian” themes and motifs that run through the story but I fail to see why those things should catapult a fairly average piece of children’s literature into something great. We can find Christian themes in most everything, if we look hard enough.
Granted, due to the brisk pace of the plot, I read the book rapidly (and wanted to do so) but I think that most pulp fiction is written in a similar manner. Reality television is also capable of drawing me in like this (“I just couldn’t put the book down!” and “I just couldn’t change the channel!”), but I’m not about to suggest that this makes reality television great. However, watching reality television sure is good for letting a person “space out” and have a little fun at the end of a hard day, and this, too, is what Harry Potter is good for.
Ultimately, at the end of the day, I’m a little concerned that this is what popular reading amounts to these days. Similarly, I’m a little bothered by the observation that, even for those who are given to more academic reading, this is all the fiction that a lot of them are reading these days. How about, instead of going on about the “Christian” undertones in Harry Potter, we simply start reading something else? How about Hardy, or Dostoevsky? Steinbeck, or Hugo?
So, please, have fun with Harry, but if you want substance, look elsewhere.
August Books
1. A Better Hope: Resources for a Church Confronting Capitalism, Democracy, and Postmodernity by Stanley Hauerwas.
2. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Vol 1), by Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari.
3. A user’s guide to Capitalism and Schizophrenia: Deviations from Deleuze and Guatarri by Brian Massumi.
4. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews & Other Writings, 1972-1977 by Michel Foucault (edited by Colin Gordon).
5. The Puppet and the Dwarf: The Perverse Core of Christianity by Slavoj Zizek.
6. Fragments: Cool Memories III, 1990-1995 by Jean Baudrillard.
Change
“Politicians are 'like' that—all crooked. Nothing ever changes” (read: “I refuse to think the world can change so I myself won't have to”).
~ Brian Massumi, A user's guide to Capitalism and Schizophrenia: Deviations from Deleuze and Guattari, 97.
It is interesting to place this quote in the context of other hopes for social change.
For example, while I am quite certain that politicians will not bring us the change that we desire, I remain adamant that change can, and must, come from the Church. Consequently, following Massumi, my belief that “when the Church is the Church, the World is made new” can be read in the following way: “because the Church changes things, I must change.”
Of course, most everybody (Christian or not) tells me that the Church is just as hopeless — just as “crooked” — as the World. Christians, and the clergy, are said to be “'like' that” just as much as the politicians. Does Massumi's reading also apply here? “I refuse to think the Church can change so I myself won't have to”? I wonder.
The view that I hold to says this: “change is coming, so we will begin changing now.” Thus, those who share this view with me, tend to do things like move into inner-city neighbourhoods, and move into deeper levels of intimacy with those for whom change is most desperately needed.
The other view that I have described says this: “nothing really changes, so I'll just keep doing what I've always done.” Consequently, when those who hold this view encounter those who hold the view that I do, they ultimately only ever respond in one way. Whether they admire us or despise us is irrelevant, in both cases they respond from a distance. And that, as far as I can tell, is a problem (for everybody involved).
Oops
A funny sort of thing happened to me recently (you’ll see why it’s funny in a minute).
I was about to start my shift at work last night when, looking across the street, I saw two youngish men (20s-30s) grab an old homeless looking guy, throw him into the doorway of a hostel and start beating on him. “Holy hell,” I thought, “a fight just broke out” (yep, my wheels were turning pretty quickly last night). As I was realizing what was happening, another young guy ran up with a video camera and started filming everything (he appeared to be with the guys who were beating up the homeless looking fellow).
Instantly I went from surprised to angry. In fact, I was furious. I’d heard about the internet craze of filming homeless guys getting beat up (or paying homeless guys to beat each other up while being filmed) and that really makes my blood boil. So, I jumped into my workplace, grabbed a radio, told them that I might need them to call the cops, and ran back out. At first it looked like everything had broken up, but then the same thing happened — the two younger guys, followed by the cameraman, rushed the old guy and laid him out. Of course, by this time I had been able to assess those guys and had realised that they were actually pretty big and would have no problem kicking my ass. However, I was too angry to care.
I ran across the street yelling, “Hey! What’s going on here?” I was planning on grabbing the two younger guys from behind in order to try to pull them off of the old guy, but before I could do that two women with clipboards stepped in front of me: “No, hey, wait! We’re making a movie!” This threw me off for a second. “Oh,” I said, “you mean those are actors?” (Now that I was closer I noticed that the punches being thrown weren’t actually doing any damage.) “Yeah,” one of the women responded, “you know, a movie.” “Oh,” I sort of stammered, “I thought these guys were filming themselves beating up a homeless fellow.” “No, no,” she replied, “no ‘bumfights’ here.” “Oh, um, that’s good,” I said, “because, um, that would have made me pretty angry.” Apparently they had already figured this out, so I decided to bow out, stick my tail between my legs, and slink back to work.
For Nathan (on "leadership")
Hey Nathan,
Thanks for the email (regarding the conversation that was happening on your blog — http://www.nathancolquhoun.com/blog/index.php/2007/08/19/drawing_someone_else_s_line#comments). I hope you don't mind me taking the time to write all this out here, truth be told, I'm curious to hear what others might have to say about all this.
Like you, I was raised in a family and a church that pushed the notion of “leadership” — and pushed it onto me, specifically. I've been encouraged to situate myself in places of “leadership” since way back, and my situation in those places took my through highschool and my undergrad (with, I will admit, a great deal of pride). I imagine that our stories are fairly similar in this regard (although maybe you weren't as arrogant as I was).
However, a number of factors have caused me to rethink and question all this in the last four or five years, as I have pursued alternate models of Christian living (after all, questioning, and rethinking, don't mean much apart from a new form of embodiment or praxis).
In particular, much of the Christian discourse about leadership seems to be flawed, and fatally so, in two regards: (1) in its focus on the individual; and (2) in its understanding of power. This, I think, is largely due to churches looking to outside models when it comes down to issues of polity and structure. By and large, a business paradigm has come to dominate the church (and, I might add, the social services — think of the pervasiveness of the role of the “manager” as that is described in MacIntyre's After Virtue). Consequently, leaders, Christian or otherwise, are understood as powerful and influential individuals who can “get results.” A successful Christian leader is the sort who has a full church, heck, a growing church, and, perhaps most importantly, a tithing church… blah, blah, blah (in social work, a successful Christian leader is the sort who can produce glowing stats and has the connections and voice necessary to bring in abundant donations).
It is interesting to compare this focus on (1) power, (2) influence, and (3) success with Jesus and the prophets. Jesus and the prophets were mostly powerless, mostly insignificant, and mostly failures when judged by the criteria established by the business paradigm.
However, I'm drifting off topic. I should get back to the issues of individualism and power.
Over against, the radical individualism of our culture — that finds particularly strong expression in the discourse on leadership — Christians are called to prioritise the corporate aspect of their identity as members of the people of God. Example: I am not, first and foremost, Dan, the individual; rather, I am, first and foremost, Dan, a member of the body of Christ.
Some time ago on my blog, I asked people to summarise, in one sentence, how they defined themselves (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/59156.html) and I then responded by arguing that I (and all of us) should be defined in this way: “I am a Spirit-filled member of the body of Christ and a beloved child of God” (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/59792.html). Some of my commentators responded that such a way of defining myself was far too vague (it could be applied to anybody!), but that was precisely my point: let's get beyond defining ourselves over and against everybody else, and let's begin by defining ourselves alongside of everybody else.
Consequently, when we bring this corporate understanding of self to the issue of “leadership” the question shifts from “How am I to lead?” to “How are we, as God's people, to live missionally within God's world?” Note that another shift has also taken place: I have moved from the language of leadership to the language of mission. This, I think, is a crucial shift. After all, as Christians, our goal is, ultimately, not to wield power and influence in order to create the results that we desire; rather, as Christians our goal is to live as a part of a community that is an agent of God's new creation within a world that is groaning under the sway of powers that refuse to acknowledge that they have been defeated (that, after all, is the point of Rev 12: the devil, the dragon, has been defeated and thrown down from heaven. Therefore, the especial violence, and the violence against the saints, that we see now is not because the dragon is so powerful but because the dragon is doomed). Therefore, our model for living missionally is not the model that is found within the business paradigm, it is the model that we find in Jesus.
This, then, leads quite naturally to the issue of power. It is the way in which the discourse on “leadership” is intrinsically linked to a form of power that, more than anything else, leads me to pursue alternate models. As far as I can tell, leadership is inextricably linked to notions of influence and power that are defined by the ability to forcefully impact the bodies, minds, and lives of others. Essentially, the leader is at the peak of a particular hierarchy and power flows from the top down Of course, those who have spoken of “servant leadership” have tried to reverse this flow but, IMHO, they have failed to the extent that they have retained the language of “leadership.” Time after time, I have observed the language of “servant leadership” employed as a mask over fiercely hierarchical, top-down, flows of power.
So, rather than attempting to be servant leaders, I would like to suggest that it is better for us to simply define ourselves as servants. This is, after all, one of the primary ways in which Paul defines the people of God: slaves of Christ (Douloi Christou), and slaves of one another. In this way, we begin to realise the truly “radical” nature of our call to follow Jesus on the road of the cross. Rather than exerting force on others, we are those who are willing to have force exerted upon us. We do this with the hope that, as on the cross, so also in our lives, that force will be exhausted and shattered even as it overwhelms us.
Think, in this regard, of how Paul describes the apostles in 1 Cor 4.8-13:
Already you have all you want! Already you have become rich! You have become kings — and that without us! How I wish that you really had become kings so that we might be kings with you! For it seems to me that God has put us apostles on display at the end of the procession, like men condemned to die in the arena. We have been made a spectacle to the whole universe, to angels as well as to men. We are fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are strong! You are honored, we are dishonored! To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty, we are in rags, we are brutally treated, we are homeless. We work hard with our own hands. When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it; when we are slandered, we answer kindly. Up to this moment we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world.
This, I think, is an appropriate Christian response to the contemporary discourse on “leadership.” Mostly the contemporary models of Christian leadership are akin to the model established by the “Super-Apostles” in Corinth (the Super-Apostles who, by the way, were leading the church astray). Like Paul, I think we need to be adamant that our focus should be upon a missional crucifomity and it should not be upon leading with power.
At the end of the day, I think it is best that we focus less on being “teachers” and “lords,” and focus more on washing one another's feet (cf. Jn 13.1-14; notice how, when washing the disciples' feet, Jesus claims the titles “Teacher” and “Lord” and does not suggest that his disciples will also become “teachers” and “lords” [i.e. “servant leaders”] if they go on to wash each other's feet. Rather, he simply tells them that they should follow his example. The disciples remain only “servants”; Jesus alone is the “master”).
Glimpses of Abundance
It's been an odd sort of week, full of death and resurrection; tears of sorrow, tears of joy.
After a suicide attempt, a good friend relapsed on crack cocaine. He had one and a half years of clean time and appeared to being doing well — no one foresaw the suicide attempt or the relapse. Now he's lost his housing, and we've lost all contact with him. I've been walking the alleyways and the neighbourhood where I know he goes to buy, but I can't find him. I don't know how he will be able to stay alive, if he is alive.
Another friend, a young girl, had also gotten a good amount of clean time under her belt. She had gotten off the street, out of sexual exploitation, and into a relationship with a decent guy who had no history of street-involvement. Yesterday I learned that she relapsed, is back on the street, and is working the trade again. Turns out she was recently grabbed, forced into a car, and gang-raped. Such an experience is not uncommon among the girls who work my neighbourhood.
One of my former professors, who continues to be a guide and friend to me (one of the three “'radical' academics” I mentioned in my last post) was just diagnosed with colon cancer and goes in for emergency surgery tomorrow.
So Death continues to work among us.
But resurrection was also at work this week (a rare event, but truly marvelous when it occurs). A few years ago I got to know an incredible young man (one of the most truly beautiful people I have ever known) who was addicted to crack and was suffering from a form of mental illness that caused him to hear voices that were constantly telling him to hurt himself, or kill himself, or whatever. He had gone through some horrible experiences that had shattered him before he had any real chance to develop into wholeness and so, over the time that I knew him, he drifted lower and lower into the belly of the beast. Finally, we lost all contact with him and, although we scoured the streets and agencies looking for him for ages, we never found him. A year went by and then, out of the blue, we got a phone call from him just the other day. Turns out he went to an “hard-core” treatment centre, got out of town, moved back in with his family, and has almost one year of clean time under his belt. He's working a good job, his mental state is under control, and he even volunteers once a week at a drop-in for street-entrenched youth in his town (I always told him that he would be able to do that sort of work far better than I can or could). What joy! This is the sort of miracle, the sort of good news, that gives me the strength to persevere and the ability to hope against all the odds. Behold, “this brother of [ours] was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (cf. Lk 15.11-31). Yes, he was dead; yes, he is alive again. Lord, have mercy on those who are still dead and dying.
It is weeks like this one that capture so well the reason why my blog is subtitled “This, therefore, is the life abundant.” I think we commonly misconstrue Jesus' promise of abundant living for his followers. We tend to put a sort of “health and wealth” spin on it, as though we just need to follow Jesus and “all our problems will be solved.” However, I believe that Jesus' promise of abundance is a promise that we will both suffer more and laugh more. It is a promise that we will experience greater sorrow and greater joy, abundant anguish and abundant peace. A promise that we will become intimate with both death and new life.
Thus, we come to know the life abundant when we begin to “rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn” (Ro 12). Ironically, in our pursuit of other forms of “abundance” (for example, the accumulation of capital, and the pursuit of status or power) we close ourselves off from the truly abundant life that is found in places like my neighbourhood. If you wish to find true abundance then go to places where the Spirit of life is moving among the crucified, places of mourning and laughter (tears of sorrow, tears of joy), places of death and resurrection.
On the Hypocrisy of "Radicals" (myself included)
In commenting on “happiness,” Slavoj Zizek has the following things to say:
In the strict Lacanian sense of the term, one should thus posit that “happiness” relies on the subject's inability or unreadiness fully to confront the consequences of its desire: the price of happiness is that the subject remains stuck in the inconsistency of desire. In our daily lives we (pretend to) desire things that we do not really desire, so that, ultimately, the worst thing that can happen is for us to get what we “officially” desire. Happiness is thus inherently hypocritical: it is the happiness of dreaming about things we do not really want.
Now this is, indeed, an intriguing understanding of happiness and desire, and one that, I believe, fits well with the role that happiness and desire play in a consumer society that is driven to consume ever more.
However, things get even more intriguing when Zizek goes on to illustrate his point by talking about “radical” academics. This is what he says:
When, for example, “radical” academics demand full rights for immigrants and the opening of borders to them, are they aware that the direct implementation of this demand would, for obvious reasons, inundate the developed Western countries with millions of newcomers, thus provoking a violent racist working-class backlash that would then endanger the privileged position of these very academics? Of course they are, but they count on the fact that their demand will not be met—in this way, they can hypocritically retain their clear radical conscience while continuing to enjoy their privileged position…
“Let's be realistic: we, the academic Left, want to appear critical, while fully enjoying the privileges the system offers us. So let's bombard the system with impossible demands: we all know that such demands won't be met, so we can be sure that nothing will actually change, and we'll maintain our privileged status quo!” (all quotations are from The Puppet and the Dwarf: The Perverse Core of Christianity, 43-44.)
Not only the “academic Left” needs to heed these words. All those who would consider themselves “counter-cultural,” and especially those within the “social justice” oriented streams of Christianity, need to pay attention to Zizek at this point. Take, for example, the popularity of the “MakePovertyHistory” campaign, or, for that matter, the smaller, and seemingly more challenging, “Make Affluence History” campaign. It seems to me that most of those who support these campaigns are simply raising “impossible demands” and thereby actually maintaining their “privileged positions” both in our national and our global contexts. Why do I think this? Because, by and large, those who support these campaigns are living lives that look no different than the lives of those around them. As far as I can tell, the only way that one can only honestly (i.e. without hypocrisy) participate in these campaigns is by doing what Jesus advised: “If you wish to be complete, go and sell your possessions and give to the poor… and come, follow me” (Mt 19.21).
The more recent “Red” campaign is, perhaps, an even more obvious example, supported as it as by the likes of Bono and Oprah. Here we have two extremely affluent people, who have both been noted for their superfluous consumption at various times, acting as moral guides and telling us that the way to respond to the lack that defines the lives of others, is by consuming more ourselves! I find it baffling that so few people seem to find this ironic (and ironic in more ways than one!).
This is why, time and time again, the issue is not what campaigns we are supporting, what charities we are funding, or what declarations we are making. Ultimately, these issues are confronted, exposed, and perhaps resolved, in our daily lives. For example, regarding “radical” academics, I know three professors who have walked away from tenure, comfort and privilege within prestigious Academic circles. One to live and work amongst the marginalised in Vancouver's downtown eastside, another to live and work with migrant farm labourers and inmates in Washington state, and the third to live and work in an intentional community in the slums of Manila. All three have remained in some contact with the Academy but they remain on the margins there, and their situation there is one that has caused all of them a great deal of pain. These are the “radical” academics who have earned a voice into the issues raised by Zizek. That so few Christian academics are living in this way — that so few of those who teach us about things like suffering love, the way of the cross, and our mission as agents of God's new creation are living in ways like these — suggests to me that something has gone wrong within the realm of the Christian Academy.
Of course, all of this leads me back to examining my own life, and the hypocrisy that is present therein (as, I hope, it leads all of us back to examine ourselves). I would be lying to suggest that my daily living has attained to the level of expectation that I impose in my rhetoric. However, I find hope in the fact that my life is increasingly resembling those expectations. That is to say, I hope that I am pursuing a trajectory that leads me to a place of speaking and living honestly in relationship to these things. Am I there yet? No. Have I begun to travel there? Yes. What saddens me is that few Christians are intent on following that trajectory to the end. Instead, what we like to do is take a few steps down that road (perhaps a few more steps than those around us) and then we settle down and pat ourselves on the back and call one another “radicals.” Let's be honest: giving to charity is not radical, opening a drop-in in our churches is not radical, moving into poor neighbourhoods is not radical — all of these things are baby-steps on a journey that takes a lifetime to complete. (Indeed, I suspect that the only time we will be certain of our “radical-ness” will be when we find ourselves nailed to crosses — and at that point it won't matter anyway, and will likely be the furthest thing from our minds.)
Engaging the Criminal Justice System: Anarchy, Order, & the Church
What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside…
If any of you has a dispute with another, dare he take it before the ungodly for judgment instead of before the saints? Do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if you are to judge the world, are you not competent to judge trivial cases? Do you not know that we will judge angels? How much more the things of this life! Therefore, if you have disputes about such matters, appoint as judges even men of little account in the church! I say this to shame you. Is it possible that there is nobody among you wise enough to judge a dispute between believers? But instead, one brother goes to law against another — and this in front of unbelievers!
The very fact that you have lawsuits among you means you have been completely defeated already. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated?
~ Paul the Apostle, 1 Cor 5.12-13a, 6.1-7.
Now my hypothesis is not so much that the court is the natural expression of popular justice, but rather that its historical function is to ensnare [popular justice], to control it and strangle it, by re-inscribing it within institutions which are typical of state apparatus… Popular justice recognises in the judicial system a state apparatus, representative of public authority, and instrument of state power… This is why the revolution can only take place via the radical elimination of the judicial apparatus.
~ Michel Foucault, “On Popular Justice: A Discussion with Maoists” in Power/Knowledge.
In my efforts to journey alongside of, and in solidarity with, those on the margins of our society I have increasingly wondered about the extent of interaction that I should have with the criminal justice system (I have three power-elements in mind here: the police, the law courts, and the prisons; these are the militant, the judicial, and the penal power-elements of “justice” as it is enforced in our society). Increasingly, I am uncomfortable with any sort of appeal to these power-elements. This is so for several reasons.
First, I have seen innumerable physical and emotional scars caused by rampant “abuses of power” committed by police officers, court officials, and prison guards, and this has led me to the conclusion that acts of brutality, dishonesty, and violence are not abuses of power within this system, but are natural expressions of power within this system. That is to say, I now no longer believe that such actions are “freak” occurrences, extrinsic to the system; rather, I believe that they are inherent to the system and intrinsically linked to all three of these power-elements (thus, the true “freak” occurrences are when rare officers, officials, and guards are able to not engage in these violent practices).
Secondly, I have also been convinced by those, like Foucault, who argue that all three of these power-elements are fundamentally compromised and exist in order to serve the interests of the privileged few, over against the disadvantaged many. The problem that exists within these power-elements isn't simply the impact of power upon individual people; rather the problem is much deeper and rooted in the law itself. Our legislations, our laws, our rules, and our concepts of “justice” and “equality under the law” actually mask a deeper injustice and a deeper inequality that are operating through all of these things. What do laws of private property and public decency tell us? That both the rich and the poor cannot steal to survive; that both those with homes and those who are homeless cannot sleep in bus shelters; that both the employed and the unemployed cannot wash windshields at intersections to try and earn some change. And so we see how “equal rights” and “justice” operate in our society.
Thirdly, I am similarly convinced that these power-elements also fail to operate in the way in which they promise us that they will operate. The criminal justice system promises the general public order and safety, and it premises its punitive measures upon the rehabilitation of the criminal. However, in actuality it makes us less safe, not only because it exercises its power over us in an abusive manner, but also because it only entrenches criminals in their criminality. Indeed, despite all the promises to the contrary, Foucault argues that this is precisely what the criminal justice system sets out to accomplish. Rather than “rehabilitating” criminals, the judicial and penal systems justify the militant system by ensuring that criminals can only remain as criminals. Thus Foucault argues:
At the end of the eighteenth century, people dreamed of a society without crime. And then the dream evaporated. Crime was too useful for them to dream of anything as crazy — or ultimately as dangerous — as a society without crime. No crime meant no police. What makes the presence and control of the police tolerable to the population, if not fear of the criminal? This institution of the police, which is so recent and so oppressive, is only justified by that fear. If we accept the presence in our midst of these uniformed men, who have the exclusive right to carry arms, who demand our papers, who come and prowl on our doorsteps, how would any of this be possible if there were no criminals? ( from “Prison Talk” in Power/Knowledge)
Therefore, maintaining criminals as criminals is one of the major ways in which the privileged few, who control the criminal justice system, are able to divide the disadvantaged masses and make the majority adopt agendas that actually run counter to their best interest.
Consequently, with these three points in mind, my discomfort with appealing to any of these power-elements should now be understandable. To call the police because I have been assaulted, to press legal charges because I have been robbed, to initiate a process that ends with a person sent to jail — doing any or all of these things is the equivalent of surrendering a person from the margins to power-elements that are bent on the destruction of that person. Furthermore, it is difficult (impossible?) to see how such an action can be construed of as an act of solidarity with those on the margins; rather, such an action more often (always?) betrays the extent to which my solidarity is merely rhetorical and not actual.
Therefore, if our first response should not be an appeal to the police, the courts, and the prisons, how should we respond to personal experiences of violence, or theft, or other criminal acts?
Well, as Christians, we may want to begin by taking the Sermon on the Mount seriously. When struck, we can turn the other cheek (rather then striking back with the “long arm of the law”). When sued for our tunics, we can give our coats as well (rather than counter-suing in order to get back what “belongs” to us… plus a little more for damages incurred). When someone asks for something from us, we can give it to them (rather than focusing on that to which I am legally entitled). And when we encounter those who would make themselves our enemies, we can respond with love (rather than responding by seeking their imprisonment).
However, and this is where the opening quotation from 1 Cor 5-6 comes into play, Christians will only be able to spontaneously respond in this way in the public sphere, if they have previously learned to respond this way to their brothers and sisters in the Christian sphere. Consequently, rather than viewing the three power-elements of the criminal justice system as authoritative, Christians must view the Church (the Christian community) as authoritative. It is the Church, not the criminal justice system, that must define “justice” and “equality.” Our natural inclination must not be to appeal to the power-elements of the criminal justice system, our natural inclination must be to appeal to the Church — and this means that we must undergo some distancing from all other power-elements that seek to act as authorities over us. If Christians do not act in this way, if they persist in seeing the criminal justice system as the authority over their lives, then, as Paul asserts, we have already been completely defeated.
Furthermore, I believe that Paul might well be alluding to the Sermon on the Mount when he concludes by asking “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated?” Indeed, at this point I believe that Paul is not only concluding his reflections on law-suits in the Christian community (6.1-6), I believe that he is also concluding his reflections on how to respond to those outside of the Christian community as well (1 Cor 5.9-13).
But wait, some may object here, doesn't this argument lead us to anarchy?
Certainly the privileged few, who run the State, would want us to see anarchy as the only alternative to the power-elements imposed by the State. Anarchy, the collapse of order, is always the great enemy and the great justifier of State power — granted that power may be less than perfect but, so the argument goes, it is better than the alternative. However, as William Stringfellow shows us (cf. Conscience and Obedience), the State's claim to order is illusory. In fact, violence, war, and an increase in chaos, are intrinsic to the project of the State. The “order” imposed by the State actually results in precisely the things that the State projects onto anarchy.
Consequently, we are now in a place where we can understand Pierre-Joseph Proudhon's in/famous assertion that “Anarchy is Order.” When the “order” of our day is a mask for chaos, we have no choice but to be anarchists. However, precisely because Christian-anarchy takes place within the Church, as an element of the Church, I believe we are in a position to follow Jurgen Moltmann's line of thinking when he stated, in response to Ernst Bloch, that “only a Christian can make a good atheist.” I would like to conclude by suggesting that only a Christian can make a good anarchist.
Baudrillard and Christian Universalism: Freedom, Choice, Liberation, Martyrdom
No object is proposed to the consumer as a single variety… what our industrial society always offer us 'a priori', as a kind of collective grace and as a mark of a formal freedom, is choice. This availability of the object is the foundation of 'personalization': only if the buyer is offered a whole range of choices can he transcend the strict necessity of his purchase and commit himself personally to something beyond it. Indeed, we no longer even have the option of not choosing… Our freedom to choose causes us to participate in a cultural system willy-nilly. It follows that the choice in question is a specious one: to experience it as freedom is simply to be less sensible of the fact that it is imposed upon us as such, and that through it society as a whole is likewise imposed upon us… Clearly 'personalization', far from being a mere advertising ploy, is actually a basic ideological concept of a society which 'personalizes' objects and beliefs in order to integrate persons more effectively.
~ Jean Baudrillard, The System of Objects, 151-52.
There is much that I find worthwhile in this quotation from Baudrillard but, given some of the ongoing discussion about Christian universalism, I was especially struck by what Baudrillard had to say about choice. Let me explain the connection.
D. W. Congdon has continually contributed to the discussion of Christian universalism on his blog and Ann Chapin, a commentator on a recent post (cf. http://fireandrose.blogspot.com/2007/07/paul-among-evangelicals-1-problem.html), asked what I (and others, apparently) believe to be a central question to this discussion. This was her question:
“Is part of the problem equating the experience of choice with real freedom?”
This question is, of course, raised in light of the general Christian view that our salvation is somehow connected to our own choices. Thus, those who hold to this view accuse Christian universalists of negating human freedom. In this way “real freedom” is equated with the “experience of choice.”
This, then, is where a cross-reference to the above quotation from Baudrillard begins to make things much more interesting. Essentially, what Baudrillard suggests is this: if we equate freedom with choice, then we lose our ability to recognise that which actually enslaves us, and our choice-making both confirms and deepens our bondage, regardless of what we choose.
This perspective on freedom and choice also sheds light on another traditional Christian assertion — the assertion that true freedom is found in obedience to God. However, before we assert this too hastily, we must ask ourselves the following question: if freedom is not to be equated with choice, how can it be equated with obedience? After all, many who are forced to obey, would understand that obedience as slavery — as just another form of bondage. And they would usually be correct in that understanding. After all, the notion of “freedom in obedience” has been continually applied by dictators, and totalitarian powers (remember, “arbeit macht frei” hung over the gates of a number of Nazi concentration camps).
We are thus confronted with the following question: if freedom is not found in choice, when, or how, is freedom found in obedience?
The key to answering this question is recognising that freedom comes to us as a gift given in two movements. As far as I can tell, the bible presents a picture of a world, and a people, who are in bondage. Although people can choose this, that, or the other thing (and they do choose pretty much all of the above during the course of the biblical narrative), it is clear that humanity is not free — it is enslaved to sin and death, and to all the spiritual and material forces that are in the service of these two great powers. However, there is good news: the hold of these powers is forever shattered by the Christ-event and the dawning of the new age. In the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the bondage of humanity — and of creation — is shattered, and, in the out-pouring of the eschatological Spirit, freedom is given as God's free gift to humanity. As Paul says, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free” (Gal 5), and again, “The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace; the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God. You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you” (Ro 8). This is the first movement in God's giving of the gift of freedom and it is the movement in which we now live. Here we see that freedom is understood as liberation, not choice.
We are, however, still awaiting the second movement. Because we live in the “now-and-not-yet” of the kingdom of God, because we embrace an inaugurated but not yet consummated eschatology, the freedom that we experience now is only a partial freedom. Although we have been liberated from bondage to sin and death, we still suffer at their hands (and at the hands of their spiritual and material associates). Thus, Paul also says “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved” (Ro 8, again). The first movement is only the “firstfruits”; the second movement is the consummation. The second movement is the final act of liberation that will be accomplished when Christ returns and puts a final and total end to sin, death, and their lackeys; and it is the coming of God to heal all wounds, to dry all tears, to make all things new, and to become “all in all” (1 Cor 15).
Consequently, we can now see that Christian universalism does not negate human freedom; rather, it recognises that all freedom is a gift from God; it recognises human freedom as liberation from bondage to sin and death, and believes that God will one day finalise this liberation by completely destroying the powers of sin and of death, thereby setting us all free.
In this way, we also come to see how freedom is found in obedience. Obedience is simply living as those who have been so liberated. Obedience is remembering the first movement in God's giving of the gift of freedom and proleptically anticipating the second movement. Obedience is standing firm and refusing to “be burdened again by a yoke of slavery”( Gal 5, again). This is why the martyrs — those who are chained, tortured, and killed — are the greatest signs of freedom in the world; wholly deprived of choice, they become holy witnesses to the gift of liberation found in Christ.
In conclusion, it is worth remembering Baudrillard's argument one more time. If a focus on choice simply masks that which keeps us in bondage, one cannot help but wonder if there is some sort of bondage at work in the argument of those Christians who wish to equate freedom with choice. I suspect that there is. By linking freedom to choice, freedom moves from the theological to the anthropological — freedom, from this perspective, is simply part of who we already are, and who we always were, as humans. Such a way of thinking inevitably makes us the agents of our own salvation. However, because we cannot save ourselves, such a way of thinking ends up leading us back into bondage. Thankfully the God who has saved us and who will save us, liberates us from all forms of bondage, even forms currently imposed by poor theology!
Review: "Jesus of Nazareth" by Joseph Ratzinger
I had originally planned to include this review in a post on my “July Books” but, given its length, I thought I would post this separately. This review, like all my reviews, doesn’t claim to be comprehensive (or even adequate).
Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration by Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI (part one of a two volume series).
If I were to boil this review down to one sentence, I would say this: what Ratzinger has always gotten wrong, he continues to get wrong, and what he gets right has been done much better elsewhere. (To be honest, I can’t help but wonder if this book was such a big hit simply because most people haven’t read anything at all about the “historical Jesus” — a term I need to put into quotes, given that Ratzinger’s criteria for historicity are different than those generally accepted by Jesus scholars.) Of course, there is a two-edged sword to all of this. Because he is the current Pope, Ratzinger is guaranteed a much larger audience than pretty much all other Jesus scholars. So, even if what he gets right has been better explored and expressed elsewhere, chances are many of those who read this book wouldn’t bother reading any of the other (better) volumes on Jesus, and in this way Ratzinger’s book accomplishes some good. The problem with this is that this larger audience is also just as likely to swallow all of Ratzinger’s mistakes because they are not reading any of the other (better) volumes on Jesus.
So what was good about this book? First, Ratzinger’s ongoing emphasis on Jesus as the prophet that is like Moses and greater than Moses is excellent. This is really the leitmotif of the book — Jesus is the prophet who sees God face-to-face (whereas Moses only saw God’s back) and Jesus therefore makes God and God’s word known to us. Indeed, Ratzinger pushes this idea to its end-point, asserting that Jesus sees God face-to-face because he himself is God — the divine Son of the Father — and thus, as God, he himself is the fullest revelation of God. This, I think, will cause a bit of an uproar amongst historical Jesus scholars, even though, conversely, I think that this is also a major part of the reason why this book has been so praised in Christian circles (especially since other Christian Jesus scholars — even ‘evangelicals’ like Tom Wright — have been much more circumspect in how they have approached the issue of Jesus’ divinity). The scholars will argue that Ratzinger has imported “confession” into “history,” and they may be right (however, I wonder if all our attempts at doing history are confessional!). Regardless of the divinity debate, I found Ratzinger’s ongoing Moses/Jesus comparison to be insightful and worthwhile.
Secondly, I appreciated the way in which Ratzinger included the Gospel of John in his study of the historical Jesus. Most studies focus entirely on the Synoptics and reject John’s Gospel from the get-go, seeing it as a theological, and not an historical, portrait of Jesus. Similarly, Johannine scholars tend to neglect or ignore the Synoptics. I like the idea of reading the two together and bringing them into a much closer dialogue than they generally receive.
Thirdly, many of Ratzinger’s topical reflections on things like prayer, forgiveness, and suffering are quite insightful, and well-written. There is much of substance and much that is good to be found here.
So, what got me so frustrated while reading this book? First, I was very annoyed by Ratzinger’s incredibly shallow portrait of Marxism (this has always been one of his faults). in his discussion of Jesus’ first temptation in the wilderness (“turn stones into bread!”), Ratzinger argues that this is the core of Marxism’s promise of salvation — that no one should go hungry; that all should have bread. This, Ratzinger argues, ends up placing our focus on the wrong thing (i.e. one should focus on God who supplies us with bread that we should share with one another) and so “the result is not justice or concern for human suffering. The result is rather ruin and destruction even of material goods themselves.” The problem here is that Ratzinger is painting all Marxists with the same brush. To assert that all Marxism results in ruin, destruction, and the absence of concern for human suffering is about as absurd as asserting that all Christianity results in patriarchy, colonialism, and homophobia. Sure, some strands of Marxism ended disastrously (like the strands found in much of Eastern Europe) but other strands were destroyed before they had a chance to flourish (i.e. the reason why most of the strands of Marxism and socialism in Latin America resulted in ruin and destruction was because they were destroyed by fascist and totalitarian forces that were armed, funded, and protected by Western democratic States and their business interests). The fact is, there is much that we can learn from Marxism, and few other political philosophies exhibit the concern for human suffering that is found in Marxism.
Ratzinger’s reductionistic understanding of Marxism leads him to make absurd comments. For example, when commenting on the appeal for God’s kingdom to come (in the Lord’s Prayer), he writes the following:
This is not an automatic formula for a well-functioning world, not a utopian vision of a classless society in which everything works out well of its own accord, simply because there is no private property. Jesus does not give us such simple recipes.
Well, Marxism, socialism, and anarchism, also don’t give us such simple recipes. That Ratzinger thinks he can present such a caricature (in my line of work we would call this a “cheap shot”) as a real picture of any of these movements is ridiculous. That Christians reading this book might be nodding their heads to all this just shows how ignorant we are.
Secondly, I was bothered by Ratzinger’s seemingly arbitrary selection of passages to highlight or neglect. Of course, I use the word “arbitrarily” to suggest that Ratzinger has no good historical or textual reason to pick and choose passages the way that he does; Ratzinger’s choices seem to be motivated by an underlying ideology. Consequently, in his discussion on the “good news” proclaimed by Jesus — the good news that “the kingdom of God is at hand” — he focuses on inaugural passages in Mark (Mk 1.14-15) and in Matthew (Mt 4.23, 9.35) but completely neglects Jesus’ inaugural speech in Luke (Lk 4.14-20) which is full of socio-political language and implications, and chooses to skip on to Jesus’ much more enigmatic statement in Lk 17.20-21. Why does Ratzinger neglect Lk 4? Probably because it does not fit as comfortably with the highly Christological understanding he applies to the kingdom, and because it seems to support a political application of religion — just the sort of application that Ratzinger opposes and calls “utopian dreaming without an real content.”
Thirdly, Ratzinger’s apolitical (i.e. conservative) and anti-material stance continues to surface in his exegesis of the passages that he does select. Thus, he makes it clear that the poverty that is praised in the Sermon on the Mount is not for everyone, but is for the “great ascetics” who are called to “radicalism” as they journey alongside of the Church (i.e. the important thing is not for you to be poor but for you to have a friend that is poor). Thus, he makes sure to emphasise the the Sermon on the Mount is “not a social program” and goes on to say that “discipleship of Jesus offers no politically concrete program for structuring society. The Sermon on the Mount cannot serve as a foundation for a state and a social order.” Of course, on the one hand, Ratzinger is correct to question the idea of a State imposing the Sermon on the Mount as a social program for society (lest we go down the road of Christendom). However, on the other hand, what Ratzinger altogether misses, or fails to mention, is that the Sermon on the Mount is precisely the social program of an alternate social order — the Church. Instead of grasping this point, Ratzinger prefers to go the road of Christian conservatism and thus he asserts: “The concrete political and social order is released from the directly sacred realm, from theocratic legislation, and is transferred to the freedom of man.” In this way, he continues to push the old divide between “Church” and “State” — a divide that inevitably leads to the defeat of the Church. What Ratzinger fails to realise is that his apolitical theology is really a conservative political theology and so he contradicts himself when he argues that: “political theologies… theologize one particular formula in a way that contradicts the novelty and breadth of Jesus’ message.” What Ratzinger is really saying here is that “political theologies” (i.e. liberation theologies) contradict the conservative political theology that he has attached to Jesus. Consequently, when Ratzinger concludes that “Jesus stands before us neither as a rebel nor as a liberal” one can’t help but wonder: but does Jesus stand before us as a conservative? Why bracket out those two political categories and not this third one as well?
Indeed, it is the opposition to liberation theology that I suspect underlies Ratzinger’s comments on the fact that the Apostles are commissioned to preach, excorcise demons, and heal the sick (Mt 10.1). Ratzinger rushes to make it known that healing is “a subordinate element within the overall range of [Jesus’] activity, which is concerned with something deeper, with nothing less than the ‘Kingdom of God’: his becoming Lord in us and in the world.” Why healing is necessarily subordinated, why healing seems to have nothing to do with the Kingdom of God, with Jesus becoming Lord, I don’t know. At this point, Ratzinger is performing eisegesis, not exegesis.
Ratzinger’s conservatism also comes through in the reassurance he provides the reader by taking the edge off of Jesus’ more “radical” statements. Thus, while discussing the passages wherein Jesus assaults the traditional family unit (passages where Jesus calls his followers to “hate” their parents, to abandon their families, and to redefine their families around those who follow him), Ratzinger begins his discussion by quoting Ex 20.12 (“Honour your father and mother”) and quickly goes on to assure us that “from her very inception, the Church that emerged and continues to emerge, has attached fundamental importance to defending the family as the core of all social order.” Somehow, Ratzinger puts a “family values” spin on Jesus’ statements.
Furthermore, Raztinger’s conservatism also leads him, in his discussion of the “Our Father,” to reject the idea of referring to God as “Mother.” “Mother,” he argues, is used sometimes as an image for God in the bible, but never is it used as a title. The language of Father “was and is” far more appropriate to the biblical context and so he concludes: “the prayer language of the entire Bible remains normative for us.” Such a conclusion, from Ratzinger, is not surprising, even if it is disappointing. After all, this is the man who accused feminism of “imposing an ideology of gender” onto God, never realising the ways in which the patriarchal structure and theology of Roman Catholicism have already imposed an ideology of gender onto God (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/27191.html for further comments on that).
Fourthly, I was somewhat bothered by Ratzinger’s ever-present Christological focus. It seems that everything Jesus did, or said, was really all about Jesus. Hence, as I mentioned above, talk of the kingdom of God is overwhelmingly Christological. Furthermore, all of the parables are to be understood Christologically — they are “hidden and multilayered invitations to faith in Jesus”! Such an understanding of the kingdom, and of the parables, is too simplistic, too reductionistic. Sure, Christ is an element of these things, and often plays an important, even central, role in them, but there is more to them than that. Some parables are really about Israel (the parable of the vineyard’s wicked tenants) some parables are about the imminent fall of Jerusalem (the parable of the of the green tree that becomes dry) some parables are about the return from exile (the parable of the prodigal son), and so on and so forth. As for the kingdom, well, sometimes the kingdom really does come in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and healing the sick.
Finally, I also don’t think that Ratzinger spends enough time addressing, or wrestling with, the Jewishness of Jesus. Because he relies so much on the Christian tradition, and even John’s Gospel, he never really asks the question of how Jesus’ divinity can be placed within first-century Jewish monotheism. Furthermore, in his chapter on Jesus’ identity wherein he explores “three fundamental titles” (Christ, Lord, Son) he only devotes one paragraph to the first title — the most Jewish title — because it “ceased to function as a title and was joined with the name of Jesus… therein lies a deeper message: He is completely one with his office.” Now that’s all well and good, as far as it goes; it just doesn’t go very far, and leaves us with many unanswered questions.
So what do we get from all this? A half decent book about Jesus. Not great, not terrible, just so-so. There are some very stimulating passages but, not surprisingly, Ratzinger has also used this book to grind some old axes. His book about Jesus also becomes a part of his ongoing attack on anything hinting of marxism, socialism, feminism, or liberation theology.
Men and the "Naturalness" of Lust (a rant)
I recently spent a week visiting a friend who was house-sitting for a family from her church and I noticed a copy of Every Young Man’s Battle: Strategies for Victory in the Real World of Sexual Temptation on one of the bookshelves. Given the popularity of the “Every Man’s Battle” movement in Evangelical circles I thought I’d take a look at it to see what all the fuss was about. So, over the course of the week, I skimmed my way through the whole book.
What a complete waste of time. Every Young Man’s Battle is absolute drivel that, at times, drifted into insanity (for example, as proof of the dangers of watching what basically amounted to anything other than a Disney Cartoon, the authors share a “testimony” from a fellow who gave into the temptation to look at more explicit things. This fellow ends up watching TV with his sister-in-law one night, and she falls asleep laying on the floor in front of the TV… wearing a pair of short shorts. So what does this guy, who has already “opened himself to temptation,” end up doing? He masturbates right then and there while looking at his sister-in-law’s ass! Let me be clear: this is not the result of watching movies that are rated PG-13, hell, it’s not even the result of flipping through a dirty magazine — this guy needs serious professional help, and cutting down on his TV and movies isn’t going to do the trick. The fact that the authors suggest that there is a natural progression from watching such movies to lusting uncontrollably after family members is nuts — and the fact that so many Evangelicals are probably nodding their heads as they read through this is just as nuts). How is it that so many awful books end up becoming so popular with Christians? Just look at the reviews that this book got at amazon.com (and don’t get me started on things like The Prayer of Jabez or the Left Behind series!).
However, the thing that probably upset me the most from my skim through this book was found in the Section entitled “How We Got Here” in the Chapter entitled “Just By Being Male.” Basically this chapter argues that the reason why so many Christian men struggle with sexual issues is because it is natural for men to struggle with those things — it is a part of their maleness. Now, this argument is pretty common in Christian circles (even beyond Evangelical circles) and it’s about time we did away with it.
You see, struggling with sexual issues is not just part of being male. “Lust” is not an ontological issue, it is a cultural one — it is not related to our being, but to the way in which we are shaped and formed by our society. The truth is that there have been cultures where lust and sexually related crimes hardly existed at all. I think, for example, of the early encounters of Christian missionaries with some of the tribes in the South Pacific. Very little, if any, clothes were worn by the members of these tribes but people were not viewed as objects to be lusted after, and so things like sexual crimes were basically nonexistent. It was only after the missionaries began demanding that these people wear clothes — thereby imposing the idea that the female body is ever always an object of male lust — that sexual crimes came into being.
Indeed, there still are cultures today where lust is, by and large, not an issue. I think of the experiences of a woman I know who has spent several years living in the United Arab Emirates. One of the things that has most impressed her there is the fact that the men have never made her feel like they were seeing her, or treating her, as a sexual object. Far from it, she has feels like she has been treated with respect by all the men she has met there.
Therefore, we need to realise that the reason why lust seems so universal in men (Christian or otherwise) in our society is because we are culturally conditioned to view women as sexual objects — as objects that exist for the gratification of whatever desires men might have. This has nothing to do with the nature of masculinity, and a lot to do with patriarchy, advertising, and capitalism. Thus, to argue that such a “battle” is “natural,” is to simply reinforce the structures that perpetuate the sexual objectification of women. Basically, Christian men are fighting the wrong battle. Instead of learning how to deal with something that is said to be a part of who they are as men, they need to learn how to resist the Powers that have led them to believe that something so unnatural is natural.
Furthermore, when we learn that this is a cultural battle, we also realise that this popular way of thinking continues to be a veiled excuse for the way in which men sexually objectify women. When we deny the “naturalness” of this perspective, we set a necessarily higher standard for ourselves. One way leads us to say “This is just a part of who I am and so I’ve got to keep struggling with it” whereas the second way says, “This is not a part of who you are so you better get to a place where you don’t struggle with it.” (Of course, if Christian men are to get to a place where they don’t struggle with these things then the Church needs to learn to reform our desires in a way that overcomes the Powers of patriarchy, advertising, and capitalism.)
Finally, what also upsets me about this way of thinking is that it is so androcentric. It presents men as the casualties in this war — it is the purity of the male mind that is at stake. However, in reality, it is the wholeness of the female person that is most at stake, and it is usually the female body that pays the greatest, and most painful, price in all of this. Consequently, I have learned that encounters with women who have found the strength to share their stories — stories of the ways in which the have suffered because of the lust of men — are the most effective way of transforming the way in which Christian men relate to women. Unfortunately, for as long as we see our lust as “natural” we guarantee that such stories will not be shared with us. Such a way of thinking marks us as an unsafe audience — who wants to talk about being raped with a fellow who thinks that the desire to rape is a natural part of being a man? And so, even though one out of every three women in North America has been sexually assaulted, most Christian men don’t seem to know any who have been.