Men smile at the illusion cherished by those in love, they “see through” their sense of uniqueness as being some trick of nature; they have got used to love. But we are not permitted to get used to the love of God.
~ Hans Urs Von Balthasar, Prayer
Truly, as Nouwen also says, ours is the life of the beloved. And there is no getting used to such a thing. I often wonder how differently we Christians would live if we really experienced ourselves as God's beloved. I have had the opportunity to speak with Christian young people on many occasions — at Church conferences, camps, retreats, etc. — and I am continually struck by the fact that hardly anybody can identify with me when I talk about being known as God's beloved. Yet it was that knowledge, that experience, that transformed my life more than anything else. Time after time, I have looked over a crowd of Christian faces and wondered, “How do you not know this? If you have not known this why are you a Christian? What keeps you going?” No wonder so many Christians leave their faith behind when they leave their parents behind.
How is it that so many of God's people have become accustomed to God's love so that those words become just another Christian catchphrase? Being known as beloved is something wondrous, something that leaves us breathless and unsure if we are going to laugh or cry, dance or fall on our faces.
Yet, over the last few weeks, I have come to suspect that I have been losing focus on the Lover/Beloved relationship that exists between God and his Church and, therefore, by extension, between God and individual believers like me. It is the joy of the beloved that has empowered me to move into the sorrows of the (god)forsaken. When I lose sight of that I too quickly become angry and overwhelmed. Yes, I think this journey is one that leads to a cruciform brokenness, but it is a journey that should be undertaken joyfully, not grudgingly. It is on a cross that we gain the certainty that we too are God's Beloved Sons and Daughters.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come quickly.
Barth, Kung, and Us
I can't but remember that shortly before his death, Karl Barth told me that Hans Kung (whom he began to mistrust) had paid him a visit and said to him triumphantly: “We will witness a new Reformation in the Church.” And Barth answered “A reform would suffice”.
~ Hans Urs Von Balthasar, “On the Withdrawal of Hans Küng's Authorization to Teach”
Contemporary Protestants would do well to learn from Barth's words since we so often end up behaving like Kung. Let us reform our traditions, not continue to fracture further. The solution to the Church's problems is not found in reinventing the Church (or abandoning the Church altogether). For some reason each successive generation seems to want to do this, yet each generation fails to do this. The true solution to the Church's problems is found by moving deeper into the Church. When this becomes our approach then perhaps we will succeed where other generations have failed.
Semiotics for Dummies (i.e. me): Part II
Okay, having covered Eco’s introduction I will now summarise his first chapter. Of the chapters I’ve read so far (I’m about two thirds of the way through) this one was the most difficult to understand the thought progression so I’ll try to break it down as clearly as possible with the hope that I get what Eco is talking about.
[1] Signs
Quick Overview: Because this is a book of semiotics (i.e. the study of signs), Eco begins at the beginning and explains what exactly he understands a ‘sign’ to be. He begins with traditional definitions of signs and explains why such definitions have been called into question [1.1]. He then goes on to summarise several ways in which dictionaries and everyday language talk about ‘sign’ [1.2], and then asks if a sign must be intensional or extensional [1.3]. At this point he examines those who propose that signs should be understood as a linguistic entity [1.4], before looking at the multiple ways in which contemporary scholars have deconstructed the linguistic sign [1.5]. This discussion leads Eco to reexamine the relationship between signs and words [1.6] and he examines how the Greek Stoics began to formulate a solution [1.7] which was then developed by Augustine and later models that unified linguistic theories and semiotic theories [1.8]. It is this approach to signs that has been so vigorously attacked by the scholars in [1.5], and so, in response to this Eco begins to develop his own “instructional model” of signs, which overcomes the dichotomy often posited between signs and semiotics [1.9]. In support of his theory, Eco discusses “strong codes and weak codes [1.10], and looks at abduction and the inferential nature of signs [1.11]. This leads him to his criterion of interpretability, which is basically the thesis of his book [1.12], and he then closes with a few remarks on the relation between sign and subject, which prepares the way for chapter 2 [1.13].
Okay, so that’s all well and good but what the hell does this all mean? I’ll break it down, section be section.
In [1.1], Eco mentions traditional definitions of ‘sign’ which see a sign as “something which stands to somebody for something in some respect or capacity” (Peirce). This is basically a restatement of the classical definitions which understood a sign to be aliquid stat pro aliquo (i.e. “that which is there stands for that which is not”). Thus, as Saussure suggests, a sign is a twofold entity, it is a signifier and a signified. Or, as it is more technically put by Hjelmslev, a sign is a mutual correlation between two functives, the expression-plane (i.e. signifier) and the content-plane (i.e. signified). However, these definitions are undergoing a crisis, and some have thus proclaimed the death of the sign. This is so for a few reasons. The first is because of how ‘sign’ is commonly used, and the second is because of a sustained assault be scholars upon these traditional definitions.
Thus, in [1.2], Eco examines many ways in which dictionaries and everyday language talk about ‘sign’.
The first way sees the sign as a manifest indication from which inferences can be made about something latent. This can occur in two ways: through a synechdochic relationship (i.e. as if the sign were a peripheral manifestation of something which does not appear in its entirety) or through a metonymic relationship (i.e. as if the sign is a visible imprint left by an imprinter on a surface, and the imprint tells us something about the imprinter). The key to this type is an inferential mechanism: it argues that if p then q.
The second way sees signs as a gesture produced with the intention of communication. Here a relation of equivalence is important, not a relation of inference. Thus p is equivalent to q.
The third way sees signs as symbols which represent abstract objects, like logical formulas or diagrams. There are also inferential and iconic or analogical.
The fourth way sees signs as diagrams, or pictures that bear a likeness to that which they represent.
The fifth way sees signs as drawing in an abstract or stylised form. These are also iconic but are arbitrary because they are in a state of catachresis (i.e. the are used in ways that violate the norms of a language community; they are used in the ‘wrong’ context).
The sixth way sees signs as an expression where the aliquid instead of standing for, stands where a certain operation is to be addressed. So this type is instruction. If p now, and if you therefore do z, then you will obtain q.
Therefore, in [1.3], Eco argues that we clearly have too many things that are ‘signs’. In order to overcome this problem we need to ask if signs are an intensional device (i.e. a set of all possible things a word could describe) or an extensional device (i.e. a set of all the actual things a word describes). Are we looking at relationships of equivalence or of inference? How far can this inference be pushed? And what constitutes a sign? The actual phonetic utterance of a word or the lexical model which the word represents?
Eco begins to examine some “elusive solutions” in [1.4]. First, he points to people like Malmberg who argue that the word ‘sign’ only applies to linguistic entities. ‘Symbols’ are these elements which represent something else, while ‘signs’ are reserved for language. However, Eco argues that this approach does not (a) explain to what extent signs are related to symbols; (b) which science should study symbols and which categories should be employed; and (c) the relationship between intension and extension is not clear. Thus, this approach is too problematic.
Second, Eco points to scholars like Harman who break down the traditional definition of a ‘sign’ into three separate theoretical subjects: (1) the theory of the intended meaning; (2) the theory of evidence; and (3) the theory of pictorial depiction. However, this approach is also too problematic because it clashes with the linguistic usage of ‘sign’ which has united these three categories for over 2000 years, and it also clashes with the ‘philosophical instinct’, which realises how inextricably linked intended meaning is with evidence and pictorial depiction.
In [1.5], Eco then goes on to examine further attempts to deconstruct the linguistic sign. Apart from a focus on linguistic signs, all these attempts tend to dissolve the sign into entities of greater or lesser purport.
First, he examines Hjelmslev’s approach which distinguishes between signs and figurae. Hjelmslev sees the traditional sign as too large and so he identifies figurae at the content level. Thus, language is not a pure sign system. Language is a system of figurae that are used to construct signs. However, this approach is problematic because it does not account for signs that cannot be broken down into multiple figurae.
Second, scholars like Buyssens argue that the sign is to small and the semantic unit is the seme (i.e. the sentence). This shifts the focus from language as a system of signification to language as a process of communication, but it is problematic because it divides the two approaches when they should be understood as complementary.
Third, Saussure argues that the elements of the signifier and of the signified are set in a system of oppositions in which there are only differences. The correlation of the content-plane with the expression-plane is also given by a difference. Thus the sign exists by a dialectic of presence and absence. Thus, along the lines of Derrida and (much earlier) Leibniz, the whole sign system dissolves into a network of fractures, and since the presence of one element requires the absence of another the argument is “autophagous” (i.e. self-devouring).
Fourth, Lacan argues that the semiotic chain is merely a chain of signifiers. The signified is continually transformed into a signifier through a process of perpetual substitution. However, this is merely a misunderstanding based on wordplay for, in any given context, there will be a specific signifier, and a specific signified.
Fifth, there is the view of Barthes, Derrida, and Kristeva, that argues that signification occurs exclusively within a given text. Thus, meaning is located solely within a text, and the text alone determines the meaning of a sign. However, this is problematic because texts are always produced within communities and the draw from, and manipulate, signs that pre-existed the text.
Sixth, Kristeva further develops the notion of a sign based on categories of ‘similitude’ and ‘identity’. This is rooted in the notion of equivalence. However, this too is problematic for the equivalence model is a degenerate notion of linguistic signs.
Thus, having highlighted the various assaults on the traditional linguistic ‘sign’, Eco steps back to trace the development of the notion of the linguistic sign, in order to show how these critiques gained plausibility, and in order to then provide his alternative.
In [1.6], Eco looks at the relationship between the ‘sign’ and the ‘word’, beginning with Hippocrates and Parmenides. Initially the term ‘sign’ was not applied to words. Words were names, deceptive representations imposed on objects we think we know, that establish a pseudoequivalence with reality. ‘Signs’ were seen as evidence, inferences about the nature of reality. However, Plato and Aristotle shifted the focus of the discussion and words were examined looking at (a) the difference between the signifier and the signified; and (b) the difference between signification and reference. Signification says what a thing is, reference says that a thing is. Throughout Aristotle’s writings there is a reluctance to use the term sign (semeion) for words; rather, words were seen as symbols, a more neutral term at that time. Aristotle continues to see signs as proofs/evidences, and as such they only apply to words when he talks about words are a proof that one has something in one’s mind to express. He does not equate linguistic symbols with natural signs.
However, in [1.7], Eco examines how the Stoics propel the issue forward. The Stoics do not totally integrate a theory of language and a theory of sign. What they do is create a distinction between expression, content and referent. The expression is the actual articulated sound, the referent is that which the sound refers to, and the content is an incorporeal bridge between the two. It is a lekton (i.e. an ‘expressible’). Signs refer to something immediately evident which leads to some conclusion about the existence of something not immediately evident. As such signs can be commemorative deriving from an association (confirmed by preceding experience) between two events, or they can be indicative pointing to something which has never been evident, and probably never will be. Therefore, for the Stoics the theory of language becomes closely associated with the theory of signs. Signs only emerge insofar as they are rationally expressible through the elements of language, language is articulate inasmuch as it expresses meaningful events, and language thus becomes the primary system through which all other systems are expressed.
Thus in [1.8], Eco looks at how the theory of signs and the theory of language are unified, with the predominance of linguistics. Augustine unites the two theories arguing that signs is the genus while linguistic signs are the species, but overtime the model of the linguistic sign gains dominance and is seen as the semiotic model par excellence. Thus The linguistic model was flattened and crystallised into the form used by the dictionary and by a lot of formal logic which had to fill its empty symbols only for the sake of exemplification. Therefore, the notion of meaning as synonymy gained precedence and lead us to the situation in which we now find ourselves.
Therefore, in [1.9], Eco proposes a way forward — “the instructional model” — which differs from the critiques raised by the deconstructionists. Eco’s solution is that the meaning of a categorematic term (i.e. a term or phrase capable of standing as the subject or [especially] predicate of a proposition) or syncategorematic term (i.e. a term or phrase that cannot stand as the subject or [especially] the predicate of a proposition) is found in a set (a series, a system) of instructions for its possible contextual insertions and for its different semantic outputs in different contexts (all registered by the code). Thus, in this approach the semantic type is the description of the contexts in which the term can be expected to occur. This takes place through inference, and the process of recognising natural-events that generate sign-propositions also relies on this inference. Therefore, there is no difference between first level signification (i.e. signs) and second level signification (i.e. semiotics). The sign only exists because is has been constructed by the discipline which studies it.
Okay, so the meaning of a sign is produced through a contextual code but what is this code? In section [1.10], Eco examines strong and weak codes. This is basically an examination of the epistemological value of if and then within any context. Here Eco draws on Aristotle’s theory of necessary signs and weak signs, and this is tied to the notion of necessary and sufficient causes. A weak sign goes from effect to sufficient cause which, although it carries a degree of necessity, is still too broad and must be narrowed down. However, both diagnostic signs (which go back from the effect to the cause) and prognostic signs (which go form the cause to the possible effects) rely on equally weak causes. Therefore, the conditions of a necessity of a sign are socially determined, according to what codes a culture determines to be strong.
In [1.11], Eco looks at how to look at how cultures develop codes. This usually occurs through “daring inferences” especially through abduction, which is the tentative tracing of a system of signification rules which will allow a sign to acquire meaning. We look to a general frame because all induction (the process of deriving general principles form particular facts or instances) is governed by the coded rules of a broader system. In general there are three types of abduction:
First, there is hypothesis or an overcoded abduction which is when the law seems to be a given. This type relies on presuppositions that occur within the co-textual environment.
Second, there is an undercoded abduction where rules must be selected from a series of equiprobable alternatives.
Third, there is creative abduction in which a brand new explanation is developed (“invented ex nono“).
All of this leads to [1.12] and Eco’s criterion of interpretability which is that substitution (as in aliquid stat pro aliquo) is not only necessary for a sign, the possibility of interpretation is necessary as well. With this criterion we are able to move from the study of specific signs to a study of general semiotics. This is the case because interpreting a sign is to define the portion of the continuum which serves as its vehicle in its relationship with the other portions of the continuum. Thus, interpreting a sign is defining a portion through the use of other portions. Consequently, there is no death of the sign, only the death of signs that are based on equivalence.
Thus, Eco concludes in [1.13] with a comment on signs and subjects. Having rejecting signs premised upon equivalency (or equality/identity) he sees the sign as the locus for the semiosic process, and the instrument through which the subject is endlessly made and remade. And this is important because the map of semiosis, as defined by a given historical stage, tells us who we are and what to think.
Well, that was a mouthful. I doubt anybody will read this.
N.T. Wright in May
Attention: N.T. Wright is speaking at the Toronto School of Theology at a conference that runs from May 9-12, 2006.
So it looks like I'll be flying back to Ontario then. I mention this now so that all my Ontario friends and family members can budget accordingly and also attend (cf. http://www.ntwrightpage.com for further info). It's $200 (and more for me since I'm flying back for it) but if you start saving now you'll be able to afford it. It's worth it.
That's all.
Joyful Suffering?
Boso: All these things plainly show that [the Son] ought to be mortal and to partake of our weaknesses. But all these things are our miseries. Will he then be miserable?
Anselm: No, indeed! For as no advantage which one has apart from his choice constitutes happiness, so there is no misery in choosing to bear a loss, when the choice is a wise one and made without compulsion.
~ St. Anselm, Cur Deus Homo
This is an intriguing little exchange in Anselm's book. Here the suggestion is that weakness, when freely chosen, is not a miserable experience. Indeed, the weakness that is spoken of here is Jesus' suffering and death. So we can suffer to the point of death but, if freely chosen, we do so joyfully. Certainly this seems to be how the characters of the New Testament Church understand their suffering. There is much joy in suffering.
It always makes me wonder about how I understand Christian suffering, and the suffering of love. By coming alongside of 'the least of these' I am often miserable. By entering into their sorrows, their pains, their losses, and their weaknesses, I do experience misery. I don't know much about joy in such things. Where shall I find joy in the rape, murder, and torture of my beloved ones?
I think there is much joy in suffering in the New Testament because there is also much freedom granted by the in-breaking Spirit of God. For as much as the suffering of Christ were present in abundance, so also the resurrection power of Christ was also present in abundance. Sure there were beatings, but demons were being cast out; sure there were imprisonments, but the sick were being healed; sure there were martyrs, but the good news was being proclaimed to the poor and a radical community was being formed. Too often I feel like Christians that are journeying with the marginalised have one without the other. They have the sufferings but not the power of the Spirit who gives new life. Why is this so? I'm not sure, but I suspect is has something to do with the fact that most of the contemporary Canadian church seems to have abandoned the marginalised, and only deepend their sufferings. Perhaps when the Church, as a whole body, returns to the margins, then we will know something of joyful suffering.
Speaking Christianly Article
For those that might be interested I have an article in this month's Stimulus (“The New Zealand Journal of Christian Thought and Practice”) and the article is also available on-line at:
http://www.stimulus.org.nz/index_files/February2006.htm
Click on the title “Speaking Christianly in the midst of Babel” that appears in the Table of Contents.
(Note: I did post a draft of this article about a year ago on my blog.)
Semiotics for Dummies (i.e. me): Part I
Well, between reading George Lindbeck and completing a course on sacramental theology, I’ve been doing more and more reading about linguistics and semiotics (the theory and study of signs and symbols, especially as elements of language and other systems of communication). I am currently working on a paper called: “Theology as Presencing: Speaking Religion with George Lindbeck, Martin Heidegger, and Umberto Eco” and as a part of my research I’m reading Umberto Eco’s book, Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language. His work is decidedly dense — particular for those who don’t “speak the language” of language scholars. So, to help me work through this book, I’ve decided to start a series of posts summarising and reflecting on each chapter. That might not be terribly exciting for those who choose to read this blog but I figure if I can present Eco’s material in a way that makes sense to people not interested in this topic then I’m probably getting what he is talking about. So, if you’re interested, let me know what you think (Rivers? I’m counting on you here!). And if you’re not, well, too bad (that probably means everybody but Rivers). Without further ado:
[0] Introduction
Eco begins his book by stating that there tends to be two objects that are focused upon as the object of a general semiotic approach, and these two objects are generally seen as incompatible. They are:
1. The sign/sign-fuction which is a correlation between a signifier and a signified (i.e. between expression and content) and thus an action between pairs.
2. Semiosis which is not an action between pairs, but an action between three subjcts: a sign, its object, and its interpretant.
Eco’s thesis is that these two approaches are not incompatible. In order to defend this he will argue that the semiosic process of interpretation (emphasised by point 2) is actually also at the core of the concept of “sign” (point 1). Eco attacks the notion of signs as immobile or static notions, but argues that our fundamental approach to signs always involves an act of interpretation.
Having laid out his thesis, Eco then lays out some major themes that will be important throughout the book — and which will become more clear when I get to the chapters in which he addresses the individual themes.
Beginning with a basic principle of interpretation that says, “a sign is something by knowing which we know something more” (he is quoting Peirce at this point) and this implies an infinite process of interpretation. However, Eco argues that, although this process may be infinite in theory, any given text does not have an infinite amount of meanings. This is so because, when approached in light of a given topic (i.e. contextually) there is on a limited number of possible meanings. So Eco rejects the notion that there is not true meaning within a text (or, as Valery puts it, “il n’y a pas de vrai sens d’un texts“).
This means that Eco sees contemporary theories of interpretation on a line between two extremes, x and y.
At x are those who see only one possible way of interpreting the text — according to the author’s original intention.
At y are those who see any possible meaning in the text.
Eco is interested in finding a continuum of intermediate positions between these two points. Thus, his focus on context leads him to argue that between x and y stands “a recorded thesaurus of encyclopedic competence, a social storage of world knowledge” and interpretation is implemented and legitimated by this. The notion of interpretation being an act that is accomplished through an appeal to an encyclopedia of world knowledge is crucial to Eco’s thesis, as will become clear in our summary of chapter two.
Eco then goes on to cover some more introductory type material before getting into the body of his book. First, he explains that he is engaged in a philosophy of language because any general semiotics is a philosophy of language, and good philosophies of language are concerned with semiotics (see the definition of “semiotics” I provided above). Second, he makes a distinction between a specific semiotics and a general semiotics.
A specific semiotics is “the grammar of a particular sign system”. Thus, if one views Christianity as a particular kind of language, Christian theology functions as the grammar of that language — i.e. as a specific semiotics (I’m pulling on George Lindbeck’s work in this example). Thus, a specific semiotic is successful if it describes a given field of communicative phenomena as ruled by a specific system of signification. That is to say, a specific semiotic is successful if it forms a coherent worldview. That is why specific semiotics are used to improve, preserve, or destroy cultures. It is also why they are disciplinary, and they can tell which expressions are acceptable (i.e. grammatical) within that worldview. Thus, something can be empirically tested within a specific semiotics. In this regard, it can be said that specific semiotics is a science, because it has clear rules for how it determines the relevance of empirical data.
A general semiotics asks bigger questions: what does it mean to say, to express meanings, to convey ideas, or to mention states of the world? However, general semiotics will always be comparative, and rely on specific semiotics, since they are inescapable because all of us are contextual interpreters of meaning. We can only study and describe language through language. A general semiotics is not a science, but rather a philosophy because it cannot be empirically tested. This is so because philosophical entities only exist to the extent that they have been philosophically posited — that is to say, they are not ’emic’ (internal) definitions of previously recognisable ‘etic’ (external) data. Such concepts only have unity within their philosophical framework. Thus, a general semiotics has explanatory and practical power but cannot be shown to be true in a scientific sense. Yet this is not to say that such concepts are just figments of our imagination, but they cannot be judged for their truth-value, only for their perspicacity.
Okay… that’s it for the introduction. How’d I do? Clear as mud? Are you sitting there wondering why the hell anybody would want to care about this sort of stuff? Should I write more about why I think it’s interesting/important?
My Dream
I have been using a rosary lately to help me pray more often and to focus my prayers on particular Scriptures, subjects and creeds. I have been thoroughly enjoying this and I could always write a post about how exactly I pray through the rosary, but I only mention it in this post because it plays a crucial role in a dream I had.
I was down in Washington for a course this past weekend, and while I was there I had this dream.
In the dream I was praying, holding the cross on my rosary. However, the edges of the cross were like broken glass, and, as I clenched it in my hand, it sliced my palm open and I started to bleed. Then, looking around me, I realised that I was in the ghetto close to my work and the ground was covered with people laying down, bleeding to death. I went up to the closest person, a man, and thought that maybe the blood that was coming out of my hand could go into his wound and restore him. So I put my hand over his wound and my blood started passing into him. However, as I looked at him I realised that his whole body was covered in wounds and he was losing far more blood out of his body, than he was gaining from my hand. So, I looked around for help and I saw people I knew, Church people/Christians, walking by. I called out to them, told them we needed more help otherwise everybody was going to bleed to death — and I held my rosary out to them. One by one they grabbed on to the cross and had their hands cut open. However, every one of them screamed or yelled when they were cut and ran away until I was the only one left. So, desperate to get more blood into the man I was standing by, I took the cross and lacerated my whole body with it and laid down on top of the man so that my wounds covered his. But even then he was still losing blood faster than he was gaining it. And so we laid there together and slowly bleed to death. As I was losing consciousness I heard a voice saying, “I am the resurrection and the life, no one comes to the Father except through me.”
And then I woke up.
Hatred and Truth-telling
I received an interesting question in response to my last post, and so I thought I would post my response in a new post with the hope that it would spark more discussion on this topic.
Stephen,
If I am understanding you correctly you seem to be objecting to the usage of the word “hate” in the initial quote because hate is implies a “relational” anger. Therefore, you seem to suggest that when we speak the truth with hatred (whether towards “a group of people or a person, some kind of system of authority, or system of living”) people will be distracted or deterred and their hearing will be negatively impacted.
I'm not entirely sure that I agree with you. Mostly because there seems to be a time for hate (as Eccl 3.8 says). Now I'm not talking about hatred of specific people — that seems to be thoroughly done away with after Christ. In the New Testament one is no longer permitted to hate anybody, not even one's enemies, or the enemies of one's loved ones.
However, there does seem to be a place for a hatred in the New Testament — one is to hate evil. The Psalmist tells those who love God to “hate” evil (Ps 5.5), the writer of Proverbs tells us that the fear of the Lord is to “hate” evil (Prov 8.13), and Amos tells us to “hate” evil and love good (Am 5.15). This seems to remain a consistent theme in the NT.
Because one hates evil one should also hate certain evil actions. Thus, we hear Jesus saying, “you hate the deeds of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate” (Rev 2.6). The OT talks about God hating evil actions several times (cf. Deut 12.31, Prov 6.16, Is 61.8, Jer 44.4, Zech 8.17) and the NT gives us no reason to think that such actions should no longer be hated after Christ. Indeed, such hatred seems to be appropriate. Thus, to take one example, God is said to “hate” divorce in Mal 2.6 and Jesus' teachings on divorce seem to confirm this.
Because certain evil actions are to be hated, there is also a place for hating structures which institutionalise those actions. Thus, the prophets continual speak about ways in which violence and injustice have been institutionalised in the structures of Israel (cf. Is 1.14, Am 5.21). Indeed, Israel is sent into exile at least partially because it has not hated structures that institutionalised violence. As Ezekiel says, “since you have not hated bloodshed, therefore bloodshed will pursue you” (Ez 35.6). Again, there is no reason to suppose that this critique does not carry over into the NT. The harsh words that Jesus and John the Baptiser have for the Pharisees et al. and for the Temple cult seem to confirm that this form of hatred carries over into a Christian ethic as well.
Not only that but Jesus suggests that, if we are to follow him faithfully, we may be required to hate seemingly neutral objects that are the building blocks of those institutions. As he suggests in Mt 6.24, “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other You cannot serve God and wealth.” Perhaps serving God requires us to hate money. I also think it would be appropriate for Christians to hate such objects as guns, crack, nuclear weapons, etc.
So I think that (a) hatred of evil; (b) hatred of evil actions; (c) hatred of structures that institutionalise evil actions; and (d) hatred of objects that support those structures and work against Christianity's goal of universal reconciliation, might all be forms of hatred that are consistent with a Christian ethic.
And, in keeping with the biblical witness, I think that it is okay to use the language of hatred when discussing such things. So, for example, as a Christian I can say (a) I hate evil; (b) I hate murder; (c) I hate States that thrive on war; (d) I hate nuclear weapons.
Or, another example: (a) I hate evil; (b) I hate rape; (c) I hate institutions that make a profit from sexually objectifying women; (d) I hate snuff films.
Note that neither of these examples imply that I hate people. Thus, in the first case I should be able to say that I love (b) murderers, (c) politicians and dictators, and (d) soldiers; and in the second case I should still be able to say that I love (b) rapists, (c) people who work for firms that perpetuate the objectification of women, and (d) people who produce snuff films. No easy task but it is what is required of us.
I'd be curious to hear more thoughts on this… what do y'all think about the notion of “appropriate hatred” and how can we ensure that it remains “appropriate”? I ask this question because I think that catch phrases like, “love the sinner but hate the sin” don't usually work so well in practice.
Anger and Truth
Everett's warnings especially confused me, because I knew he wouldn't lie, but he was so full of anger and hate this his truths just didn't feel true.
~ Irwin, in The Brothers K by David James Duncan
So the question becomes one of truth-telling — or, more accurately, the possibility for a truth told to be received and accepted by any given audience. Must truths be free of anger in order for them to “feel true”? Surely there is a place for anger in truth-telling; after all, anger is often but a manifestation of broken-heartedness. And how can some truths not break our hearts? How can I speak of my people — and what is done to them — without sorrow, and anger, and hope, and delight all intermingled? Must truths told in such a way be rejected because of how they feel? And if they are rejected what hope do we have? For this is the only way that truth can be told truthfully.
I think that this might be why the prophets — those miserable tellers of truth — often have the paradoxical commission of summoning the people to return to the ways of YHWH and of hardening the hearts of the people (even though the prophet will also be broken in that process).