Wanted: A Conservatism Sans...

The Summer 2007 issue of Modern Age (archive here) includes an interesting symposium on "Why I Am a Conservative." While some of the essays are given to ideological whining, some are very engaging, throughtful pieces (see especially the essays by Christopher Olaf Blum and Jeffrey Hart). Anyone who is working with some caricatured notion that "conservative" simply means "pro-Bush" or "Religious Right" or "neo-con" should pull their head out of the equally-ideological liberal sands it's stuck in and dip into this symposium, starting with Blum and Hart.

I continue to find myself deeply sympathetic to a conservatism that owes more to Edmund Burke than Ronald Reagan. And so reading a symposium like this continues to be a tantalizing exercise in exasperation. My margins are regularly marked, "Yes! Amen!" and then, "What?! Why?" Why does conservatism seem to come with so much extraneous (even, I would contend, inherently contradictory) baggage? Am I the only one who dreams of a conservatism without nationalism, without militarism, and without capitalism? Can't we imagine a conservatism without Americanism (just how could a revolutionary project be "conservative," again?)? A conservatism without a Constantinian Christendom?

The Last Prophet of Leviathan

Some Fors Clavigera readers might be interested in my review of Mark Lilla's book, The Stillborn God, which now appears on the "Immanent Frame" blog hosted by the Social Science Research Council.

Baptismal Promises and Automobility

I tend to waver between Baptism and Eucharist as my favorite sacraments (I'm sure the very notion of a "favorite" sacrament is rather adolescent and probably heretical, but alas...). Today, on the final Sunday of advent, a family in our congregation joined the long heritage of those presenting their child for baptism, sealing the promises of the covenant. An important part of the liturgy is not only the promises that the parents make to care for their child and raise him in the faith, but also the promises that the congregation makes to be the family of God to these parents and for this child. Turning to the congregation, the minister asks us whether we will promise to care for, nurture, instruct and support the child and his parent, to be a community that provides Christian instruction and formation, encouraging him to become a disciple of Jesus and a citizen of the kingdom, to which we respond: "We do, God helping us."

The congregational vow is a reminder that the nuclear family is insufficient for the formation of faith-full children--that the tiny enclaves of our "private" homes can't bear the weight of what the vocation of parenting calls us to do. Thus the baptismal vows are one of those glimmers in the church's life where we actually renounce the American gospel of individualism and self-sufficiency, of so-called "family values."

But I've been wondering of late: what do such promises mean in a culture of automobility and transience? What does it mean for us to promise to raise and nurture this infant when, because of our market-driven habits, either he or we will likely have moved on to "bigger and better" things before he's in 10th-grade catechism class? What is the traction of a vow for a people that tend to commercial nomadism?

I suppose, at the very least, that the catholicity of the church should mean we assume the promises made by our brothers and sisters in Denver or Pella, in St. Catherine's or London. Certainly. But it's not quite the same as sticking around to see this young baby, baptized today, emerge as a disciple of Jesus right here in the neighborhood. What if we started thinking of baptismal promises as real estate anchors--that our commitments to care for a community of children might trump our other "opportunities?"

Quintessence of Dust

I'm not prone to "shout outs," but I'd like to make an exception to the rule in order to point folks to my biologist colleague Steve Matheson's excellent blog, "Quintessence of Dust," devoted primarily to issues in the science/religion dialogue, and particularly (of late) the issues and questions raised by Dawkins, Dennett and their ilk, on the one hand, and the "folk science" of creationism and 'Intelligent Design' on the other. He's doing battle on both fronts in a way that is both irenic and no-holds-barred. He's currently enjoying a sabbatical (doing research at the Van Andel Institute) which has been a perfect opportunity for him to regularly post thoughtful, engaging entries.

In short, I think Steve's blog is a model of why the blogosphere should exist. Add it to your feed or bookmarks and enjoy.

What's Your "Walk Score?"

The good folks at Comment magazine, published by the Work Research Foundation, pointed me to Walkscore.com, a site that allows you to plot the "walkability" of your neighborhood, or to use as a tool when considering a move. Just type in your address, click, and see how your house rates. Our house scored a respectable 77. From first glance, it seems to me that the site should also factor walkability to public transit. But an interesting snapshot of one's built environment.

The God of Americanism: On Mitt Romney's "Faith in America"

[This post also appears on the PBS Religion and Ethics Newsweekly blog, "One Nation: Religion and Politics," along with responses from others such as Charles Matthews, David Gushee, Stephen Monsma, and Randall Balmer.]

A lot can hang on a preposition. Mitt Romney first promised a speech about his faith, then backed off to offer a broader take on America’s religious landscape and its heritage of religious freedom. So rather than offering an apologetic for his own faith, Romney instead offered an account of “Faith in America.” But the speech has me wondering whether there’s a difference; more specifically, I wonder what’s at stake in that “in.” From where I sit, it looks like Romney’s “own” faith is faith in America. Americans needn’t worry about Romney’s Mormonism because, at the end of the day, the faith that trumps all others is “Americanism.”

Don’t get me wrong: this religion has a long and illustrious history (documented in David Gelertner’s recent book, Americanism: The Fourth Great Western Religion). It is a noble faith that feeds off the blood of its martyrs—in particular “the greatest generation” to which Romney first appeals—who made the greatest sacrifice for the sake of the religion’s highest value: freedom (understood, I should note, in largely negative terms as freedom of choice). Indeed, “freedom” and “liberty” are the mantras of this faith, and Romney’s speech invokes these shibboleths no less than thirty times (God or “the Creator” or “divine author” comes in at a close second with 21 references). And Romney doesn’t fail to allude to the great artifacts of this religion. Americanism has its own sacred documents (the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution), its own saints (“the Founding Fathers”), and has even birthed its own cathedrals and grottos (just stroll the National Mall).

So if Mitt Romney was looking to quell concerns about his religion, I think he’s performed admirably! He has indicated, in no uncertain terms, that he is an “Americanist” like almost every other presidential candidate (from I don’t care which side of the aisle). He is an American before he is a Mormon. He is primarily interested in conserving America’s role as a hegemon (“preserving American leadership” is the guise under which he segues to talk about religion). And he enthusiastically adopts Sam Adams axiom that it’s not the specifics of piety that matters, but rather whether one is a “patriot.”

If conservatives were worried about his Mormonism, I think Romney has laid his cards on the table and said to them: “Look, don’t worry. Mormonism doesn’t prevent me from being an Americanist. We’re brothers in that cause.”

In a way, this is refreshingly honest theology. In fact, if one pays close attention to the actual theology at work here—that is, if one starts asking just which God is being invoked—one finds that it is a particular deity: “the divine ‘author of liberty.’” The god of the culture warriors has always been a generic god of theism (precisely like the god of the Founding Fathers): a “God who gave us liberty” (to do what we want). The “Creator” is a granter of inalienable rights and unregulated freedoms, a god who shares and ordains “American values.” If evangelical culture warriors had worries about Romney’s faith, his jeremiad today should confirm that he pledges allegiance to the same “God of liberty” that they do. We’re all Americanists now.

But I hope Mr. Romney and his culture warrior friends (whether on the Right or Left) won’t be surprised if some of us find it hard to believe in Americanism and its God of liberty. Some of us just can’t muster faith in the generic theism that is preached on the campaign trail, whether from the Right or Left. Some of us Christians have a hard time reconciling the Almighty, all-powerful, law-giving God of liberty with the crucified suffering servant born in a barn and executed at the hands of the elite. Some of us are trying to figure out what it means to be a people who follow one who relinquished his rights rather than asserted them, who considered submission a higher value than freedom. We serve a God-man who wasn’t concerned with “preserving leadership” and the hegemony of the empire’s gospel of freedom, but rather was crushed by its machinations for proclaiming and embodying another gospel.

We’re not out to win a culture war; we’re just trying to be witnesses. We’re not out to “transform” culture by marshaling the engine of the state; we’re trying to carve out little foretastes of a coming kingdom. And so we can’t share Mr. Romney’s evangelistic zeal for the god of Americanism.

The Gospel of Freedom, or Another Gospel?

The Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago has just posted a 'working paper' of mine for their December Web Forum. The paper, entitled "The Gospel of Freedom, or Another Gospel? Augustinian Reflections on American Foreign Policy," offers a theological critique of the particular notion of "freedom" that informs recent policy. I'm looking forward to seeing responses from Eric Gregory, David C. Schindler, and Paul Williams. Here's their introduction:

In this issue of the Web Forum, excerpted from a longer work in progress, James K. A. Smith critically examines the meaning of “freedom” used to support the expansion of a new, global, market-based imperialism. He argues that this kind of freedom is at odds with other values held by those who affirm a Creator and a teleological good for humanity. A better alternative, he contends, is an Augustinian account of desiring freedom:

In the history of philosophy and theology, there have been two dominant, and competing, concepts of freedom…one is a “libertarian” understanding of freedom that equates freedom with freedom of choice or the power to do otherwise. To be free is to have options to choose and the ability to choose, uncoerced and unrestrained, from among these options….

This conception of freedom has become so dominant that it is almost impossible for us to think of freedom otherwise. And it is particularly this notion of freedom that feeds Empire and its market network. Because this libertarian, non-teleological, and negative concept of freedom eschews any specification of a telos as a restriction or constraint on my options, and therefore a restriction of freedom, it fosters the proliferation of choices without any valuation….This is precisely the environment necessary for the flourishing of the market, which requires endless creation of new “goods” for consumption…

But the primary deficiency of libertarian freedom is that it disconnects freedom from the dynamics of desire.

Advent vs. "Countdown to Christmas"

I was jarred yesterday upon entering the sanctuary: the banners and colors for advent were black. A stark black cloth was draped across the pipes of the organ, and four narrow black banners stretched vertically across the front of the sanctuary--the first marked with a flame at the base, indicating the first Sunday of Advent.

This dark simplicity was so jarring because it stood in such contrast to the festive colors that have lined the city streets, the labyrinths of the mall, and even the grocery store since before Thanksgiving. The reds and greens of a secularized "Christmas" are woven through public and private spaces, accented by glittering silvers and golds, and twinkling lights of all colors. Having gathered from this dazzling, festive space outside, the black banners of the sanctuary come as a shock.

Which, of course, is exactly the point. Having been more deeply formed by Hallmark and Target, even Christians have confused Advent with our culture's "countdown to Christmas." Most specifically, we have forgotten that Advent is a penitential season akin to Lent. It is a season in which we are confronted with our need for a Savior, thus we relive Israel's anquished hope and expectation. It is a season whose garments are the sackcloth and ashes of the prophets or the camel's hair cloak of John the Baptist, not the jolly get-up of Santa Claus. Advent is a season marked by fasting in longing, living on the meagre diet of John's locusts and honey--not the sumptuous extravagance of corporate "Christmas" banquets or the fabled indulgence of office "Christmas" parties.

We've been trained to want Christmas without waiting; rather than a beginning, Christmas day has been turned into a culmination, an end point. After December 25, it's all over except for the soon-to-be-broken toys and the mounds of leftovers. Thus we busily feast before the day. Advent gets subsumed by the frantic "countdown to Christmas." But the result is the exact opposite of Advent which is a season of penitential longing, formative denial, and hungry hoping.

This hungry hoping was captured, I thought, in a classic hymn we sang yesterday:

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear.

O come, thou Wisdom from on high,
who orderest all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go.

O come, thou Rod of Jesse, free
thine own from Satan's tyranny;
from depths of hell thy people save,
and give them victory over the grave.

O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer
our spirits by thine advent here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death's dark shadows put to flight.

Advent is not yet Christmas--it is preparation for that twelve-day feast. The black of the Advent sanctuary weighs heavily on us, the same way that the darkness of the Lenten sanctuary--culminating in the darkness of Tenebrae--births in us an affective, intense desire for the inbreaking of Resurrection Sunday, for the light and white and lillies of Easter! So, too, the black of the Advent sanctuary can foster in us a new repetition of Israel's hoping. How I'm looking forward to the transformation on Christmas day! Then, in the midst of festive light and dazzling color, we'll sing the refrain with new fervor:

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel has come to thee, O Israel.

Jesus for President

Forget Bono! Shaine Claiborne and friends are campaigning for "Jesus for President." I'm intrigued to hear what they have to say.

Pot, Meet Kettle; Kettle, let me introduce you to Pot

Am I the only one who found this a tad ironic?

MOSCOW (AP) -- The Russian government under Vladimir Putin has amassed so much central authority that the power-grab may undermine Moscow's commitment to democracy, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice said Saturday. [Read complete story here]

A U2 lyric comes to mind: "Would you deny for others what you demand for yourself?"

From Conservativism to Creedalism: David Brooks on the Republican Forgetting of Burke

My downward spiral into (truly) conservative sympathizer continues: I find myself nodding in agreement, even muttering a couple of quiet "amens" when I read David Brooks' column on "The Republican Collapse." In it Brooks pens a litany of all the ways that American neoconservatism fails to be properly conservative, and knows nothing of Edmund Burke (something I've hinted at before).

Measuring GPMs: The God-O-Meter

I often chide "Christian" music which simply takes whatever pop form is currently commercially successful (say, boy bands or Britney-like pop tunes) and then merely substitutes "Christian" lyrics. I like to refer to this as ramping up the "JPMs"--the "Jesus-per-minute" factor. The strategy is one of naive sanctification--as if "holy" lyrics somehow save or redeem the form.

I was reminded of this when the NYT's "The Caucus" Blog pointed to Beliefnet's "God-O-Meter" (pronounced Gah-DOM-meter). According to the site:

The God-o-Meter (pronounced Gah-DOM-meter) scientifically measures factors such as rate of God-talk, effectiveness—saying God wants a capital gains tax cut doesn’t guarantee a high rating—and other top-secret criteria. Click a candidate’s head to get his or her latest God-o-Meter reading and blog post. And check back often. With so much happening on the campaign trail, God-o-Meter is constantly recalibrating!

GPMs on the campaign trail, JPMs on the music charts--same ridiculous strategy: ramping up the semantic references to the divine hardly redeems the surrounding politics or commercialized music. References to God don't thereby sanctify or redeem domestic policies that oppress the poor or foreign policy that breeds war. In fact, if Jewish prophets have anything to say about it, ramping up the GPMs only makes this worse (see Jeremiah 7). Better to be honest oppressors than pretending to cover your oppression with God-talk.

Prince's Private Army

The NYT provides a harrowing account of one of Blackwater's episodes of "going ballistic." A must read.

The Real "Fors Clavigera"

As I indicated on my first ever post, this blog is offered in homage to John Ruskin's 19th-century experiment, Fors Clavigera. I was thus delighted to find that the Google book project has made one of the volumes available online.

Why Are We Here? Or, Can One Still Get an Education at a University?

Anthony Kronman's essay in the Boston Globe, "Why Are We Here?" (subtitled: "Colleges ignore life's biggest questions, and we all pay the price") is generating quite a bit of attention. See my contribution to the discussion in a symposium pulled together by the good folks at Comment magazine.

Update [01/10/2007]: Gideon Strauss, the indefatigable editor of Comment, has solicited a response from Kronman.

Harlequin NASCAR: I'M. NOT. KIDDING.

In the early 20th-century, Edmund Wilson Jr. thought he could glimpse the emergence of a genuinely American literary form.

This has got to be it: Harlequin NASCAR.

[HT: my old friend Jeff Dudiak]

Selective Outrage: Murder in America

I found Bob Herbert's editorial in today's NYT striking and disturbing. In the wake of the murders in Newark, NJ, he notes that since Sept. 11, 2001, nearly 100,000 Americans have been murdered. He notes the irony of selective outrage:

At the same time that we’re diligently confiscating water and toothpaste from air travelers, we’re handing over guns and bullets by the trainload to yahoos bent on blowing others into eternity in armed robberies, drug-dealing, gang violence, domestic assaults and other criminal acts.

The war-machine is tethered to the society of the spectacle: the images of 9/11 engender an entire culture of revenge (marketed on T-shirts and bumper stickers) that then underwrite a widespread commitment to further violence in the form of war. But the banality of these murders--3 here, 2 there, and many out of sight--fails to generate the same impassioned opposition. But as these numbers show, since 9/11 many more Americans have been killed by other American than by Al Quaeda or radical Muslims. What would it take for that reality to actually result in change in policy?

[For just a glimpse of how the United States compares to other industrialized nations, compare this BBC report or this CDC report focused on violence suffered by children.)

Tourism & Revisionist History

While driving across southern Virginia last week, we came across an incredible--and incredibly disturbing--billboard. As part of a tourist campaign commemorating the 400th anniversay of the "first landing" in 1607, the billboard featured a Native American man. Beside him were the words, "Their sacrifice made our nation great," and the man is wearing a black T-shirt saying, "Thank You Powhatan." (You can see the T-shirt in the middle of the collage here.)

The semantics here is stunning: "Sacrifice" clearly connotes an air of intentionality and volition, as if the First Nations were "laying down their lives" for their friends! Did the British also make "sacrifices" for the American colonies in the revolutionary war?! This is just the sort of revisionism that makes it easier for white American to feel better as they spend hundreds of dollars touring western Virginia and celebrating the story of the nation that would be hailed as "a city on a hill."

This goes to prove Paul Ricoeur's point that history is always told by the winners (and re-told, and even re-invented!). But who knew a tourist bureau could exhibit such a Baudrillardian cynicism about meaning.

[Update: Jeff Sharlet's Revealer points to a story about "the Other Jamestown party" which decries the 'official' commemorations as "politically correct" (!). Incidentally, a week and a half ago I was stuck in traffic on this very road.]

Hilton, Hotels, and Hospitality: Oh, the Irony

The Hilton Family of Hotels has launched a "be hospitable" campaign (just as heiress Paris has been welcomed into a slightly different hotel in southern California). The idea--which is a crass example of "welfare" marketing, selling a product by being "good"--is to compile and record random acts of hospitality around the country, all in the spirit of hospitality that supposedly motivates the Hilton hotel empire.

But of course the irony is that the explosion of the hotel industry is a symptom of the remarkable decline of real, concrete hospitality in this country. Not only do we not welcome the stranger, we don't even make room for our own families any more. Or those visiting don't want their style cramped by staying at Uncle Ben & Aunt Susie's, so they check into the hotel first (recall a recent Holiday Inn campaign that centered around how terrible it must be to actually stay at your family's house on Thanksgiving). And this is true even in the church.

The random acts of so-called hospitality being logged by this campaign are just a cover for the exponentional decline of real hospitality. If we actually, really, concretely started to practice hospitality--welcoming the stranger--the Hilton hotel empire might be in trouble.

You know things are bad when you start agreeing with David Brooks...

I'm a tad alarmed at how often I now find myself agreeing with David Brooks. He offers a nice apologia for the "quasi-religious," who inhabit a world between Pat Robertson and Richard Dawkins. He ends a recent column with this nice credo:

Always try to be the least believing member of one of the more observant sects. Participate in organized religion, but be a friendly dissident inside. Ensconce yourself in traditional moral practice, but champion piecemeal modernization. Submit to the wisdom of the ages, but with one eye open.

The problem is nobody is ever going to write a book sketching out the full quasi-religious recipe for life. The message “God is Great” appeals to billions. Hitchens rides the best-seller list with “God is Not Great.” Nobody wants to read a book called “God is Right Most of the Time.”