Above All, Save the Merchandise

In the face of al-Quaeda's attack on the Twin Towers and Pentagon, the White House's admonition was clear: "Shop." The one thing the enemy won't destroy is our freedom to go the mall.

And now, in the wake of a national tragedy, we find a similarly ridiculous focus on the market and merchandise. From the NYT:

With police officers and National Guard troops giving priority to saving lives, looters brazenly ripped open gates and ransacked stores for food, clothing, television sets, computers, jewelry and guns, often in full view of helpless law-enforcement officials. Dozens of carjackings, apparently by survivors desperate to escape, were reported, as were a number of shootings.

On Wednesday night, Mayor Nagin ordered 1,500 police officers, most of the city's force, to turn from search and rescue to stopping the looting.

While children remain stranded on rooftops without fresh water or food, and corpses floating past them, the Mayor is channeling precious human resources to protect Wal-Mart. This is akin to police chases over a stolen $13,000 Honda as justification for lives lost.

Grief over a national tragedy is compounded by an overwhelming sense of the amoral tentacles of the market squeezing our very imaginations.

A Generous Orthodoxy Think Tank

I've enjoyed being a part of a new venture launched by Stephen Bush called "Generous Orthodoxy: Think Tank." This creates the space for some excellent conversation between evangelicals scholars, graduate students, and practitioners who want to both push the envelope but also remain faithful to the tradition. It includes some of the sharpest young voices in evangelical theology such as John Franke and LeRon Shults. That it has been taking up far too much of my time is testament to how valuable this site will be.

Oh, well, if it's biblical...

I was glad, or at least relieved, to see evangelical leaders--including even Al Mohler--roundly denounced Pat Robertson's remarks about assassinating Hugo Chavez. And Christian charity also requires me to acknowledge that, after some curious backpedalling (in which Robertson seemed to become a deconstructionist as he waxed eloquent about the dissemination of meaning around the phrase "take out," as if the meaning of the word "assassination" was determined by reader-response!), Roberts has now apologized for his comment (though not to Chavez).

However, there's another gem in this news cycle. Marvin Olansky, editor of World magazine (favored periodical of evangelicals devoted to America's civil religion), while criticizing Robertson, also suggested that "Biblically, assassination may be used in times of war, last time I looked we were not at war with Venezuela."

I have not the least doubt that Olansky has "chapter-and-verse" to support this notion, but I'm honestly trying to imagine the hermeneutical framework and biblical theology that could make such a claim possible.

Benedict XVI at World Youth Day

World Youth Day in Cologne looked like a stunning event--a richly international gathering of Catholic youth from around the globe. While they displayed some of the exuberant features of North American youth culture (I saw "the wave" making its rounds at one point), one must also be struck at how radically different this Catholic youth movement is from dominant strains of evangelical youth culture, which seems captive to an entertainment model and mimicks a kind of MTV-ized version of the faith. The 11th commandment for evangelical youth pastors seems to be, "Thou shalt not be un-cool" (playing right into the hands of the "Merchants of Cool").

But World Youth Day is eminently successful precisely because in many ways, they reject cool. Here's an elderly man (not even as charismatic as his predecessor), dressed in anything but hip clothes (no GAP or baggy jeans in his vestments), who refuses to talk down to them. I was able to watch some of the beautiful Marienfeld Vigil on the Saturday night. Benedict XVI's address at this vigil was inspiring: inviting them to tread the way of the Magi, he noted that the wise men were seeking "true justice that can only come from God." He noted that the king they found was quite different from their expectations, forcing them to rethink their entire paradigm of "power." The baby king "contrasts the the noisy and ostentatious power of this world with the defenceless power of love, which succumbs to death on the Cross." He went on to admonish these young people that "only form the saints, only from God, does true revolution come, the definitive way to change to the world." Unlike most youth events I've experienced in evangelical subculture which usually just invite kids to stop having sex, Benedict XVI was inviting these young people to a mode of political discipleship intimately tied to the Church (this is not about a "private Jesus" he said) and the sacraments.

Admittedly, I'm still bothered by a deep tension in Benedict XVI's vision: on the one hand, he argues that true justice and true revolution are tied to the Cross and the Church; on the other hand, he speaks in more generally theistic, natural-law-like terms because he wants to invoke God's justice as something to which Europe (as such) should be subject. So there is a lingering nostalgia for Christendom. Or, if I could put it otherwise, there is a deep tension, I think, between his Christological/crucicentric emphasis and his natural law desires. What would correct this, or at least humble the natural-law side of the tension, is a more robust account of sin coupled with a more specific pneumatology. Why should we think that "Europe" would embrace the foolishness of the cross?

Who Would Jesus Assassinate?

I'm not one to caricature the Religious Right by taking Pat Robertson as the norm. However, that Robertson could--on air on the 700 Club--openly call for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez (one of several leftist leaders in South America), and that this wouldn't cause an uproar amongst religious convervatives--such a scenario surely is some kind of indicator of the degree to which the conservative religious imagination in America has become captive to forces that have less to do with following Jesus and more about protecting the American way.

Wanted: Tickets to NYC

While I will have just landed from Spain, I find myself wishing for some mode of ominpresence as I've just seen that Christopher Hitchens is going to be debating George Galloway in New York on Sept. 14! Readers of Fors Clavigera will have found (qualified) praise of both in previous posts.

Donations for airfare to NYC would be happily accepted! :-) But in lieu of such patronage, if anyone can make it and take notes, please contribute to my envy by passing them along. (For the record, I expect Hitchens to carry the day.)

Africa, Poverty, and America's Empty Promises: or Why Bono's Wrong

The Council on Foreign Relations has provided the transcript of a fascinating and enlightening discussion with Columbia economist Jeffrey Sachs on the question, "Can We End Global Poverty?" Sachs is particularly forthright on how out of step the American position on African aid really is:

SACHS: Most of us that have looked at this in recent years--and I've been looking at this intensively for about a decade now--believe that if we're going to help the impoverished regions get out of a trap of disease, hunger, environmental degradation, excessive population growth, and the whole spiral of disasters, we must provide serious financing. And there now is pretty much a worldwide consensus on this, except in the United States, which stands aloof from that consensus. And we have a pretty deeply ingrained feeling in this country that we should not do more. That's a feeling that has many different roots. But when George Bush said to Tony Blair last week, "We won't do more," he was expressing what is a commonly held belief in American politics.

He also documents the way in which even the aid that is promised translates into almost no real significant contribution toward development. Here Sachs tries to demythologize the impressions we have about aid that is promised:

The biggest myth--if I could just filibuster for one more minute on this--the biggest myth in our country is how much aid we give and how much has gone down the drain. This is what I confront every day, many times a day from hate mail, to questions, and so forth. Let me just run through, if I could, what we actually do for Africa.

The U.S. aid to Africa is $3 billion this year. That $3 billion is roughly divided into three parts: The first is emergency food shipments. Of the billion or so in emergency food shipments, half of that, roughly $500 million, is just transport costs. So the commodities are maybe half a billion dollars. That's not development assistance, that's emergency relief. The second billion is the AIDS program, now standing at about $1 billion. That, on the whole, is a good thing. I would call it a real program. It's providing commodities; it's providing relief. It started late and it's too small, but it's there. The third billion is everything else we do for child survival, maternal survival, family planning, roads, power, water and sanitation, malaria; everything is the third $1 billion. Most of that, approaching 80 percent, is actually American consultant salaries. There's almost no delivery of commodities, for example. There's essentially zero financing to help a country build a school or build a clinic or dig a well.

When you get down to it, the actual financing we provide to help Africans invest in their future is well under $1 per African per year. Then, the politicians say--as George Bush did yesterday--we give so much money and it's misused; we won't let that happen. The fact is we put in almost no funding, and it accomplishes almost nothing. And then we bemoan the waste. I don't know how to break through that misunderstanding. That's what I've been trying to do for many years, but it's very, very powerful in this country.

And so he explicitly notes that Bono's modus operandi, which is to never criticize the Bush administration (but rather kiss their butt because they hold the biggest purse strings) is, when it comes down to it, a futile endeavor:

Bono's belief has been that being nice is going to be the way to bring everyone along. And everything that's been announced has been championed. We get good headlines for the Millennium Challenge Corporation. We say it's wonderful. The Bush administration claims it's tripled aid to Africa, which, aside from the fact that you can multiply three times an insignificant number and still get an insignificant number, it's also not even true in terms of the numbers.

But this is an administration that people don't like to take on head-on. You get slammed when you do it. They work very closely with the White House, Bono and his group, because they think that that's what's going to bring--that's what's going to bring everything along. I mean, Bono's not only well-meaning, he's heartfelt and earnest, and incredibly hardworking, and I admire him enormously for it. But my job is to know the arithmetic, and we're not solving the problems. We're just talking about them.

I would highly recommend reading the Sachs interview in tandem with Bill McKibben's Harper's article on "The Christian Paradox," where he very simply but clearly documents the disconnect between all the Christian rhetoric that fills political airwaves in this country and the actual practices of a developed nation with a disastrous infant mortality rate, a singular and really astonishing commitment to the death penalty, and a trigger-happy tendency to militarism.

When Even "Realism" Starts to Look Good...

I am no fan of "realism" as a doctrine--either in foreign policy, or in terms of the Nieburhrian project for public theology. However, I must say that in wake of neocon idealism, a little dose of even realism is a welcome relief! This is clearly articulated in an excellent NYT editorial today from Gideon Rose, managing editor of Foreign Affairs. Rose provides a fascinating account of the dialectic of American foreign policy in which a nagging idealism (the legacy, I might suggest, of our Puritan founding) keeps rearing its head, only to run up against the "reality" of what even Rose calls "a fallen world." This dialectic plays itself out through the election cycle, with idealists being chastised and replaced by realists. Quite a convincing history.

The hook for this piece is Rose's suggestion that Bush Jr.'s idealism (newly adopted after 9/11) is now being de-fanged by Rice's realism. But the problem with this picture is something that Rose himself notes: Rice and the realists in the State department "still believe in American power and the global spread of liberal democratic capitalism." Well, then, they're not really realists, are they? This continued commitment to an idealist democratic peace theory and export of American democracy pursued with missionary zeal would suggest that Rose's obituary for the administration's idealism is a bit premature.

How to Get Your Hands Dirty: On the Myth of Pacifist "Withdrawal"

Just a pointer to a little piece of mine on the so-called "just war" challenge to risk "dirty hands" for the sake of justice: http://www.perspectivesjournal.org/2005/06/seeit-hands.php.

Jesus and Petroleum

I finally got a chance to watch "I Heart Huckabees" last night: a fun-enough pop-existential film a couple of notches up from "Garden State." It probably tries to be a bit too smart (the film centers around a couple of "existential detectives" well-played by Dustin Hoffman and Lili Tomlin), but at least it doesn't resort to name-dropping--despite ample opportunity to do so in a film that references angst and deconstruction.

But for my money, one scene was worth the price of the rental. Tommy (Mark Wahlberg) and Albert--the existential seekers in the film--end up in the suburban home of a nice Christian family. They sit to dinner with the family but when it becomes apparent that they have a couple of "philosophers" in the house, Dad becomes nervous. The one thing not allowed in their house is questions--no doubts, no anxieties, no sneaking out at night to expose oneself to the yawning abyss, etc. But Tommy and Albert are rife with questions about meaning and justice. And so a snippet of the conversation:

Mrs. Hooten: Albert, what brought you to the philosophical club?
Albert Markovski: You mean the existential detectives?
Mr. Hooten: Sounds like a support group.
Cricket: Why can't he use the church?
Mrs. Hooten: Sometimes people have additional questions to be answered.
Cricket: Like what?
Albert Markovski: Well, um, for instance - if the forms of this world die, which is more real,the me that dies or the me that's infinite? Can I trust my habitual mind or do I need to learn to look beneath those things?

Tommy's particular concern is humanity's wanton addiction to petroleum that is ravaging the planet and the fine-knit interconnections of the universe. So it doesn't take him long to castigate Dad for the mammoth SUV in the driveway, remarking how angry God must be with him for not being a better steward of creation--to which the young daughter replies:

Cricket: Jesus is never mad at us if we live with Him in our hearts!
Tommy Corn: I hate to break it to you, but He is - He most definitely is.

On Joel Osteen's "Church": Does Jesus Exist to Make us Happy?

Just want to point readers to Jason Byassee's excellent piece on Joel Osteen. Jason is remarkably charitable to Osteen, but in the end--and because of that--offers a stinging critique of Osteen's version of what Rodney Clapp once called "Winnie-the-Pooh" theology. Pooh bear reasons as follows: If I hear buzzing, there must be bees about; if there are bees, there must be honey; and if there is honey, it must be FOR ME! Osteen translates that into a theology which populates a stadium each Sunday.

Yet another reason that the church stands in dire need of her own Orwell.

America Supports UK War Against Terror: By Sending the LAPD to London

In 1984, George Orwell carefully describes the way that a state of "permanent war" is employed to solidify a people by getting them committed not just to national defense, but the more elusive "national security." The former requires a response in the face of hostility; the latter requires a pervasive and exhaustive attempt to eliminate any possibility of threat. This, of course, is a regulative ideal, which is to simply say that it is impossible. But permanent threat coupled with the goal of absolute security is an equation that can yield an (of course) "resolute" commitment to an end which will excuse all kinds of disturbing means.

While living in Los Angeles, we saw this played out in the Rampart Division of the city: given the mission of eradicating gang violence, all kinds of corrupt, yea fascist, practices were permitted as necessary means for attaining the given end. It seems that the UK has been watching "Training Day." With the news of the brutal execution/assassination of a tube passenger (5 shots, to the back of the head, while they had the "suspect" on the ground), London bobbies have put away their batons and opted for LAPD kind of tactics (quite apart from the Rampart "Crash Unit" in the late 90s, the LAPD also recent shot and killed an 18 month old baby in the arms of an admittedly armed criminal).

What is "security" worth? Is this an end we should even hope for?

America for Export: Hitchens on Thomas Jefferson

I think Christopher Hitchens is slipping.

That I came to his new book, Thomas Jefferson: Author of America, expecting a "line" is surely a sign that he is losing his independence. While he remains a "contrarian" voice, his contrariness is becoming more predictable and is almost taking on the flavor of a party line. In sum, I find less surprises from Hitchens anymore. And it's all because he seems to almost biologically recoil from anything remotely religious, especially "Islamo-fascism" (as he puts it)--though he seems less averse to the versions of Christian fasicism that traffic under the banner of "compassionate conservatism."

Of course, the conjunction of Hitchens and Jefferson warrants a reading, and readers will find Hitchens willing to paint an honest portrait of a fascinating figure. But despite his criticism of longstanding hagiographies, one gets a sense that Jefferson is let off the hook a bit too quickly on a few points. Indeed, having just finished Hitchens' Why Orwell Matters, I was surprised at the degree to which Hitchens was more suspicious and iconoclastic with respect to Orwell and more inclined to charitable, benefit-of-the-doubt interpretations when it came Jefferson (particularly on matters of slavery--if Jefferson "half-abominated" slavery, did he not also half-embrace it? One wonders if the latter significantly cancels out the rhetoric of the former). This seems especially true after having just emerged from Gore Vidal's less flattering account of Jefferson through the eyes of Aaron Burr (in Burr).

Hitchens' charity toward Jefferson stems, I would suggest, from a kind of apologetic project. As becomes clear in the book, Hitchens is looking to this "author" of America as a historical validation of his own endorsement of the Bush administration's unilateralism and neo-conservative foreign policy. This is coupled with Hitchens' sympathy with Jefferson's antipathy to institutional religion of any stripe. Both of these are combined in the opening pages where Hitchens notes that Jefferson "trenchantly restated the view that the American Revolution was founded on universal principles, and was thus emphatically for export. He laid renewed stress on the importance of science and innovation as the spur of Enlightenment, and scornfully contrasted this with more faith and credulity" (p. 3). That, in a nutshell, is the gist of why Jefferson matters today. Thus he ends on the same note (pp. 187-188).

This dual emphasis on exportation of the American experiment and anti-religious sentiment is crystallized in Hitchens' enlightening analysis of an oft-overlooked episode in American (or Western) history: The Barbary Wars. Their re-description today is charged with a sense of repetition: the scene involves rogue 'nations' (Algiers, Morocco, Tripoli) controlled by "Muslim autocracies" terrorizing the coasts and shipping lanes of Europe and, increasingly, the young American Republic. (Hitchens especially highlights the Barbary appeals to the Koran and what amounts to sharia law.) In the face of Barbary barbarism, Thomas Jefferson emerges (in Hitchens' tale) as the, well, 'resolute' cowboy who refuses tribute and commands the outfitting of a naval squadron. Faced with a Saddam-like nuisance in Yusuf Karamanli, Jefferson "coolly decided to take this latent delcaration of war at face value. He secured agreement from his cabinet on the dispatch of a squadron, and further determined not to trouble Congress with the matter" (p. 133). In short, Jefferson's decision was unilateral even from a domestic perspective (and quite likely illegal), but that all receives a wink and a nod from Mr. Hitchens because of the spectacular results: "Over the next four years, the Barbary coast was effectively 'pacified' by a unilateral American expedition. [...] In essence Jefferson's policy was an unalloyed triumph for peace, and the freedom of trade from blackmail, through the exercise of planned force" (133, 135). One almost wonders if Jefferson landed on the deck of the USS Constitution with a banner proclaiming "Mission Accomplished."

It's hard to tell whether we're getting Thomas Jefferson in George Bush's image, or vice versa. In either case, it seems that the price of Hitchens' being "right" about America's various current wars involves a loss of his independent streak--and hagiography by other means.

It Only Hurts When I Laugh: Why "Harper's" Won't Change America

The May issue of Harper’s magazine is, as usual, a feast. But there is a distinct theme running through it: an almost apocalyptic collection of editorials and essays that chronicle the dangers of evangelical Christianity. From Lapham’s characteristic fundamentalism of the left, through Jeff Sharlett’s foray into the exurban world of Ted Haggard’s megachurch, to Chris Hedge’s hilarious and frightening tour of the National Religious Broadcasters conference. (One could also compare Bernard-Henri Lévy’s Tocquevillean tour in The Atlantic Monthly.) The writing is crisp and witty; the research is thorough and sometimes even charitable; this is just the kind of stuff that makes us shell out the cash for Harper’s, The Atlantic and other favorite cultural observers.

But I can’t stop thinking about Levi-Strauss. Indeed, periodicals are increasingly publishing pieces that I’ll call “Harper’s anthropology”—though you’ll also find it in The Atlantic, the New York Times, and other key media outlets. Just as Western anthropologists of generations past trudged through island jungles in search of the exotic “other” in “primitive” societies, so today journalists depart from the safety and civilization of Manhattan to the exotic environs of—Kansas! Or Oklahoma, or Florida, or Colorado Springs.

Not having seen middle Americans who believe actually believe in God, these journalists cum anthropologists are simultaneously awed, bewildered, fascinated, and frightened. Their articles read a bit like dispatches from strange lands. “I’ve been to red America,” they seem to say, “and it’s stranger and scarier than you could have imagined.”

One of the letters in the same issue of Harper’s astutely observes that this kind of “Harper’s anthropology” of middle America only serves to exacerbate the problem. It is just this tone that contributes to the martyr complex that comfortable, middle-class white folks feel in suburban Kansas City—and it is precisely this sense of victimhood which galvanizes the Religious Right.

Now, I’m the first one to enjoy the sardonic witticism of Harper’s anthropologists. (When Wells Tower went undercover as a grassroots volunteer for the Republican party in rural Florida, the result is an uproarious story. Who can forget his account of one of the Republican faithful dressed in a furry dolphin suit, invoking the name “Flipper” outside a Kerry appearance. Or his encounter with a Democrat protester who points to a carefully positioned Kerry/Edwards sticker and shouts to the young Republicans: “See this sticker? You know what’s under there? My penis, my homosexual penis!”)

And I remain convinced that many of these observations are right on the money—mainly because I’m an insider. I get the jokes because I live with this stuff. When, for instance, Sharlet describes “Commander Tom”’s maniacal commitment to the Royal Rangers (an Assemblies of God version of the Boy Scouts), I have a weird sense of laughing at myself since I, too, have seen the Frontiersmen Christian Fellowship at Royal Rangers Camperoos. My boys have worked their way through the ranks of Straight Arrows, Buckaroos, and Trailblazers. And Sharlet is right: there are parts of this that are downright spooky. Or when Hedges describes the creepy netherworld of Christian radio, with its holy dieting programs and violent anti-gay rhetoric, he rightly identifies a significant force that shapes the imaginations of many Christians who would describe themselves as “evangelical.”

But here’s the rub: I get the jokes because I’m an insider; but it’s precisely because I’m an insider that I know that Harper’s anthropologists aren’t going to change things. All-expenses-paid trips from New York to exotic locales like Colorado Springs will feed the alarmist stance of detached coastal regions, but these dispatches from the twilight zone of the Midwest aren’t going to change the hearts and minds that matter. They’re only going to contribute to the problem. If, as an evangelical, I am horrified by what I see played out under the banner of the Religious Right, I know that countering this won’t be accomplished by witty, sardonic editorials in my favorite magazines—not even witty, charitable editorials for Sightings! Rather, what it will take is a patient, charitable transformation of the evangelical imagination from the inside. And that can’t be done by visitors writing for Harper’s. It will take a long-term commitment to re-educating evangelical hearts and minds in the venue of denominational magazines like The Pentecostal Evangel or the CRC Banner—and perhaps even through the airwaves of—gasp!—Christian radio. That will be a calling, not for visiting anthropologists, but resident teachers.

Jim Wallis' Civil Religion Revisited: A Blog "Interview"

My earlier post on what I described as Jim Wallis' "Constantinianism of the left" has generated some thoughtful dissent. As a way of clarifying my critique and carrying the conversation further, bloggers Eric and Dale posed a few questions to me for an "interview" of sorts. Eric posted the interview on his blog. I'm mirroring it here. My thanks to them for pushing me on these matters a bit.

from ERICISRAD [17.6.2005]

[Intro by Eric:] A couple days ago on Thursday, I finished sitting in on a Radical Orthodoxy class taught by my pastor at PLNU. Even though I graduated three years ago with a degree in computer science, it's probably no surprise to readers of this blog that I have become increasingly interested in all matters theological. So, in this class, we read four books (mentioned here), and the first of these was Introducing Radical Orthodoxy (IRO) by James K. A. Smith. Knowing that we were about to read some dense (and oddly esoteric!) material, it was refreshing to begin the course by reading a well-written and challenging book to help map out the RO scene.

Not too long ago, I found this interview I posted with Jamie Smith concerning some general questions about Jamie, his interactions with RO, and what implications he thinks RO has for us as Christians. This lead me to his blog that was linked to at the bottom of the interview, where I found many insightful posts about this and that.

A few days later, my friend Dale on his Theoblogical blog found Jamie's blog through the link in the interview I posted not knowing it was Jamie's blog, and read a post that drew Dale's ire as it was criticizing Jim Wallis based on the language Wallis uses as he tours the country promoting his God's Politics book. I tended to agree with Jamie's criticism, but Dale did not and made a few posts in a kind of dialogue with Jamie's post. When I informed Dale that the Fors Clavigera blog was the same person as Jamie Smith, Dale changed perspective a bit (who could blame him-- there actually have been some really poor criticisms of Wallis from some bizarre viewpoints!). Due to my postings on IRO and the interview with Smith, Dale's interest was piqued and began reading IRO very soon to get a feel for RO in an effort to see just how much weight this criticism of Wallis by Smith really held up.

As is evidenced by the many insightful posts Dale made on the IRO book (mostly in agreement, actually!), Dale has been quite intrigued by Smith's mapping of RO. However, Dale's questioning of Jamie's critique persisted. So, I just figured it would be a good idea to get to the source and e-mail Jamie myself. Jamie agreed to answer a few questions, so I helped Dale craft a few about Wallis and IRO. Below is that e-mail conversation.

(My apologies for the above lengthy intro to the heart of this post, but I think it slightly helps readers to know how all this came about. It's been an interesting discussion thus far!)

Jamie,

Thank you for being open to this discussion with Dale and I. Yesterday, we crafted a few questions that we thought would help clarify your critique of Jim Wallis of Sojourners. All three of us have seen or met Jim Wallis in person on his latest book tour, and Dale has been following Wallis and the work of Sojourners for at least the last twenty years.

The questions below are in response to your blog post on Fors Clavigera called "Constantinianism on the Left?"

1. Pertaining to language, how DOES one speak truth to power without "ceding too much to the state" in such a way that they avoid being "statist" and still speak to the state, in what I would call "accessible" language so that the state can best be "called to task"? Is this even possible, or are we called to speak differently?

This way of putting the question still assumes a certain confidence and hope in the the state which I think is misplaced. I don't think it's a matter of calling the state "to task." I think it's more a matter of showing the state what it can never be: a properly ordered community lovingly aimed at bearing the image of the Triune God. The notion of speaking "to" the state with the hope that the state will "get" it works from a misplaced confidence that this is even possible. I don't deny that, on good liberal, capitalist grounds, one could perhaps convince "the state" to stop killing children in Iraq or Taiwan, but to consider that a "success" would be to adopt quite a utilitarian criteria.

This question seems to work from a picture of the church (or "Christians," as I think Wallis would put it--or maybe even just "people of faith") talking "to" the state with the hope of getting the state to agree with her/them. I'm just not sure that such a dialogue is either possible or desirable. In my more cynical moments, I think it's casting pearls before swine. The Church is NOT called to engage in some kind of apologetic project to "convince" the state to do "the right thing" (which the state, per se, could never properly recognize). Rather, the Church is called to model the kingdom for world, showing the world what it cannot be apart from the regenerating power of the Spirit. The Church should model the in-breaking of the kingdom to the state, but not with the mis-guided hopes that the state could enact this in federal policy.

2. How is it that Wallis ends up "humanist"? We understand your perception of the telos of Wallis' language (with which Dale is in disagreement), but into what particular definition of a "humanist" does this tie?

Grant that there was meant to be a certain rhetorical flourish in this description of Wallis as a "humanist." But what I meant by this was that Wallis, but trying to generically appeal to "values" (gag!) or "people of faith" was reducing the particularity of the Church's theological articulation of "the good" and thinks this can be translated into a generally available and accessible notion of "justice"--unhooked from the real particularities of Christian confession. This is why I describe his project as a "Constantinianism of the left"--Wallis is working with a covert natural theology: he thinks that the "core values" of biblical justice can be articulated, legitimated, and adopted apart from the particularies of Scriptural revelation and narrative. He thinks he can show that "biblical" justice just makes "good sense" to congressional representatives and voters. But this mitigates the scandal of particularity. I would prefer Milbank's formulation: "Can morality be Christian?" His answer is a resounding "No."

By the way, I think Eugene McCarraher's recent article in Books and Culture ("The Revolution Begins in the Pews," May/June 2005) articulates a similar critique of Wallis' God's Politics, especially when he suggests that the book is an "exemplary artifact of religious liberalism, the leftish and weaker variant of the civil religion" (p. 27). Those who lack imagination will think that this is a "conservative" judgment; it's not.

3. In light of your mention of Reformed Tradtion's Michael Horton saying that Turretin and Geerhardus Vos's "method is NOT bringing a prior philosophical construction to the Scriptures; rather, their method--- centered around covenant--- grows out of the narrative and canon of Scripture itself" (IRO 82-83), who is there who is really free of "prior philosophies" in coming to the Scriptures? (the opposite end of the pole being "natural reason"

I'm not entirely sure how this ties to the first couple questions, but in any case: That should have been qualified a little more--especially since I'm very critical of open theists who think they're purging themselves of "Greek metaphysical presuppositions" and just reading the Bible "as is." Such a notion is naive. But the point that Horton is trying to make is that, contrary to the common criticism of post-Reformation theology as "scholastic" and "rationalist"--letting some notion of universal reason trump the particularity of Scripture--in fact their method begins from the particularity of the Scriptural narrative and gives up on any notion of universal, rational legitimation. In other words, they begin from the kerygma, not some dream of first rationally justifying a foundation that can appeal to all.

Thanks for pushing me on these matters.


[Postscript by Eric:] And thank you, Jamie, for taking time out of your busy schedule to engage us in discussion and to help clarify a few things. I agree that the last question above doesn't really tie into questions about Wallis, but Dale wanted to take advantage of the "2-3" question criteria for which you allowed (heheh).

I highly recommend the article that Smith mentions above. I just read it today after his mention and it mirrors some of my own strong reservations about Wallis' "values" language.

Again, thank you Jamie for your thoughtful interaction with us.

Bush Redux: On How Not to Invite the President (or, Those Crazy Nazarenes!)

One of the default responses to President Bush's presence at Calvin was the passive reply, "Who could say 'No' to the President of the United States?" (Part of the fuzziness of the discussion here was the fact that, apparently, the White House has a practice of soliciting invitations. I guess one gets an elbow in the rib at a dinner party and a White House official let's it slip that, Hey, you know, the President wouldn't mind being invited to Calvin College (wink, wink). Then one extends an invitation--which means that one RSVPs to the invitation to extend an invitation.)

Anyway, in response to the question, I usually replied: "Well, I don't think Goshen College would have participated in the process or extended the invitation." But leave it to my Nazarene friends to provide a concrete case. A new friend and fellow traveller Pastor John Wright has just blogged about how the Nazarene General Assembly did just what folks here thought unthinkable: they 'dis-invited' the President (or, perhaps more properly, the declined the invitation to extend an invitation).

This almost makes up for James Dobson...

A Commencement, A Wedding, and an Alternative Politics

As the President of the United States delivered the commencement address at my institutional home, Calvin College, I was celebrating a wedding with a young couple that my wife and I counseled during their engagement. Being on sabbatical excused me from attending, so I chose the wedding over the President’s visit. Because of this, I was confronted with questions on two fronts.

To astonished West Michiganders (while Michigan was colored a blue state in the last election, it’s western environs are a deep rouge), I had to admit that I was going to pass on this wonderful “honor” to be in the presence of the President. But to many of my equally disappointed colleagues, I also had to explain why I wasn’t there to wear an armband at the ceremony, and why I didn’t sign the faculty’s letter of protest which received national media attention. It was the latter group I found to be less charitable, calling into question my commitment to the vaulted Niebuhrian dream of “transforming culture.” One colleague even dug up the Reformed tradition’s oldest and vilest epithet, suggesting that I was acting like (gasp!) an “Anabaptist.”

But being at the wedding, I want to suggest, was a political act. (Of course, it was also a good time; but not that good: it was a Baptist wedding, so sans libations).

Let me backtrack a bit: as most now know, our campus was shaken from its West Michigan Republican slumber with the announcement that our commencement address would be delivered by the President of the United States. Almost immediately, all kinds of coalitions of dissent and protest began to form. Eventually amongst the faculty two dominant modes of engagement won out: a plan to wear symbolic armbands during the commencement, and an opportunity to sign an “open letter” to President Bush, articulating a critique of his own policies and a more constructive vision of politics seeking justice for all.

And then it slowly began to happen: the unfolding of a Seinfeld episode. You know the one: where Kramer participates in the AIDS walk but prefers not to wear a pink ribbon.

“What!?,” is the response. “Who won’t wear the ribbon? Why won’t you wear the ribbon? You’re against AIDS, aren’t you? Then why won’t you wear the ribbon?” Kramer collapses under the blows of other protesters.

I began to experience something similar: “Why won’t you sign the letter? Aren’t you opposed to Bush’s policies?” Yes, absolutely was my reply; but I also wasn’t comfortable with the articulation of an alternative which still, to my mind, was trying to play the game by the rules of a politics that wasn’t mine.

For instance, I couldn’t sign on to "respecting" (rather than simply “obeying” [Rom. 13]) the office of the President since I'm not sure that the executive branch has ever been a force for justice in the world. And quite to the contrary, this is the office of the Commander-in-Chief: the office that has, with the push of the proverbial “button,” rained untold suffering on many, from the horrendous bombings of Japan to Clinton's wag-the-dog war crimes in Sudan, not to mention the current Iraq war. So I just can’t bring myself to look on this “office” with too much respect. Nor could I sign on to the criticism of the Iraq war as “unjust” and “unjustified” because the letter, while purporting to speak from Christian confession, entertained that war could be just, which I don’t.

So, with a sense of respect for those undertaking this organized dissent, I politely declined participation, sent our RSVP to the wedding, and began to check the couples’ gift registry.

While I was prepared for brusk treatment from those on the Right, I wasn’t really prepared for the hegemonic response from my “progressive” sisters and brothers. Because of my (non)response—which they variously labeled as quietest, pietist, escapist, perfectionist, purist, Anabaptist, and sectarian—a number of my colleagues judged that I was either a cop-out or a sell-out. One was even happy to label my “silence” as evil. If you won’t wear the ribbon, if you won’t sign the letter, if you won’t wear the armband, you must be complicit with the system. By not signing the letter, I might as well have pushed the button on the cruise missiles that tragically shattered an Iraqi family’s wedding.

Being called evil is a bit hard to take—especially for someone who has been an outspoken critic of the war in Iraq (and war in general), as well as the injustices that are the fruit of capitalist systems for distributing resources, not to mention the maddening conflation of foreign policy with bastardized theology. But because I didn’t respond in the “right way,” because I wasn’t “participating in the political process,” I was remaining silent—silently evil.

Once I gathered my thoughts however, I responded with a question: Why would you conclude that because I’m not signing your letter that I’m being “silent?” Is there only one way to speak? If I don't do what you’re doing, does that mean I’m not doing anything?

A proper response in this situation must proceed from a careful diagnosis. And it is here that I think my progressive colleagues are a bit shortsighted. We need to first ask: Why was it that so many in Calvin’s constituency—and many other Christians in West Michigan—eagerly welcomed President Bush into a central ritual of our college community? Why is it that the Reformed cultural elite have come to so closely identify being faithful with being committed to a party that privileges the wealthy, is aggressively militaristic, and caters to the nouveau riche of late capitalism?

My answer would be both simple and complex: this represents a failure of discipleship. If we find the climate of highly-churched West Michigan to be so complicit with institutionalized social injustice, then we have no one to blame but ourselves. Clearly, our churches, far from forming us otherwise, are actually contributing to the formation of docile subjects of the GOP machine.

What, then, would be a fitting response? Armbands? A letter?

If the problem is a failure of discipleship, the only proper response must be a rigorous commitment to re-imagining Christian formation. The best response will be a matter of worship, not publicity. (And, in fact, I fear the “open letter” to President Bush only exacerbated the problem, galvanizing the constituency and confirming all their suspicions about “liberal” academics, losing a chance to really be heard by our constituency.)

So we went to the wedding. We participated in a liturgy of worship that, to some degree, had the goal of constituting a “peculiar people” whose politics is otherwise. And what I'll continue “doing” is try to reshape and re-educate the imagination of the church so that in time they will be formed as disciples who will immediately see the injustice of exploitive domestic policies and the utter inconsistency between Christian confession and militaristic foreign policy. I guess I'm taking a longer term view (which doesn’t play well with activist urgency). I’m also taking a stance of hopeful charity, trusting the possibility that the Spirit can change hearts and minds—even in West Michigan! (Such a miracle would be enough to make the staunchest Reformed folk entertain Pentecostal visions.)

And here I must confess that I don’t see many of my progressive sisters and brothers eager or willing to take up this hard, long work of discipleship and formation in the churches. Many of my colleagues who so loudly and publicly protested the Bush visit with their armbands and other declarations tend to inhabit ecclesial spaces where they’ll find many sympathetic to their political stance—and from there articulate their prophetic critique. But as Richard Mouw wisely counseled me several months ago, we need fewer prophets, and more teachers. Or as Klaas Schilder put it a half-century ago, in his own little book on Christ and Culture penned in the shadow of fascism:

"Blessed is my wise ward-elder who does his home visiting in the right way. He is a cultural force, although he may not be aware of it. Let them mock him: they do not know what they are doing, those cultural gadabouts of the other side!"

So I’ll continue to see my adult Sunday School class or our Bible study group as political spaces where, slowly to be sure, disciples of Jesus are shaped by the politics of Jesus. This politics doesn’t play the game of party lines or state power, but rather seeks to form us otherwise—as those who desire a different kingdom and who serve a king-in-waiting.

A Europe "To Come"--or Not?

Last fall while I was working on my new book Jacques Derrida: Live Theory (Continuum, due to appear in the Live Theory series late this summer), I was most intrigued to go back to some of Derrida's thoughts on the "idea" of "Europe" offered back in the late 80s and early 90s, as the idea of the EU was coming together. There Derrida spoke of an "other Europe" and a "Europe open to the other" as a "Europe to come." (Recent waves of xenophobia across Europe would seem to indicate Europe, rather than opening itself to the other, has become fixated with shutting its doors.) There Derrida wondered aloud about the possibility of France's leadership in this new Europe.

So it is with some interest that I'm watching this week's key votes on the EU Constitution in France and the Netherlands, though I confess to not yet having formed any strong position on the matter. But for a very helpful entree into the Constitution, which utlizes web technology very well to highlight the points of debate, see the constitution feature created by Le Monde.

Galloway Redux

OK, having been just scolded by Gideon Strauss, and duly informed by Christopher Hitchens, let me qualify my "praise" for Galloway by noting that I was praising his no-holds-bar rhetorical approach to the dullness of the Senate subcommittee. I didn't mean to extol him as a moral saint. So, the re-cantation out of the way, I still wish we could import more British parliamentarian posturing into the mundane, monotome rambling of the senate and congress. Who wouldn't want to hear Galloway sustain a filibuster?!

From Republic to Empire: The Fascism of the Sith

Just returned from taking the boys to see Revenge of the Sith. Pretty much all one could hope for (if you have realistic hopes), and more. The Buddhism of the series is clearly confirmed, but for me the most interesting line of development was the transformation of the Republic into an Empire--all in the name of peace and protection. The Emperor's "resolve" is for the sake of homeland security. Sound familiar?

Senator Amidala captures the irony of fascism's triumph: "So this is how liberty dies. With thunderous applause." Indeed.