This quote is from an online review (by Carl Raschke) of the new book by Merold Westphal (Whose Community? Which Interpretation?), and though it's only peripheral to the main point of the book, it's just too awesome not to share! :-)
"When it comes to reading texts, particularly Biblical texts (which is the business of hermeneutics), we tend to treat our presuppositions like we often do our spouses. We are prone to take them for granted, and frequently ignore them entirely, except when our sense of honor or identity is threatened, at which point we get defensive, even belligerent."
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
More of my favorite lyrics... :-)
Haven't done this in a while! This is a song by The Mountain Goats, from the album "Tallahassee." Amazing songwriter and storyteller, that John Darnielle... I don't know why, but I always picture a stowaway illegal immigrant signing this song...
First Few Desperate Hours
Bad luck comes in from Tampa
Bad luck comes in from Tampa
On the back of a truck
Doing ninety up the interstate
We have bad dreams the night he rolls in
We have bad dreams the night he rolls in
And we try to keep our sprits high
But they flag and they wane
When the truck pulls up out front
In the light spring rain
And they sag like withering flowers
Let the good times roll on
Through these first few desperate hours
The driver drops his cargo at the curb
The driver drops his cargo at the curb
And the sun peeks in
Like a killer through the curtain
And when cloven hoof prints turn up in the garden
Yeah when cloven hoof prints turn up in the garden
We keep up the good fight
We keep our spirits light
But they draw like flies
And there's a stomach-churning shift
In the way the land lies
And they lean like towers
On a hillside struggling to stand
Through these first few desperate hours
First Few Desperate Hours
Bad luck comes in from Tampa
Bad luck comes in from Tampa
On the back of a truck
Doing ninety up the interstate
We have bad dreams the night he rolls in
We have bad dreams the night he rolls in
And we try to keep our sprits high
But they flag and they wane
When the truck pulls up out front
In the light spring rain
And they sag like withering flowers
Let the good times roll on
Through these first few desperate hours
The driver drops his cargo at the curb
The driver drops his cargo at the curb
And the sun peeks in
Like a killer through the curtain
And when cloven hoof prints turn up in the garden
Yeah when cloven hoof prints turn up in the garden
We keep up the good fight
We keep our spirits light
But they draw like flies
And there's a stomach-churning shift
In the way the land lies
And they lean like towers
On a hillside struggling to stand
Through these first few desperate hours
Saturday, November 14, 2009
more from Dorothy Soelle...
"It is clear that Christianity makes an overwhelming affirmation of suffering, far stronger than many other world views that do not have as their center the symbol of the cross. But this affirmation is only part of the great love for life as a whole that Christians express with the word 'believe.' To be able to believe means to say yes to this life, to this finitude, to work on it and hold it open for the promised future."
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
thinking theologically about universals and particulars...
As is well known in philosophy [n.b. - this is a very brief summary!], Plato referenced two distinct realities, the world of things (where we live), and the world of the forms (the "true" or "pure" reality). For him, the particular "thing" in our reality is just a copy, or shadow, of the universal form, which is THE real thing. Aristotle came along and said: No, the universal is in the particular; in other words, the true reality of the thing is found somehow within the form of the thing itself. This relationship between the "universal" and the "particular," or some version thereof, has been debated ever since: Is the particular a reflection of, and thus less real, the universal, or, is the universal in the particular, tacitly making the universal dependent upon the particular?
Christianity, it seems to me, has posited a reality that is a combination of, and yet transcends, both of these options: The universal (God) is both in a particular (Jesus) and beyond all particulars. All created reality is not only a shadow of reality as it should/will be, but in some sense all particulars are contained in the universal (i.e. sustained by God’s Spirit). So, we have a dialectical relationship between the particular and the universal, one that creates an aporia for human thought.
Hegel’s attempts, as I understand him, to parse out this aporia by way of a philosophical system, finally led to his subsuming all particulars into an inevitable universal that fulfills all particularities. Kierkegaard, of course, clearly preferred the particular individual over the universal, for a variety of reasons, yet he also recognized the ultimate paradox of Christ as both universal and particular (see SK's Training in Christianity for instance). Postmoderns (or so it is often claimed) tend to think - radicalizing Kant - that since the universal is unknowable, all we have is the particular, which means that all knowledge and experience of reality is tentative and potentially meaningless.
But Christianity, again, seems to indicate NOT that we have no universal, but that the universal cannot be known directly; therefore, we need to focus on the particular, and perhaps, in examining the particular, we will grasp a small piece of the universal. At the same time, it claims that these particulars actually reflect a universal reality that is greater than, or "more real," than our own.
Now, what should our response be, as believers in the Christian reality? Some suggest that we simply have no choice but to trust God (the universal) as revealed, and make no claim to have any additional resources. Others argue that if we look at multiple particulars (I will tentatively label this approach "natural theology"), perhaps the overall effect will be that we establish some glimpse of the universal that can be employed in our attempts to function within this reality.
This leads to a host of questions, of course – How many particulars are needed to establish a pattern for the universal? Are some particulars more reliable than others? Who decides? What do we do when communities disagree over the particulars, or patterns of particulars? Is this even appropriate for Christianity, given that we already have THE supposed particular truth, namely, the revelation of Jesus Christ attested to in Scripture? Should we simply rely on that particular for guidance? What happens when that particular breaks down vis-a-vis our reality? Do we then retreat into "non-realism" or do we move into another mode of response? All these questions, and more, are related to theological reflection on the concepts of the universal and the particular...
Christianity, it seems to me, has posited a reality that is a combination of, and yet transcends, both of these options: The universal (God) is both in a particular (Jesus) and beyond all particulars. All created reality is not only a shadow of reality as it should/will be, but in some sense all particulars are contained in the universal (i.e. sustained by God’s Spirit). So, we have a dialectical relationship between the particular and the universal, one that creates an aporia for human thought.
Hegel’s attempts, as I understand him, to parse out this aporia by way of a philosophical system, finally led to his subsuming all particulars into an inevitable universal that fulfills all particularities. Kierkegaard, of course, clearly preferred the particular individual over the universal, for a variety of reasons, yet he also recognized the ultimate paradox of Christ as both universal and particular (see SK's Training in Christianity for instance). Postmoderns (or so it is often claimed) tend to think - radicalizing Kant - that since the universal is unknowable, all we have is the particular, which means that all knowledge and experience of reality is tentative and potentially meaningless.
But Christianity, again, seems to indicate NOT that we have no universal, but that the universal cannot be known directly; therefore, we need to focus on the particular, and perhaps, in examining the particular, we will grasp a small piece of the universal. At the same time, it claims that these particulars actually reflect a universal reality that is greater than, or "more real," than our own.
Now, what should our response be, as believers in the Christian reality? Some suggest that we simply have no choice but to trust God (the universal) as revealed, and make no claim to have any additional resources. Others argue that if we look at multiple particulars (I will tentatively label this approach "natural theology"), perhaps the overall effect will be that we establish some glimpse of the universal that can be employed in our attempts to function within this reality.
This leads to a host of questions, of course – How many particulars are needed to establish a pattern for the universal? Are some particulars more reliable than others? Who decides? What do we do when communities disagree over the particulars, or patterns of particulars? Is this even appropriate for Christianity, given that we already have THE supposed particular truth, namely, the revelation of Jesus Christ attested to in Scripture? Should we simply rely on that particular for guidance? What happens when that particular breaks down vis-a-vis our reality? Do we then retreat into "non-realism" or do we move into another mode of response? All these questions, and more, are related to theological reflection on the concepts of the universal and the particular...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Soelle on suffering...
Reading Dorothy Soelle's book, Suffering, has been very therapeutic - as well as theologically helpful - for me this week. Here are a couple of my favorite passages so far:
"Whoever deals with his personal suffering only in the way our society has taught him - through illusion, minimization, suppression, apathy - will deal with societal suffering in the same way. The modern question about suffering, focusing on society... can only be addressed meaningfully in a context in which the traditional question... focusing on the individual, is not suppressed."
"Apathy is a form of the inability to suffer. It is understood as a social condition in which people are so dominated by the goal of avoiding suffering that it becomes a goal to avoid human relationships and contacts altogether... This doesn't mean that apathetic people... don't suffer - let alone that they are happy. What they lack is an awareness of their own suffering and a sensitivity to the suffering of others. They experience suffering, but they "put up with it," it doesn't move them. They have no language or gestures with which to battle suffering. Nothing is changed; they learn nothing from it."
"Whoever deals with his personal suffering only in the way our society has taught him - through illusion, minimization, suppression, apathy - will deal with societal suffering in the same way. The modern question about suffering, focusing on society... can only be addressed meaningfully in a context in which the traditional question... focusing on the individual, is not suppressed."
"Apathy is a form of the inability to suffer. It is understood as a social condition in which people are so dominated by the goal of avoiding suffering that it becomes a goal to avoid human relationships and contacts altogether... This doesn't mean that apathetic people... don't suffer - let alone that they are happy. What they lack is an awareness of their own suffering and a sensitivity to the suffering of others. They experience suffering, but they "put up with it," it doesn't move them. They have no language or gestures with which to battle suffering. Nothing is changed; they learn nothing from it."
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
God, suffering, and trust...
I'm not sure I like that title for this post, but, oh well...
I feel like (and, of course, starting with those words opens me up to a host of possible issues that I won't resolve in this short post!) a subtle, but perhaps life-altering, shift has been taking place within me over the last several days. A combination of my own thoughts and reactions to circumstances is leading me away from God in certain ways, and drawing me closer in others. I am not certain of the outcome (or of much else, for that matter! :-D), but I think I can state the following with assurance:
1. I no longer believe in the God that I have been holding onto in my heart for many years. This does NOT mean I don't believe in God, or Jesus Christ, but it does mean that something has changed. I think, for some time now, I've been secretly (to all but God!) bitter at God for not responding to me - and to what I perceive as injustice in the world - in a matter that seems sufficient to me. This has recently been boiling over, as I'll explain. I have held onto a view of God that, although emphasizing God's immeasurable love, has led me to think that God is obligated to operate according to certain parameters.
I won't suggest this is true of all Evangelicals, but there is often, I think, an underlying belief that God's goodness is reflected in, to put it bluntly, things going "my way." Even among those who speak with vigor concerning the sovereignty of God, most of my Evangelical experience has been underlined with a sort of "here's how to properly define God's blessing/nearness" mentality.
2. What do I mean? Well, you probably know the dilemma: When everything is going great, when life is wonderful, it's all about "God's favor" or "God blessing us." And then, when things go bad, the response is typically, "Who can understand the mystery of God?" or "God is punishing us for some reason." This has always seemed a bit suspicious to me. First, if it's simply a matter of God blessing us in some circumstances, and punishing us in others, then it naturally follows that we will try to figure out what to do so that we're "obeying" God properly and reaping the blessings while avoiding the punishment. It's completely natural to want to do that.
Second, the problem is, at least for me, that this develops into a cognitive dissonance: If I'm trying to do all the right things, and there is MORE suffering, or when suffering comes to people who don't seem to deserve it at all, the system of works (which is essentially what I'm describing) starts to crack. There are simply too many unexplainable things, from human imperfections as insignificant as warts, to horrific natural disasters, that thwart any attempt to develop a system of obedience that keeps us safe as Christians, or just as people in general. Lately, my anger at God for not "making things right" has led me to lash out him in quite vehement language. It's something I can't ignore any longer.
The issue is simply this: If God is a mystery, then there is NOT a system of law to which we can appeal as providing us with shelter, as long as we obey. This is the story of Job, but I think - at least in my experience - the Western (American?) Evangelical response to Job has been closer to Job's three friends, who try to explain it all, than an honest recognition that God may not do what we want at all.
3. So, we are left with that "Who can understand why God allows X to happen?" mentality, or, as is often the temptation, we can give up on God. We can say - as I have a few times recently - "God, I've been waiting long enough, and you haven't shown up in a way that makes any sense, so... forget it. I'm done."
What I've realized is that, while neither of these is sufficient, if I am going to be honest as a believer, I have to say that I know far less about what God is doing, in both good and evil situations, than I previously thought. I have to admit that there is a greater distance between God and myself than I recognized.
I am sure that some people will, at this point, question my faith, and say things like, "If you're really following Christ, you just sense his presence," or "Don't you feel the spirit of God with you when..." Honestly, I don't have a good answer to those questions. But what I do know is that, as far as I can tell, most people who say things like that really don't have anything to back up their statements. They may or may not be experiencing God's presence, but I have no way to ascertain that. And I'm not going to rely on anyone else's explanation of how God has responded to them.
I have to simply trust, and wait, and see what happens. But I am no longer going to make any claims about how God HAS to operate, in spite of what the Bible, or anyone else, says about it.
Clearly, there is much more to how God does things than what is written in the Bible. It's not a simple "if... then..." correlation. Either that, or the hyper-Calvinists are right: there are a very limited number of people who are chosen by God, and the rest of us are just spinning our wheels, even if we want to know God. If that's the case, well, not much I can do about it. But, if (as I believe) God does want to be in relationship and transform everyone and everything, then that means I have to give up my notion that I can have any ability to predict or dictate what that looks like. And that's not very appealing to me. I want stability and predictability.
So, what is the point of this rambling post? Let's see if I can sum it up in a couple sentences: I am a very self-centered person who is slowly being (hopefully) transformed by Jesus Christ/God into someone who lets God be God and doesn't try to dictate what God's activity has to look like. But this is a very difficult process, because it means letting go of a lot of the "Evangelical" baggage and truisms that are imbedded in my soul/conscience. I'm not sure what to think about God anymore, but I have to hope that Jesus Christ will be all that I need, because otherwise, I'm screwed.
And that's that. (or is it?) :-)
I feel like (and, of course, starting with those words opens me up to a host of possible issues that I won't resolve in this short post!) a subtle, but perhaps life-altering, shift has been taking place within me over the last several days. A combination of my own thoughts and reactions to circumstances is leading me away from God in certain ways, and drawing me closer in others. I am not certain of the outcome (or of much else, for that matter! :-D), but I think I can state the following with assurance:
1. I no longer believe in the God that I have been holding onto in my heart for many years. This does NOT mean I don't believe in God, or Jesus Christ, but it does mean that something has changed. I think, for some time now, I've been secretly (to all but God!) bitter at God for not responding to me - and to what I perceive as injustice in the world - in a matter that seems sufficient to me. This has recently been boiling over, as I'll explain. I have held onto a view of God that, although emphasizing God's immeasurable love, has led me to think that God is obligated to operate according to certain parameters.
I won't suggest this is true of all Evangelicals, but there is often, I think, an underlying belief that God's goodness is reflected in, to put it bluntly, things going "my way." Even among those who speak with vigor concerning the sovereignty of God, most of my Evangelical experience has been underlined with a sort of "here's how to properly define God's blessing/nearness" mentality.
2. What do I mean? Well, you probably know the dilemma: When everything is going great, when life is wonderful, it's all about "God's favor" or "God blessing us." And then, when things go bad, the response is typically, "Who can understand the mystery of God?" or "God is punishing us for some reason." This has always seemed a bit suspicious to me. First, if it's simply a matter of God blessing us in some circumstances, and punishing us in others, then it naturally follows that we will try to figure out what to do so that we're "obeying" God properly and reaping the blessings while avoiding the punishment. It's completely natural to want to do that.
Second, the problem is, at least for me, that this develops into a cognitive dissonance: If I'm trying to do all the right things, and there is MORE suffering, or when suffering comes to people who don't seem to deserve it at all, the system of works (which is essentially what I'm describing) starts to crack. There are simply too many unexplainable things, from human imperfections as insignificant as warts, to horrific natural disasters, that thwart any attempt to develop a system of obedience that keeps us safe as Christians, or just as people in general. Lately, my anger at God for not "making things right" has led me to lash out him in quite vehement language. It's something I can't ignore any longer.
The issue is simply this: If God is a mystery, then there is NOT a system of law to which we can appeal as providing us with shelter, as long as we obey. This is the story of Job, but I think - at least in my experience - the Western (American?) Evangelical response to Job has been closer to Job's three friends, who try to explain it all, than an honest recognition that God may not do what we want at all.
3. So, we are left with that "Who can understand why God allows X to happen?" mentality, or, as is often the temptation, we can give up on God. We can say - as I have a few times recently - "God, I've been waiting long enough, and you haven't shown up in a way that makes any sense, so... forget it. I'm done."
What I've realized is that, while neither of these is sufficient, if I am going to be honest as a believer, I have to say that I know far less about what God is doing, in both good and evil situations, than I previously thought. I have to admit that there is a greater distance between God and myself than I recognized.
I am sure that some people will, at this point, question my faith, and say things like, "If you're really following Christ, you just sense his presence," or "Don't you feel the spirit of God with you when..." Honestly, I don't have a good answer to those questions. But what I do know is that, as far as I can tell, most people who say things like that really don't have anything to back up their statements. They may or may not be experiencing God's presence, but I have no way to ascertain that. And I'm not going to rely on anyone else's explanation of how God has responded to them.
I have to simply trust, and wait, and see what happens. But I am no longer going to make any claims about how God HAS to operate, in spite of what the Bible, or anyone else, says about it.
Clearly, there is much more to how God does things than what is written in the Bible. It's not a simple "if... then..." correlation. Either that, or the hyper-Calvinists are right: there are a very limited number of people who are chosen by God, and the rest of us are just spinning our wheels, even if we want to know God. If that's the case, well, not much I can do about it. But, if (as I believe) God does want to be in relationship and transform everyone and everything, then that means I have to give up my notion that I can have any ability to predict or dictate what that looks like. And that's not very appealing to me. I want stability and predictability.
So, what is the point of this rambling post? Let's see if I can sum it up in a couple sentences: I am a very self-centered person who is slowly being (hopefully) transformed by Jesus Christ/God into someone who lets God be God and doesn't try to dictate what God's activity has to look like. But this is a very difficult process, because it means letting go of a lot of the "Evangelical" baggage and truisms that are imbedded in my soul/conscience. I'm not sure what to think about God anymore, but I have to hope that Jesus Christ will be all that I need, because otherwise, I'm screwed.
And that's that. (or is it?) :-)
Monday, November 2, 2009
Derrida as theologian...
"In the Epistle to the Philippians 2:12, the disciples are asked to work towards their salvation in fear and trembling. They will have to work for their salvation knowing all along that it is God who decides: the Other has no reason to give to us and nothing to settle in our favor, no reason to share his reasons with us. We fear and tremble because we are already in the hands of God, although free to work, but in the hands and under the gaze of God, whom we don't see and whose will we cannot know, no more than the decisions he will hand down, nor his reasons for wanting this or that, our life or death, our salvation or perdition. We fear and tremble before the inaccessible secret of a God who decides for us although we remain responsible, that is, free to decide, to work, to assume our life and our death."
(Jacques Derrida, "The Gift of Death," p. 56)
Sounds like Derrida might have been a Reformed theologian... :-) And, aside from a disagreement with him over the impossibility of knowing God's will, I think Derrida's pretty well hit the nail on the head.
(Jacques Derrida, "The Gift of Death," p. 56)
Sounds like Derrida might have been a Reformed theologian... :-) And, aside from a disagreement with him over the impossibility of knowing God's will, I think Derrida's pretty well hit the nail on the head.
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