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.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
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?!
Thursday, May 19, 2005
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.
Senator Amidala captures the irony of fascism's triumph: "So this is how liberty dies. With thunderous applause." Indeed.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
George Galloway: My (New) Hero
I first heard of George Galloway when we were living in Cambridge: he had become quite notorious as a renegade (now ex-)Labor MP, deeply critical of Blair and the Iraq War. The Sunday Times Magazine did a feature spread on him that was fascinating, though not altogether charitable. His (voluntary) appearance before a Senate subcommittee brought some of his blistering rhetoric stateside, bringing with it a taste of British parliamentary debate that I deeply miss. [Be sure to watch the video if you can.]
The BBC has culled some choice quotes from Galloway's testimony. My favorite:
"I have met Saddam Hussein exactly the same number of times as Donald Rumsfeld met him. The difference is that Donald Rumsfeld met him to sell him guns and to give him maps the better to target those guns."
Washington doesn't know what to do with this strange, truth-telling beast.
The BBC has culled some choice quotes from Galloway's testimony. My favorite:
"I have met Saddam Hussein exactly the same number of times as Donald Rumsfeld met him. The difference is that Donald Rumsfeld met him to sell him guns and to give him maps the better to target those guns."
Washington doesn't know what to do with this strange, truth-telling beast.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Blame Carter
Much ink has been spilt on the supposedly new emergence of imperial aims in American foreign policy, including jeremiads about how everything has changed post-9/11. In a sweeping essay in the Wilson Quarterly ("The Real World War IV")--something of a precis to his new book, The New American Militarism--Andrew Bacevich carefully demonstrates thst American foreign policy, with respect to the middle east, really hasn't changed since the twilight of the Carter administration. Bacevich suggests two key factors that contributed to the current excesses of "American militarism":
First, American militarism isn't all that "new": ever since Vietnam, he suggests, Americans--on both left and right--have been infatuated with American military might. "Militarism insinuated itself into American life."
But second, one can see a kind of chemical reaction between this deepening militarism with respect to foreign policy and a very particular domestic interest: preserving the "American dream." This "American way of life" revolves around automobiles, and so one of the most important elements required to maintain this culture is perpetual access to cheap oil. So if we want to understand "the rising tide of American bellicosity that culminated in March 2003," Bacevich remarks, "we must look as well to national interests and, indeed, to the utlimate U.S. interest, which is the removal of any obstacles or encumbrances that might hinder the American people in their pursuit of happiness."
Ironically, the first "villain" in this narrative is not one of many hawkish Republicans, but the timid southern evangelical, Jimmy Carter. Though Carter also represents a missed opportunity.
On July 15, 1979, Carter--seeing that American's increased addiction to foreign oil [at the time the US imported 43% of it's oil; today it's 56%]--delivered a national address that offered an almost prophetic critique of American consumption. Americans, he warned, had come to worship self-indulgent consumption of material goods as the way to define themselves. This, he suggested, stemmed from a "mistaken idea of freedom" understood merely as self-interest, to which he contrasted a "true freedom" which sought "the path of common purpose" and mitigated self-interested hoarding of resources. And then he uttered a notion that was--and very much is--a taboo for the "American way of life": he told American's that they must make sacrifices. He called on Americans to restrict their use of energy resources, to park their cars one day a week, to pursue alternative sources of energy, and to just generally put a cap on their consumption.
The message landed like a lead balloon, and within just a few months, fighting for his political life, Carter made an about-face and articulated what would come to be known as the "Carter Doctrine": “An attempt by any outside force to gain control of the Persian Gulf region,” he declared, “will be regarded as an assault on the vital interests of the United States of America, and such an assault will be repelled by any means necessary, including military force.”
It was Jimmy Carter, then, who declared World War IV. And it seems that any who disagree with the current rendition of American militarism in the middle east can only excuse themselves if they also reject the Carter Doctrine. But that, of course, will require a people who are willing to forego a culture of consumption. I'm not too hopeful that "America" is very interested in that. But it might be that within America we could find new monastic communities with the resources and will to do so.
First, American militarism isn't all that "new": ever since Vietnam, he suggests, Americans--on both left and right--have been infatuated with American military might. "Militarism insinuated itself into American life."
But second, one can see a kind of chemical reaction between this deepening militarism with respect to foreign policy and a very particular domestic interest: preserving the "American dream." This "American way of life" revolves around automobiles, and so one of the most important elements required to maintain this culture is perpetual access to cheap oil. So if we want to understand "the rising tide of American bellicosity that culminated in March 2003," Bacevich remarks, "we must look as well to national interests and, indeed, to the utlimate U.S. interest, which is the removal of any obstacles or encumbrances that might hinder the American people in their pursuit of happiness."
Ironically, the first "villain" in this narrative is not one of many hawkish Republicans, but the timid southern evangelical, Jimmy Carter. Though Carter also represents a missed opportunity.
On July 15, 1979, Carter--seeing that American's increased addiction to foreign oil [at the time the US imported 43% of it's oil; today it's 56%]--delivered a national address that offered an almost prophetic critique of American consumption. Americans, he warned, had come to worship self-indulgent consumption of material goods as the way to define themselves. This, he suggested, stemmed from a "mistaken idea of freedom" understood merely as self-interest, to which he contrasted a "true freedom" which sought "the path of common purpose" and mitigated self-interested hoarding of resources. And then he uttered a notion that was--and very much is--a taboo for the "American way of life": he told American's that they must make sacrifices. He called on Americans to restrict their use of energy resources, to park their cars one day a week, to pursue alternative sources of energy, and to just generally put a cap on their consumption.
The message landed like a lead balloon, and within just a few months, fighting for his political life, Carter made an about-face and articulated what would come to be known as the "Carter Doctrine": “An attempt by any outside force to gain control of the Persian Gulf region,” he declared, “will be regarded as an assault on the vital interests of the United States of America, and such an assault will be repelled by any means necessary, including military force.”
It was Jimmy Carter, then, who declared World War IV. And it seems that any who disagree with the current rendition of American militarism in the middle east can only excuse themselves if they also reject the Carter Doctrine. But that, of course, will require a people who are willing to forego a culture of consumption. I'm not too hopeful that "America" is very interested in that. But it might be that within America we could find new monastic communities with the resources and will to do so.
Friday, May 13, 2005
This Historian Should Pay More Attention to the Present
Yale historian Donald Kagan delivered the NEH's Jefferson Lectures last night in Washington. Undertaking a rant against postmodern "theory" and seeking to reclaim the Enlightenment dream of objectivity, Kagan argued that history was the discipline best poised for this reclamation project. As the Chronicle reports:
'Mr. Kagan also defended his view of history as "Queen of the Humanities, standing between and slightly above her noble handmaidens, the muses of literature and philosophy," against the claims made by last year's Jefferson lecturer, Helen Vendler, a poetry critic and professor at Harvard University.
Ms. Vendler's 2004 lecture took the view that education in the humanities should focus on language, literature, and the arts, rather than on history and philosophy (The Chronicle, May 7, 2004). Mr. Kagan disagreed, noting that in the "modern world," where the influence of "religion and the traditions based upon it" has faded, "the need for a sound base for moral judgments has not."'
The influence of religion and tradition has "faded" in the modern world? Is Kagan so lost in the archives looking for that elusive objectivity that he can't find time to read today's newspapers?! If this is the kind of astute analysis that her majesty History has to offer, then I think her reign is a blind one. While Kagan perhaps captures the spirit of Jefferson, it is just such blind commitment to Enlightenment dreams of secularism (which promised religion would wither away) that blocks any real progress on dealing with the wide impact of religion and traditon across the globe. Mr. Kagan would do well to pay a little more attention to the present.
'Mr. Kagan also defended his view of history as "Queen of the Humanities, standing between and slightly above her noble handmaidens, the muses of literature and philosophy," against the claims made by last year's Jefferson lecturer, Helen Vendler, a poetry critic and professor at Harvard University.
Ms. Vendler's 2004 lecture took the view that education in the humanities should focus on language, literature, and the arts, rather than on history and philosophy (The Chronicle, May 7, 2004). Mr. Kagan disagreed, noting that in the "modern world," where the influence of "religion and the traditions based upon it" has faded, "the need for a sound base for moral judgments has not."'
The influence of religion and tradition has "faded" in the modern world? Is Kagan so lost in the archives looking for that elusive objectivity that he can't find time to read today's newspapers?! If this is the kind of astute analysis that her majesty History has to offer, then I think her reign is a blind one. While Kagan perhaps captures the spirit of Jefferson, it is just such blind commitment to Enlightenment dreams of secularism (which promised religion would wither away) that blocks any real progress on dealing with the wide impact of religion and traditon across the globe. Mr. Kagan would do well to pay a little more attention to the present.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Constantinianism of the Left?
Jim Wallis' book tour for God's Politics made a stop at Calvin College last night. His presentation was disappointing (alot of slogan-mongering), but it was really his position that was disappointing. Though not surprising, I must say; I'm glad to have gone, if only to confirm my suspicions. There are a couple of areas in which Wallis either gets it wrong, or doesn't get it:
1. I would describe Wallis' position as a kind of Constantinianism of the left. While he's not out to establish a theocracy governed by a leftish god, his position is nevertheless deeply "statist." In Dan Bell's terms, he still believes in statecraft. What was most telling, I thought, was for all his talk about faith, and even "evangelicalism," last night, I don't know that he ever once mentioned _the Church_! Instead, he'll focus on "people of faith" getting out the vote, lobbying congress, and doing everything they can to marshall the political process to effect prophetic justice. But that kind of picture plays right into the hands not only of American liberal individualism, but also the deep anti-ecclesial individualism of evangelicalism. In contrast, I think the only hope for justice is a robust church, which requires an ecclesiological account of the formation of disciples. Wallis seems to think a good "moral" civics lesson is enough. Indeed, at the end of the day, he thinks that democracy trumps the Church, for as he put it (yes, this is a direct quote): "Religion must be disciplined by democracy."
2. I couldn't help but concluding that, whatever Wallis' earlier stance might have been, he's really just ended up as a humanist. The talk last night was riddled with talk of "values"--which is just the code word for some kind of vague, supposedly common American moral vision. So there's all kind of bluster about morals, faith, religion, and "values," but this is all aimed at the end of just creating a kinder, compassionate American civil theology.
Instead of Wallis' leftish civil theology, I'll continue to believe that our most important political action remains the act of discipleship through worship.
1. I would describe Wallis' position as a kind of Constantinianism of the left. While he's not out to establish a theocracy governed by a leftish god, his position is nevertheless deeply "statist." In Dan Bell's terms, he still believes in statecraft. What was most telling, I thought, was for all his talk about faith, and even "evangelicalism," last night, I don't know that he ever once mentioned _the Church_! Instead, he'll focus on "people of faith" getting out the vote, lobbying congress, and doing everything they can to marshall the political process to effect prophetic justice. But that kind of picture plays right into the hands not only of American liberal individualism, but also the deep anti-ecclesial individualism of evangelicalism. In contrast, I think the only hope for justice is a robust church, which requires an ecclesiological account of the formation of disciples. Wallis seems to think a good "moral" civics lesson is enough. Indeed, at the end of the day, he thinks that democracy trumps the Church, for as he put it (yes, this is a direct quote): "Religion must be disciplined by democracy."
2. I couldn't help but concluding that, whatever Wallis' earlier stance might have been, he's really just ended up as a humanist. The talk last night was riddled with talk of "values"--which is just the code word for some kind of vague, supposedly common American moral vision. So there's all kind of bluster about morals, faith, religion, and "values," but this is all aimed at the end of just creating a kinder, compassionate American civil theology.
Instead of Wallis' leftish civil theology, I'll continue to believe that our most important political action remains the act of discipleship through worship.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
The Idolatry of Tax Cuts
Michigan and Grand Rapids are in bad shape. With thousands of jobs leaving the state, and decreasing tax revenues, every level of government has been hit in the state--and often the worst effects seem to trickle down to municipalities (though the trickle is more like a downpour, gaining steam from Washington on down!). The City of Grand Rapids faces a $35 million dollar shortfall and has to contemplate closing parks and pools to scrimp and save (though such drastic attacks on quality of life will barely make a dent on the deficit). And the Grand Rapids Public School board faces an $18 million dollar shortfall. Desperate times.
Of course, there is a solution to all of this, but it can never be uttered in our current, still-post-Reagan climate (a climate that Clinton only fostered, by the way, and which W. has run with): we could increase taxes, and specifically, we could increase taxes for the wealthiest elite in our state (there's no shortage of them). The problem, of course, is that it's generally that same group/class who make it to Lansing. Uttering the words "tax increase" in West Michigan is tantamount to treason (it might actually be worse than treason for Besty DeVos).
So I was quite intrigued this morning by a story on NPR about Indiana's Republican governor (and former Bush budget advisor), Mitch Daniels. While elected on the now universal promise of tax cuts (geez, not even the fricking Democrats will talk about raising taxes!), Daniels' experience of revenue shortfalls has got him singing a different tune, asking for--if you can believe--a TAX INCREASE. And not only that, he's asking for a specific tax increase ON THE RICH (rather than the ridiculous schemes promoted in Michigan to increase the sales tax, which is really just a way of disproportionately taxing the poor). Daniels has requested what to any charitable Martian must sound eminently reasonable: a 1-year, 1% tax increase on the income of those who make OVER $100,000. As you can imagine, the idea landed like a lead balloon.
Interestingly, Daniels tried to make the case for this by invoking the analogy of an old-fashioned barn-raising where a community, together, out of a concern for the common good, each plays a part and does that they can to help achieve a stated goal (raising a barn). This is often seen as a snapshot of communal affirmation of a commmon good. The problem is, the metaphor--and the very idea itself--assumes something that has been consistently eroded in this country since Reagan: a spirit of altruistic, disinterested concern for my neighbor and a commitment to a good that is greater than my own self-interest. In short, the barn-raising project requires a community of people who have been formed to not put their own interest first, to care about the whole more than the part. In short, it assumes a social system of "cooperation" as sketched by John Ruskin, F.D. Maurice and others--an understanding of cooperative social arrangements that runs counter to the competitive arrangements needed by and produced by capitalism. But even since Bush the Senior uttered "It's YOUR money," any hope of such a cooperative framework has been steadily eroded. Hell, not even the CHURCH forms people to care about others any more! Indeed, the most vociferous opponents of tax increases in Michigan are all of the Vandersomething Republicans who dutifully attend their so-called "Reformed" churches every Sunday.
But could it be that the Gospel of incessant tax cuts (especially for the rich) is, in fact, another Gospel? This diabolical message has nothing to do with the vision of Jesus who came preaching liberation for captives, healing for the sick, justice for the poor--and yes, tax increases for the rich.
Of course, there is a solution to all of this, but it can never be uttered in our current, still-post-Reagan climate (a climate that Clinton only fostered, by the way, and which W. has run with): we could increase taxes, and specifically, we could increase taxes for the wealthiest elite in our state (there's no shortage of them). The problem, of course, is that it's generally that same group/class who make it to Lansing. Uttering the words "tax increase" in West Michigan is tantamount to treason (it might actually be worse than treason for Besty DeVos).
So I was quite intrigued this morning by a story on NPR about Indiana's Republican governor (and former Bush budget advisor), Mitch Daniels. While elected on the now universal promise of tax cuts (geez, not even the fricking Democrats will talk about raising taxes!), Daniels' experience of revenue shortfalls has got him singing a different tune, asking for--if you can believe--a TAX INCREASE. And not only that, he's asking for a specific tax increase ON THE RICH (rather than the ridiculous schemes promoted in Michigan to increase the sales tax, which is really just a way of disproportionately taxing the poor). Daniels has requested what to any charitable Martian must sound eminently reasonable: a 1-year, 1% tax increase on the income of those who make OVER $100,000. As you can imagine, the idea landed like a lead balloon.
Interestingly, Daniels tried to make the case for this by invoking the analogy of an old-fashioned barn-raising where a community, together, out of a concern for the common good, each plays a part and does that they can to help achieve a stated goal (raising a barn). This is often seen as a snapshot of communal affirmation of a commmon good. The problem is, the metaphor--and the very idea itself--assumes something that has been consistently eroded in this country since Reagan: a spirit of altruistic, disinterested concern for my neighbor and a commitment to a good that is greater than my own self-interest. In short, the barn-raising project requires a community of people who have been formed to not put their own interest first, to care about the whole more than the part. In short, it assumes a social system of "cooperation" as sketched by John Ruskin, F.D. Maurice and others--an understanding of cooperative social arrangements that runs counter to the competitive arrangements needed by and produced by capitalism. But even since Bush the Senior uttered "It's YOUR money," any hope of such a cooperative framework has been steadily eroded. Hell, not even the CHURCH forms people to care about others any more! Indeed, the most vociferous opponents of tax increases in Michigan are all of the Vandersomething Republicans who dutifully attend their so-called "Reformed" churches every Sunday.
But could it be that the Gospel of incessant tax cuts (especially for the rich) is, in fact, another Gospel? This diabolical message has nothing to do with the vision of Jesus who came preaching liberation for captives, healing for the sick, justice for the poor--and yes, tax increases for the rich.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Elections don't entail Democracy
A recent article by Nir Rosen in Harper's points out the flawed, populist notion of democracy embraced by the Bush administration. In "After the Election: Iraq's democratic preamble to civil war" (April 2005, pp. 71-74), Rosen shows that the White House's fetishization of elections is incredibly naive. The administration pressed for "free" elections in Afghanistan and Iraq as proof that democracy had emerged in the region, but as Rosen concisely notes: "elections are the result of democracy, not the catalyst for it." And in fact, the fetishization of elections (and the subsequent "branding" of purple-inked fingers as symbols of "freedom") actually meant that the elections were conducted under some of the most un-democratic conditions one could imagine, including paid "reporters," ballots without names, restriction of free speech, and above all, the continued climate of terror and fear. Rosen thinks that this sham of an election is actually a prelude to civil war. All the White House can see is their supposed triumph in all those purple fingers.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
"American Catholics": American, or Catholic?
It was only a matter of time: with the election of Cardinal Ratzinger as Pope Benedict XVI, news outlets from NPR to the New York Times were quick to divine the response of so-called “American Catholics.” The trickle of laments so far (Jack Miles, Charles Curran, and Jesuits everywhere) is sure to be followed by a torrent of jeremiads over the next several weeks from the usual suspects (Peter Steinfels, Gary Wills, et. al.) who will bemoan the fact that the cardinals chose a Pope who, of all things, endorses the teaching of Church. (This happens even as other American neocons like Michael Novak and Richard John Neuhaus are eager to paint Benedict XVI as the Pope of the free market.)
But the apoplexy of these “American Catholics” is not the sort of response you’ll find in the Pulaski Square or Burton Heights neighborhoods in Grand Rapids. Nor will you find such weeping and gnashing of teeth amongst those worshipping in the basilica in Dyersville, IA—or even in the Cathedral of our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles, where immigrants from Mexico and Guatemala greet the news of Benedict XVI with joy. No, for the opinions of these so-called “American Catholics” you’ll have to make your way to the halls of east coast Jesuit universities and New York editorial offices.
So the notion that these New York and Washington intellectuals represent “American Catholics” is a gross overstatement and misnomer. (Sometimes the label is more specific and rightly indicates that these are the opinions of “liberal Catholics.”) Many Americans who are Catholic—not too mention the Catholic faithful in Latin America and Africa—won’t find the election of Cardinal Ratzinger the least disturbing or surprising. In fact, they will eagerly look to Pope Benedict XVI as shepherd of the flock.
Why the difference of response? Why does Cardinal Ratzinger’s election as Pope generate such despair among “American Catholics,” and yet is welcomed by many Catholics who live in the United States?
I think it has something to do with how you conjoin the terms. The so-called “American Catholics” want a church that conforms to the sensibilities of American liberalism: personal freedom and autonomy, a rejection of authority, a disparaging of tradition, and an expanding “private” sphere that let’s us do what we want. The Church is great, they’ll say, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of us pursuing our version of the American dream.
But that is precisely to miss what it means to be Catholic—indeed, what it means to be a Christian. The way of the cross is not the way of self-invention and private fulfillment. It is the way of discipleship. And discipleship requires learning to subject one’s desires and interests to God’s authority. As we see in Mary, the first disciple, to follow Jesus means learning to say, “Let it be.” In this respect we must recognize, as Pope John Paul II argued, that there is a deep antithesis between liberalism and Catholicism. The fact that Pope Benedict XVI agrees with this only indicates that he affirms the centuries old tradition of the faith. Should we really be surprised that the Cardinals elected a Pope who affirms the faith?
The chorus of “American Catholics” want a church without discipleship. I expect Pope Benedict XVI’s papacy will force them to be honest and choose between being American liberals and being Catholic.
But the apoplexy of these “American Catholics” is not the sort of response you’ll find in the Pulaski Square or Burton Heights neighborhoods in Grand Rapids. Nor will you find such weeping and gnashing of teeth amongst those worshipping in the basilica in Dyersville, IA—or even in the Cathedral of our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles, where immigrants from Mexico and Guatemala greet the news of Benedict XVI with joy. No, for the opinions of these so-called “American Catholics” you’ll have to make your way to the halls of east coast Jesuit universities and New York editorial offices.
So the notion that these New York and Washington intellectuals represent “American Catholics” is a gross overstatement and misnomer. (Sometimes the label is more specific and rightly indicates that these are the opinions of “liberal Catholics.”) Many Americans who are Catholic—not too mention the Catholic faithful in Latin America and Africa—won’t find the election of Cardinal Ratzinger the least disturbing or surprising. In fact, they will eagerly look to Pope Benedict XVI as shepherd of the flock.
Why the difference of response? Why does Cardinal Ratzinger’s election as Pope generate such despair among “American Catholics,” and yet is welcomed by many Catholics who live in the United States?
I think it has something to do with how you conjoin the terms. The so-called “American Catholics” want a church that conforms to the sensibilities of American liberalism: personal freedom and autonomy, a rejection of authority, a disparaging of tradition, and an expanding “private” sphere that let’s us do what we want. The Church is great, they’ll say, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of us pursuing our version of the American dream.
But that is precisely to miss what it means to be Catholic—indeed, what it means to be a Christian. The way of the cross is not the way of self-invention and private fulfillment. It is the way of discipleship. And discipleship requires learning to subject one’s desires and interests to God’s authority. As we see in Mary, the first disciple, to follow Jesus means learning to say, “Let it be.” In this respect we must recognize, as Pope John Paul II argued, that there is a deep antithesis between liberalism and Catholicism. The fact that Pope Benedict XVI agrees with this only indicates that he affirms the centuries old tradition of the faith. Should we really be surprised that the Cardinals elected a Pope who affirms the faith?
The chorus of “American Catholics” want a church without discipleship. I expect Pope Benedict XVI’s papacy will force them to be honest and choose between being American liberals and being Catholic.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Pope John Paul II: A Reformed Appreciation
The passing of Pope John Paul II into eternal life is not only a loss for the Catholic church; it is a loss for Christians of all traditions and confessions. Indeed, though I trace my confessional identity to the Reformation protest against “Rome,” it was John Paul II who reminded me that to be Christian is to be catholic.
Pope John Paul II articulated what papal biographer George Weigel describes as “the catholic difference;” that is, the Pope unapologetically asserted that to confess Jesus is Lord is to see the whole world differently. The Pope’s vision of catholicism, in other words, is what Weigel calls an “optic:” “a way of seeing things, a distinct perception of reality” that made a difference. But this was a catholic difference: on the one hand, this vision was generous and ecumenical, such that Christians from across traditions and around the globe could join together to proclaim the Gospel to the modern world. It is no surprise, then, that Pope John Paul II was committed to reconciliation, overseeing the most comprehensive commitment to religious dialogue in the history of the Vatican–including fruitful dialogue between Rome and the churches of the Reformation. (This passion was articulated in his 1995 encyclical Ut Unum Sint.) On the other hand, this catholic vision was different. The Gospel proclaims that the whole world belongs to God, and that this makes a difference: for the way we think about justice, economic distribution, our relation to material goods, human relationships and bodies, and even how we think about suffering. So the Pope was also unabashed in his assertion of this difference, never shy to articulate a prophetic critique of what he saw as the creeping “culture of death” taking hold of the modern world, whether in the oppressive form of Communism which he helped topple, or in the form of America’s persistent use of the death penalty and unjust military interventions. The Pope’s prophetic vision of the Gospel’s impact on every sphere of life helped those of us who are Reformed to be reminded that ours is a catholic vision.
The Pope’s vision will forever be known as one committed to the “culture of life” as opposed to the culture of death. Unlike the simplistic versions of this bandied about in American party politics, Pope John Paul II left us with a rich philosophical and theological articulation of this moral vision in encyclicals such as Evangelium Vitae and Veritatis Splendor. At the heart of this was a theology of the body that could affirm all the goods of embodiment, from the arts to sexuality, in a way that avoided the puritanical gnosticism of much of evangelicalism. And in his final years the Pope modeled for us a profound theology of suffering, trying to show a modern world that, despite all our pretensions to mastery and control, that there is redemption to be found by living out of control, and receiving grace from a God of great gifts.
Christians of all confessions, and perhaps especially Christians from the so-called “Reformed” churches, should take time this week to give thanks to our giving God for the gift of John Paul II. We would do well to learn to see the world through the optic of “the catholic difference.”
Pope John Paul II articulated what papal biographer George Weigel describes as “the catholic difference;” that is, the Pope unapologetically asserted that to confess Jesus is Lord is to see the whole world differently. The Pope’s vision of catholicism, in other words, is what Weigel calls an “optic:” “a way of seeing things, a distinct perception of reality” that made a difference. But this was a catholic difference: on the one hand, this vision was generous and ecumenical, such that Christians from across traditions and around the globe could join together to proclaim the Gospel to the modern world. It is no surprise, then, that Pope John Paul II was committed to reconciliation, overseeing the most comprehensive commitment to religious dialogue in the history of the Vatican–including fruitful dialogue between Rome and the churches of the Reformation. (This passion was articulated in his 1995 encyclical Ut Unum Sint.) On the other hand, this catholic vision was different. The Gospel proclaims that the whole world belongs to God, and that this makes a difference: for the way we think about justice, economic distribution, our relation to material goods, human relationships and bodies, and even how we think about suffering. So the Pope was also unabashed in his assertion of this difference, never shy to articulate a prophetic critique of what he saw as the creeping “culture of death” taking hold of the modern world, whether in the oppressive form of Communism which he helped topple, or in the form of America’s persistent use of the death penalty and unjust military interventions. The Pope’s prophetic vision of the Gospel’s impact on every sphere of life helped those of us who are Reformed to be reminded that ours is a catholic vision.
The Pope’s vision will forever be known as one committed to the “culture of life” as opposed to the culture of death. Unlike the simplistic versions of this bandied about in American party politics, Pope John Paul II left us with a rich philosophical and theological articulation of this moral vision in encyclicals such as Evangelium Vitae and Veritatis Splendor. At the heart of this was a theology of the body that could affirm all the goods of embodiment, from the arts to sexuality, in a way that avoided the puritanical gnosticism of much of evangelicalism. And in his final years the Pope modeled for us a profound theology of suffering, trying to show a modern world that, despite all our pretensions to mastery and control, that there is redemption to be found by living out of control, and receiving grace from a God of great gifts.
Christians of all confessions, and perhaps especially Christians from the so-called “Reformed” churches, should take time this week to give thanks to our giving God for the gift of John Paul II. We would do well to learn to see the world through the optic of “the catholic difference.”
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
The Apocalypse Cometh
The NYT has reported that Bush will propose Wolfowitz as the New World Bank President.
What was the number of the beast, again?
What was the number of the beast, again?
Our Orwellian Universe
Today NYT editorial, "Counterfeit News," points back to a disturbing article from a few days ago: "Under Bush, a New Age of Pre-packaged News." The article documents the extent to which the White House and over 20 federal agencies spent millions of dollars to produced "video news releases" which are clearly intended to appear as authentic news reports. (This is on top of the White House's employment of paid pundits to author columns in favor of their policies, or planting reporters in the White House press room to toss softball questions to W.) These visual propoganda leaflets were regularly picked up by local news stations and broadcast "as is," without any qualifiers or provisos. The article is really a must read.
The editorial rightly distributes blame here: certainly these federal agencies are at fault, but the Times says blame equally lies on the shoulders of those news outlets which employed the videos. We should also qualify this carefully by noting that the same practice was used under the Clinton administration, though it has been expanded under Bush.
The temptation of these moralistic criticisms, however, is to imagine that apart from these artifacts of federal propoganda, we are the gifted recipients of "real" news. In a culture where the major networks and news outlets are controlled by massive market interests, let's not kid ourselves. This came home to me during our sojourn in Cambridge: for those who restrict themselves to mainstream American news sources--and I'm not talking about FOX, but ABC, NBC, even the NYT--the foreign media can constitute nothing short of a revelation. These latest revelations only confirm David Domke's analysis of the press's complicity with the White House's "political fundamentalism."
The editorial rightly distributes blame here: certainly these federal agencies are at fault, but the Times says blame equally lies on the shoulders of those news outlets which employed the videos. We should also qualify this carefully by noting that the same practice was used under the Clinton administration, though it has been expanded under Bush.
The temptation of these moralistic criticisms, however, is to imagine that apart from these artifacts of federal propoganda, we are the gifted recipients of "real" news. In a culture where the major networks and news outlets are controlled by massive market interests, let's not kid ourselves. This came home to me during our sojourn in Cambridge: for those who restrict themselves to mainstream American news sources--and I'm not talking about FOX, but ABC, NBC, even the NYT--the foreign media can constitute nothing short of a revelation. These latest revelations only confirm David Domke's analysis of the press's complicity with the White House's "political fundamentalism."
Launch: Welcome to 1984
I have been contemplating launching a blog of this sort for a while. A piece in the New York Times finally convinced me to follow through (see next post). Unlike my other blog, which has basically become something between an annotated bibliography and a collection of book reviews, I hope this blog will offer my off-the-cuff thoughts relating to contemporary politics, foreign policy, culture--and the Church's relation to all of this.
The title, "Fors Clavigera," comes from one of my heroes, John Ruskin, who published a series of monthly letters under this title from 1870-1878, and then more randomly from 1880-1884. The letters, as the subtitle indicated, were addressed "to the workmen and labourers of Great Britain." Their polemic contained, in occasional form, the core of Ruskin's social vision for community founded on participation rather than competition--part of what was more broadly described as "Christian socialism." Ruskin was driven to this work, from his more theoretical labors at Oxford, out of a sense that he couldn't live with himself if he didn't do something. Indeed, as his editor puts it, Fors Clavigera was the payment of a ransom: an effort to secure some peace for his conscience amidst all the "material distress" he saw in the culture surrounding him.
It is the occasional, from-the-hip nature of Ruskin's Fors that seems especially fitting for a blog; indeed, we might suggest that Ruskin's monthly letters constituted a proto-blog. Rather than seeking to write a "system," as he put it, he chose the title Fors "to indicate the desultory and accidental character of the work." It was a space in which he could discuss "any matter which chanced to interest him."
This humble little Fors is undertaken in the spirit of Ruskin, who was--for the sake of conscience--driven to articulate a critique of the social dysfunction that surrounded him which, of course, can take many forms. Today, at this moment, I can't help having a deep sense that we are surrounded by the fascism of various empires: political, ecclesiastical, consumer, and media.
The title, "Fors Clavigera," comes from one of my heroes, John Ruskin, who published a series of monthly letters under this title from 1870-1878, and then more randomly from 1880-1884. The letters, as the subtitle indicated, were addressed "to the workmen and labourers of Great Britain." Their polemic contained, in occasional form, the core of Ruskin's social vision for community founded on participation rather than competition--part of what was more broadly described as "Christian socialism." Ruskin was driven to this work, from his more theoretical labors at Oxford, out of a sense that he couldn't live with himself if he didn't do something. Indeed, as his editor puts it, Fors Clavigera was the payment of a ransom: an effort to secure some peace for his conscience amidst all the "material distress" he saw in the culture surrounding him.
It is the occasional, from-the-hip nature of Ruskin's Fors that seems especially fitting for a blog; indeed, we might suggest that Ruskin's monthly letters constituted a proto-blog. Rather than seeking to write a "system," as he put it, he chose the title Fors "to indicate the desultory and accidental character of the work." It was a space in which he could discuss "any matter which chanced to interest him."
This humble little Fors is undertaken in the spirit of Ruskin, who was--for the sake of conscience--driven to articulate a critique of the social dysfunction that surrounded him which, of course, can take many forms. Today, at this moment, I can't help having a deep sense that we are surrounded by the fascism of various empires: political, ecclesiastical, consumer, and media.
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