Comment Interview

Comment magazine has been posting a series of interviews with authors, artists, and activists--in the spirit of the Paris Review and Sports Illustrated. This includes a photo and commentary on the author/artist's workspace (akin to the Guardian's similar tradition on "Writer's Rooms"). Today Comment has posted a Q&A with me for those who might be interested. Here's a peek at my workspace:

Stark's "Creative" History

[I was asked to respond to a paper from the upcoming Society for Pentecostal Studies/Wesleyan Theological Society conference and thought I'd post an edited version here. The paper, by Thomas Bridges, engages Rodney Stark's book, The Victory of Reason: How Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success.]

I’m sorry that I’m unable to be there in person to engage Thomas Bridges’ reading of Rodney Stark’s—shall we way—“creative” book. I suppose if I have a question for Bridges, it’s simply this: why waste your time on Stark’s ideological hack job of both Christianity and history?

That, however, does not make for much of a conversation. So let me unpack this a bit. I think Bridges is absolutely right to name Stark’s position for what it is: pure, unadulterated Pelagianism marshaled for the sake of the worship of Mammon, subservient to the ersatz pope of American civil religion—namely, the unquestioned “market” which seems to speak ex cathedra, and which—like Dostoyevsky’s Grand Inquisitor—is not even going to let Jesus spoil the capitalist party. (“Sell all you have and give to the poor” be damned! According to Stark, Jesus was really interested in increasing our GDP—it just took 1500 years for so-called “Christians” to figure this out.)

Thus we get several gems of “creative” history that make Hayden White look like a conservative. For instance, we’re told that capitalism thrived in the Middle Ages. Indeed, not only did it flourish in medieval Christendom more generally, its most celebrated form is located, according to Stark, in the monasteries. Who needed The Wealth of Nations? Apparently the Rule of St. Benedict would have been enough, containing capitalism in nuce—except for those bothersome little bits about vows of poverty, having property in common, and the denouncement of avarice. But other than that…

Only a “creative” historian like Stark could claim that “[u]nlike Plato’s Republic, which focuses on the polis, and unlike other religions and societies, which focus on group identities, for Christianity ‘the individual citizen […] was the focus” (cited by Bridges, pp. 4-5). Indeed, Stark takes the Gospel to be asserting that “I am the master of my fate” (ibid.).

What kind of American, Baptist history is this? Is there something in the water down there in Texas? This is a truly remarkable eisegesis of the historical record, reading the American valorization of individual autonomy and libertarian freedom back into the pre-modern church in ways that almost boggle the imagination. Even quite apart from the clearly organic, communitarian construction of not only monasteries but feudal life more generally in medieval Christendom, one finds in Scripture itself a picture of the community as a body whose good trumps that of the individual (Phil. 2:1-11), generating an economic organization that subsumes private property to a common purse (Acts 2:42-47; 4:32-5:10). And the monastic rules (whether of Benedict, Augustine, or others) were intent on curbing self-interest and “private” concern through devotion to a community that was very much modeled as a polis much more akin to Plato and Aristotle’s communitarian vision than the modern Enlightenment atomism that Stark seems to cherish.

But here we have neither time nor space to contest Stark’s history point by point. And Bridges has already made a start of that, and also rightly raised constructive theological problems with the account. I can’t add to his suggestions. Instead, I want to ask: in light of how ludicrous Stark’s reading is, how does he get away with this? Who on earth could see this as a remotely viable reading of Christian history before the Reformation? And why are some so prone to eat it up (cue some fawning appraisal from The National Review)?

Here I would suggest that this sort of Whiggish history finds an audience ready and waiting—like the work of Max Stackhouse—because it is ultimately comforting and shores up the status quo for American Christians. In addition, I think the picture of baptized capitalism that we get from folks like Stark, Stackhouse, Novak, and others, operates on the basis of a lack of nuance.

In particular, I think they fail to make a crucial distinction: between “economics” and “capitalism.” Or, to put it conversely, these accounts—which pride themselves on being “realistic”—assume an identification between economics and capitalism. So, for them, to be against capitalism is a bit like being against food, clothing, and shelter. Economic transactions are an essential and constitutive feature of human society; therefore, anyone who opposes capitalism is living in some ridiculous ivory tower of abstraction, unable to face up to the cold, hard reality of economic exchange. Simply collapsing capitalism with economics “as such” also means that whenever these folks see commerce and exchange happening, they think they’re seeing capitalism at work (which is the only possible way to make any sense of Stark’s claim that medieval monasteries were hotbeds of capitalism).

But why should we simply identify economics with capitalism? I think this shows a significant lack of imagination and a real failure of theoretical nuance. I think Stark and his ilk are absolutely right that economic exchange and commerce are an essential (and good!) aspect of human society. However, capitalism is one particular configuration of the economic, and the market is one particular configuration of commerce. I would argue that these configurations are quite antithetical to the Gospel (which is itself a renewal of the good order of creation). But I’m not thereby rejecting economics or exchange as such. Rather, it is a matter of imagining economics and commerce otherwise, which is exactly the sort of thing we see in the early church (Acts 2:42-47; 4:32-5:10) and in the monastic communities. Stark’s creative, ideological history lacks just this distinction. Bridges has rightly pointed out the antithesis, and invites us to imagine a very different economy.

Ruskin, Work, and 'The Nature of the Gothic'

One of the courses I'm teaching here in York is a delightful but admittedly idiosyncratic one entitled 'Victorian Britain and Postmodern Culture: Contemporary Medievalisms.' (The unofficial title is 'everything Jamie loves about 19th-century England.') One of the key figures who keeps confronting us is John Ruskin, whose own Fors Clavigera is the namesake for this little blog venture.

Today we're engaging Ruskin's classic essay, 'The Nature of the Gothic,' embedded in volume 2 of The Stones of Venice. One of the great pieces of 19th-century prose, it is also a powerful indictment of the mercantilism unleashed by the alchemy of Adam Smith's economics coupled with the Industrial Revolution. Here I provide just a few snippets to get a feel for Ruskin's still timely (more timely?) critique.

Ruskin emphasized that what distinguished Gothic architecture from earlier classical architecture, as well as later “industrial” building, was the freedom of the craftsman. Greek temples were built by slaves. The laborers were not properly craftsmen but rather human tools and machines. Thus classical architecture has a kind of pristine perfection about it that is artificial and mechanistic; it shows no stamp of individual artists. And this desire for a pristine perfection and uniformity is, in fact, a suppression of nature and individuality.
For Ruskin, the “modern” laborer was not qualitatively different. While not a “slave” in the traditional sense, he was still reduced to an unthinking machine. He put it this way:

“It is verily this degradation of the operative into a machine, which, more than any other evil of the times, is leading the mass of the national everywhere into vain, incoherent, destructive struggling for a freedom of which they cannot explain the nature themselves. Their universal outcry against wealth, against nobility, is not forced from them either by the pressure of famine, or the sting of mortified pride. These do much, and have done much in all ages; but the foundations of society were never yet shaken as they are at this day. It is not that mean are ill fed, but that they have no pleasure in the work by which they make their bread, and therefore look to wealth as the only means of pleasure. It is not that mean are pained by the scorne of the upper classes, but they cannot endure their own; for they feel that the kind of labour to which they are condemned is verily a degrading one, and makes them less than men. Never had the upper classes so much sympathy with the lower, or charity for them, as they have at this day, and yet never were they so much hated by them: for, of old, the separation between the noble and the poor was merely a wall built by law; now it is a veritable difference in level of standing, a precipice between upper and lower grounds in the field of humanity, and there is pestilential air at the bottom of it.” (p. 161)

He continues with a rant on the so-called division of labor which was taken to be that great blessing to the British economy:

“We have much studied and much perfected, of late, the great civilized invention of the division of labour; only we give it a false name. It is not, truly speaking, the labour that is divided; but the men:--Divided into mere segments of men—broken into small fragments and crumbs of life; so that all the little piece of intelligence that is left in a man is not enough to make a pin, or a nail, but exhausts itself in making the point of a pin[1] or the head of a nail. Now it is a good and desirable thing, truly, to make many pins in a day; but if we could only see with what crystal sand their points were polished,--sand of human soul, much to be magnified before it can be discerned for what it is—we should think there might be some loss in it also. And the great cry that rises from all our manufacturing cities, louder than their furnace blast, is all in very deed for this,--that we manufacture everything there except men; we blanch cotton, and strengthen steel, and refine sugar, and shape pottery; but to brighten, to strengthen, to refine, or to form a single living spirit, never enters into our estimate of advantages. And all the evil to which that cry is urging our myriads can be met only in one way: not by teaching or preaching, for to teach them is but to show them their misery, and to preach to them, if we do nothing more than preach, is to mock at it. It can be met only by a right understanding, on the part of all classes, of what kinds of labour are good for men, raising them, and making them happy; by a determined sacrifice of such convenience, or beauty, or cheapness as is to be got only by the degradation of the workman; and by equally determined demand for the products and results of healthy and ennobling labour.” (pp. 162-163).

So the “modern” pre-occupation for pristine perfection and exquisite finish is bought with a price: viz., the effective enslavement of the ‘divided’ labourer. But the Gothic—which is a distinctly Christian architectural grammar—rejects such slavery:

“But in the mediaeval, or especially Christian, system of ornament, this slavery is done away with altogether; Christianity having recognized, in small things as well as great, the individual value of every soul. But it not only recognizes its value; it confesses its imperfection, in only bestowing dignity upon the acknowledgment of unworthiness. […] Therefore, to every spirit which Christianity summons to her serve, her exhortation is: Do what you can, and confess frankly what you are unable to do; neither let your effort be shortened for fear of failure, nor your confession silenced for fear of shame. And it is, perhaps, the principal admirableness of the Gothic schools or architecture, that they thus receive the results of the labour of inferior minds; and out of fragments full of imperfection, and betraying that imperfection in every touch, indulgently raise up a stately and unaccusable whole.” (pp. 157-158)

So to the so-called perfection of classical and modern architecture, Ruskin contrasts the beautiful imperfection of the Gothic:

“And on the other hand, go forth again to gaze upon the old cathedral front, where you have smiled so often at the fantastic ignorance of the old sculptors: examine once more those ugly goblins, and formless monsters, and stern statues, anatomiless and rigid; but do not mock at them, for they are signs of the life and liberty of every workman who struck the stone; a freedom of thought, and rank in the scale of being, such as no laws, no charters, no charities can secure; but which it must be first aim of all Europe at this day to regain for her children.” (pp. 160-161)

These are just snippets, but they give you a sense of Ruskin’s trenchant critique of the shape of work in industrialized England. But this was not in the name of leisure, but rather in the name of “ennobling” work, rooting in a basic affirmation of labor. In fact, Ruskin instituted at Oxford what we would today describe as a service-learning program, where Oxford undergraduates would join him on work teams that built roads, etc. (In fact, Oscar Wilde would be a member of one of these work teams!)

[1] A shot at the oft-repeated example in Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations (1776).

Rowan Williams is Not a "Liberal"

One often finds the talking heads on the BBC and op-eds in various papers referring to the "sharia row" as another indication of Rowan Williams' "liberal" tendencies (surely one of the slipperiest and equivocal epithets we have in religious circles). But if one actually attends to his argument--and his corpus--I think one finds that Williams' is, in fact, a critic of liberalism. Indeed, the kernel of his argument at the Royal Courts of Justice was calling into question the liberal monopoly of identity that characterizes the (supposedly) "secular" state. One of the hallmarks of liberalism (fostered here in England, as well as the States, by John Locke) is a secularization of the "public" sphere of politics, economics, and the common good, along with a corresponding privatization of religious identity as an affair of the heart--a private and interior matter of one's "personal relationship" to God. In other words, religion is fine for the weekends, "if you're into that." But don't bring it to work. Don't let it affect how you function "in public." In short, you're welcome to let religion be one of your private pursuits, a kind of hobby. It's fine to let religion be "part" of who you are, but that religious faith can't shape or influence you in such a way that it would make a difference in how you pursue life in public.

But for any integral confession (whether Jewish, Christian, or Muslim), such a liberal directive would amount to idolatry. God's election of a people in Abraham and the liberation of his people in the Exodus were not undertaken with the goal of creating a late modern hobby. It was divine action meant to constitute a people who pursue the kingdom of God as their highest and most fundamental vision of human flourishing. The Incarnation, Cross and Resurrection were not just the means for securing a weekend hobby for good liberal citizens; they called into being a cruciform people whose very identity is constituted by their calling to be image bearers of this humiliated God.

I hear in Williams' argument a refusal of these two aspects of liberalism: a "secular" democratic monopoly on identity along with its corresponding privatization (and therefore triviliazation) of religious faith. In short, the Archbishop is no "liberal."

Of course rejecting such liberalism does not thereby make him a "conservative" either (recall John Ruskin's rejection of such binary alternatives). In fact, many "conservatives" are all too happy to accommodate their faith to the shape of the secular state, retreating to some kind of a-political "Jesus-in-my-heart" privatism (which the state is all too happy to permit) and letting their identity as "British" (or "American," or whatever the case may be) trump their calling as Christians. In this respect, liberal and conservative Anglicans often exhibit the same patterns. [And for the record, I think Tariq Ramadan might just be a good "liberal" Muslim--but I'm suspending judgment on that until I can read more of his work, and have an opportunity to hear him here in York.]

Rowan Williams, Sharia Law, and the End of the Liberal State: Take 2

The furor over Archbiship Rowan William's lecture at the Royal Courts of Justice has been fanned to the point of hysteria by a reactionary media and government. Some have even called for him to resign. Williams clearly underestimated what sort of beast "public perception" can be.

A few follow-up reflections:

1. The Archbishop has offered a concise clarification of just what he did and did not say; whether the talking heads have read this is another question.

2. It is interesting to note the vehemence of the reaction to the Archbishop's suggestion, particularly from Downing Street. The zealous opposition to anything that would compromise the supremacy of "British" law, along with an alarmist sense that this would be a threat to "Britishness," exhibits its own kind of religious fervor which confirms a working hypothesis: viz., that in the late-modern liberal state, it is the state which is religion. Indeed, having spent this past week considering the shape of the Roman empire in early England, one finds an interesting parallel: the Emperor was happy to allow for all kinds of religious plurality so long as it didn't interfere or compromise worship of Caesar. In an analogous way, the liberal state is happy to let many religions bloom so long as the state religion of the state is in no way challenged or compromised.

3. The core of Williams' argument was not about Islam or sharia law. His concern was much broader: namely, the shape, place, and priority of confessional identities in the late modern nation-state. While Islam and sharia was an extended example, the argument he was making applied to all sorts of confessional communities. Indeed, in the lecture he also mentioned the example of Catholic adoption agencies being able to opt out of the state's decision that same-sex couples could adopt. The sharia case obviously attracted the most attention, but then people end up focusing on the case or example rather than the argument.

4. What Williams' is grappling with is hardly unique to him, or England. In fact, I am very eager to see the fruit of a fascinating project commissioned by the government of Quebec: the Consultation Commission on Accommodation Practices Related to Cultural Differences, co-chaired by philosopher Charles Taylor. (Some might recall that a landmark book, Jean-Francois Lyotard's The Postmodern Condition was a "Report on Knowledge" that was also commissioned by the Quebec Government). The mandate of the commission is precisely to explore what sorts of practices of "accommodation" can be made in order to create a culture that is both pluralist and cohesive. The driving question is whether secularism (as a feigned a-religiosity) is the only way to secure cohesion (witness recent tensions about the place of the Muslim headscarf in Turkish universities). Given Taylor's work, I suspect that the commission will look to creatively challenge such secularism. Rowan Williams lecture was hinting in the same direction, striking fear into the hearts of secularists and liberals everywhere.

The Archbishop's Regensburg?

Things can get ugly when high-powered academic distinctions spill out from the faculty common room onto the pavement—or more particularly, when nuanced, complex, and erudite theological treatises are trimmed to bits and soundbites digestible by the frantic pace of the 24-hour news cycle.

Pope Benedict XVI learned this lesson the hard way last year in the infamous “Regensburg” incident regarding claims about Islam. It seems that Archbishop Williams may have met his own Regensburg-loo, so to speak, when he suggested the “inevitable” and even desirable role of sharia law in the British legal system.

Response—both official and public—was swift and strident, suggesting that the Archbishop was opening a Pandora’s box that would unleash all sorts of decidedly un-British spectacles, from polygamous harems to public floggings and beheadings. And that was just the BBC coverage!

The blame for the “sharia row” cuts both ways, I think. Like the Pope’s Regensburg experience, I suspect that the Archbishop, like so many of us academics, failed to gauge public reception of his claim—and also failed to realize that the details of his argument would never make it to the telly or tabloids. While scholars will lament the lack of attention to the context of the claim and details of the argument, the news media and proverbial “man on the street” will retort that he doesn’t enjoy the sort of leisure that scholars have to wallow in such details. Fair enough.

On the other hand, we can’t expect to conduct public debate about such complex issues with the limited lexicon of soundbites and slogans. Perhaps we owe it to ourselves and our common good to at least give the argument a hearing—to slow down just long enough to attend to the context, nuance, and complexity of the claim, rather than contenting ourselves with the inflammatory headline splashed alongside the teaser photo of the page 3 girl of the day.

In this specific case, the Archbishop is grappling with some of the most intractable issues in contemporary politics, reconsidering nothing less than the very shape of citizenship in our age of globalization and pluralism. These are also perennial issues, with a tradition of reflection going back to St. Augustine’s classic treatise, The City of God.

The challenge is simply this: what are we to do when individuals, and whole communities, find their identity in an allegiance that in some significant way exceeds their allegiance to a particular nation-state? Or what are we to do when the nation-state demands that it trump all other allegiances?

The Archbishop recognizes the complexity of our identity-formation. As he put it, “our social identities are not constituted by one exclusive set of relations or mode of belonging.” That’s just to say that for many, our identity and even our citizenship is hybrid. For many—and certainly not just Muslims--our sense of who we are and what really matters is not something that can be dictated by Westminster. This is particularly true for religious believers such as Jews, Christians, and Muslims who all hold a kind of dual citizenship. (Other cases include the situation of Mormons in the United States or Sikhs in Canada.) For instance, as St. Augustine put it, the Christian is simultaneously a citizen of the earthly city and a citizen of the City of God.

This becomes an issue, the Archbishop rightly notes, “when secular government assumes a monopoly in terms of defining public and political identity.” It is this monopoly on the identity market that concerns the Archbishop. Such a monopoly trades variously under the banner of secularism and liberalism. In this respect (and to perhaps run a little too far with the metaphor), Williams’ argument calls for a kind of anti-trust law with respect to the state’s monopoly on our fundamental allegiances. He rightly appreciates that when the liberal state demands that it should trump all other allegiances, then it is demanding its own sort of religious devotion. But to the religious believer, to acquiesce to such demands—no matter how “secular” they claim to be—is nothing short of idolatry.

In contrast, I hear the Archbishop gesturing toward a post-liberal and post-secular account of the state which resists both monolithic hegemony and isolating tribalism. He is certainly not saying what the tabloids would lead us to believe. Perhaps he owes us a clearer, still digestible account; but we also owe it to ourselves to carefully consider his proposal. So be one of the few and read the entire speech here.

The (European) Empire Strikes Back

Despite all the talk of the United States as the latest stand-in for "empire," a fascinating article by Parag Khanna in this weekend's Guardian suggests that in fact it is Europe which has been slyly, quietly building an empire that is not only economic but territorial. In "The Empire Strikes Back," a snippet from his forthcoming book, The Second World: Empires and Influences in the New Global Order (due out March 4 in the States), Khanna suggests that "The EU is easily the most popular and successful empire in history, for it does not dominate, it disciplines." As he puts it,

For over half a century, European nations have been pooling their power, eventually giving small and shattered post-second world war countries a new lease on life. Though EU members remain distinct nations, their greater meaning now comes from being part of the world's only superstate. War between any two countries within the EU's dense institutional nexus has become impossible, and the promise of greater security and wealth has largely succeeded in aligning the foreign policies of its members. "Our biggest logistical exercise since the second world war was not military," an official in one of the EU's shiny, postmodern edifices boasted, "but the circulation of the euro currency in 2002."

Europe has its own vision of what world order should look like, which it increasingly pursues whether America likes it or not. The EU is now the most confident economic power in the world, regularly punishing the United States in trade disputes, while its superior commercial and environmental standards have assumed global leadership. Many Europeans view America's way of life as deeply corrupt, built on borrowed money, risky and heartless in its lack of social protections, and ecologically catastrophic. The EU is a far larger humanitarian aid donor than the US, while South America, east Asia and other regions prefer to emulate the "European Dream" than the American variant.

[Read the whole article.] Perhaps this explains why Tony Blair is angling to be the President of Europe.

The Primary Race: Views from England

It has been interesting following the American presidential primaries, as a Canadian, while in England, through the eyes of the BBC, the Sunday Times, the Guardian, etc. Almost without exception, the British news outlets are perhaps even more infatuated with Barack Obama than American news outlets are. And Hillary Clinton's name is almost never mentioned; instead reports always speak of "the Clintons"--which, I guess, is what has gotten people like Gary Wills and Frank Rich concerned.

However, all we hear about Obama over here is a vacuous message about "change" and "hope." I've yet to hear or read a report that actually lays out Obama's stance on the issues; rather, it is what he represents (first black president, and therefore "change") that is news. I'm wondering if the Obama campaign is communicating more concretely through the American media. A perusal of Obama's website on "the issues" turns up rather thin statements. More importantly, Obama's "Blueprint for Change" seems remarkably status quo. For instance, consider just one issue: taxes. In the "Blue Print for Change," of six mentions regarding "taxes," five of them speak about eliminating various taxes (sure, for the poor and middle class) while the sixth simply discusses simplifying tax forms. If one searches the document on "tax" more generally, one finds something like the following snippet from the Blueprint for so-called "change" (p. 12):

THE PROBLEM
Tax Cuts for Wealthy Instead of Middle Class
The Bush tax cuts give those who earn over $1 million dollars a tax cut nearly 160 times greater than that received by middle-income Americans. At the same time, this administration has refused to tackle health care, education and housing in a manner that benefits the middle class.

BARACK OBAMA’S PLAN
Provide Middle Class Americans Tax Relief
Provide a Tax Cut for Working Families: Obama will restore fairness to the tax code and provide 150 million workers the tax relief they need. Obama will create a new “Making Work Pay” tax credit of up to $500 per person, or $1,000 per working family. The “Making Work Pay” tax credit will completely eliminate income taxes for 10 million Americans.

Granted, Obama's plan does promise to repeal the Bush tax cuts that were provided to wealthy Americans (e.g., p. 29). But when it comes to the middle class, he lapses back into the Republican-speak of tax cuts. Such a rhetoric of tax cuts has been a staple of the Democratic lexicon since Bill Clinton's shift of the party to pretty much right-of-center vis-a-vis the rest of the world. We're all Republicans now; which is just to say that we're all Reaganites now.

Post Card from York

Greetings from delightfully medieval York! Now into our second week here, our family is beginning to settle in for our five month sojourn here as I'll be directing Calvin College's Semester in Britain program, based at York St. John University. I'll be teaching a course on "Victorian Britain and Postmodern Culture," considering four 19th-century movements as anticipations of later 'postmodern' movements or themes: the Oxford Movement, the Pre-Raphaelites (as well as Ruskin and William Morris), Christian socialism (associated with F.D. Maurice and others), and the "aestheticism" of Walter Pater and Oscar Wilde. It is an entirely indulgent course and I can't wait to dive into these materials. I'll also be directing a course on Studies in British Culture which centers on excursions around York and Britain, with reflection from texts by Edmund Burke, George Orwell, Roger Scruton, and others.

Some of you might be interested to follow along our family adventure on our family blog, The Smiths in York. Cheers!

Dusting for the Invisible Hand's Fingerprints

A sensible, balanced piece from Peter Goodman in Sunday's New York Times: "The Free Market: A False Idol After All?" Here's a snippet:

Adam Smith used the metaphor of the invisible hand to describe how markets should function: With everyone at liberty to pursue self-interest, the market omnisciently distributes goods and capital to maximize the benefits for all. Since the Reagan administration, that idea has weighed in as a veritable holy commandment, with the economist Milton Friedman cast as Moses.

As the cold war ended and Communism retreated, the invisible hand seemed to monopolize economic thinking. Even China, controlled by a nominally Communist party, has blessed private entrepreneurs and foreign investment. In Latin America, the International Monetary Fund financed governments that embraced market forces while shunning those that were resistant.

But now the invisible hand is being asked to account for what it has wrought. In this country, many economic complaints — from the widening gap between rich and poor to the expense of higher education — are being dusted for its fingerprints.

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?"