The Politics of Ancient Israel

[T]he self-presentation of Israel in song and story is inescapably a theological politics in which the defining presence of YHWH, the God of Israel, impinges upon every facet of the political; or conversely, Israel’s selfpresentation is inescapably a political theology in which YHWH, the God of Israel, is intensely engaged with questions of power and with policies and practices that variously concern the distribution of goods and access. In Israel’s selfpresentation,there is no politics not theologically marked, no theology not politically inclined. 

- Walter Brueggemann

Love, Theologically Speaking

[L]ove is not primordially a reaction, but the possibility of every action, the transcendent act that makes all else actual; it is purely positive, sufficient in itself, without the need of any galvanism of the negative to be fully active, vital, and creative. This is so because the ultimate truth of love is God himself, who creates all things solely for his pleasure, and whose act of being is infinite. And this is why love, when it is seen in its truly divine depth, is called apatheia. If this seems an odd claim to us now, it is largely because we are so accustomed to thinking of love as one of the emotions, one of the passions, one of those spontaneous or reactive forces that rise up in us and spend themselves on various objects of impermanent fascination; and of course for us "love" often is just this. But, theologically speaking, at least according to the dominant tradition, love is not, in its essence, an emotion—a pathos—at all: it is life, being, truth, our only true well-being, and the very ground of our nature and existence. 

 - D.B. Hart

Hart on Creating

Unless one thinks that God's act of creation is purely arbitrary—and it would be incoherent to attribute arbitrariness of any kind to a God of infinite goodness (an argument for another time)—then one must understand creation as a direct expression of God's own Logos. God does not create like an omnipotent consumer choosing one world out of an infinity of possibilities that somehow stand outside of and apart from his own nature. Here's one without cancer, there's one without Bach, over there's one with a higher infant mortality rate, and so on; this is the worst sort of anthropomorphism. 

God creates the world of Jesus, the world conformed to his infinite love for his Son in the joy and light of the Spirit; he thereby also wills his goodness in all his creatures infinitely, which is to say he wills this world for eternal union with him in love, and he wills that we should become partakers of the divine nature. There is no other world that God might have created, not because he is bound by necessity, but because he is infinitely free, and so nothing can hinder him from expressing his essential and infinite goodness perfectly, in and through the freedom of creatures created to be the fellows of his eternal Son. That may seem obscurely phrased—it is, I know—but if one thinks through what it means to understand God as the transcendent source of all being, one must abandon the notion that God chooses to create in the way that I choose to buy blue drapes rather than red. God creates a realm of rational freedom that allows for a union between Creator and creature that is properly analogous to the Trinity's eternal union of love; or, stated otherwise, God creates his own image in his creatures, with all that that may entail. 

- D.B. Hart, Where Was God?

The Power of Preaching

Does the Word from the pulpit have this much power?

The Protestant and Catholic churches of Western Europe did not exactly make war on the Jews during the nineteenth and early twentieth century. But they did keep up a steady barrage of contempt, combined with support for politicians running on anti-Semitic platforms, and with silence concerning the sadistic pogroms-cum-gang-rapes which provided weekend amusement for the devoutly religious peasants of Central and Eastern Europe. After the Holocaust, these churches fell all over themselves expounding the difference between their own religiously based anti-Semitism and the Nazis’ racially based anti-Semitism. But the Jews have had difficulty appreciating this distinction. They think, correctly in my opinion, that if the Christian clergy had, in the century or so before Hitler, simply ceased to mention the Jews in their sermons, the Holocaust could not have happened. 

- Richard Rorty

Daniel Kirk said something rather strange in a recent post:

"I would like to be a pacifist, but I have an African American friend who won’t let me–because without that brutal war, nothing would have changed for the slaved."

For someone reading through Church Dogmatics and convinced of the cruciform character of Jesus and his disciples to say this is really quite surprising (though he certainly tempers that statement in his further considerations). Could the Word of God have made no difference to the situation in 19th century America? Were there no possibilities other than brutal warfare? Could the strange, new world of the Bible not have been faithfully preached, with men and women cut to the heart by the movement of the spirit?

This may or may not have worked, but the way I see it is that the only way it has been given to Christians to make a difference in society is the way of Jesus, whose social engagement began with "Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand." The follow up to that was not, "If you don't repent, then we will have no choice but to bear arms against you." There was another way, another possibility. The kingdom of God is not like the kingdoms of this world, which achieve desired ends through any means necessary. It is a small, slow, and subtle reality, easily missed and easily dismissed. But it is an alternative way of life that is in harmony with God's way of life.

That alternative is the stuff of preaching, and as secular humanist Richard Rorty implies, preaching the Word of God is a powerful act, more powerful even than wielding a two-edged sword or firing a Springfield Model 1861 rifle. In fact, it is a different mode of power altogether.

Just because slavery did in fact end through warfare, that doesn't mean warfare was the only way history could have been made. That kind of talk belongs to the limited imagination of the world, not the infinite imagination of the church.

Initial Thoughts on The Dark Knight Rises (Contains no spoilers, in case your worried)

"The films genuinely aren't intended to be political."

When I read that claim by Christopher Nolan, I thought of C.S. Lewis's trilemma regarding Christ: Liar, Lunatic or Lord.

Since Christopher Nolan is no Lord, nor does he appear to be a lunatic, then he can only be lying when he says these Batman films -- especially the final instalment of the trilogy -- are not intended to be political. An argument from etymology may not be entirely convincing, but the word "political" derives from the Greek word for city, and The Dark Knight Rises is nothing if it is not about the workings of a city. I'm not giving too much away when I say that The Dark Knight Rises presents a politics, a counter-politics, and a counter-counter-politics.

Even from Batman Begins and through The Dark Knight, the question has not merely been if Batman would save the city, but also if the city is even worth saving. That is a deeply political question, so it is utterly baffling how Christopher Nolan can claim that his films weren't tackling politics. Until you read the next line in the interview...

You don't want to alienate people, you want to create a universal story.

And there it is. Profit. Alienate people, especially 99% of them, and they won't come to see your film. Well, they probably will, but that's not a chance that any studio executive is willing to take.

As for the film itself, there's a lot to digest before I come to terms with what I think of it. All I know for certain at the moment is that I prefer The Dark Knight, and by some distance.

I remember a quote from a philosopher invoked by Sid Lowe when discussing Real Madrid a few of seasons ago: You will win, but you will not convince.

That's sort of the way I feel about The Dark Knight Rises. I recognise some of its qualities, and even at 2hrs 45 mins I was never bored, but it did not convince me. I was convinced by the darkness of The Dark Knight. I was not convinced by the rising of The Dark Knight Rises. To put it in theological terms, Nolan can depict the abyss of the cross, but he falters when it comes to the light of resurrection. What is worth saving? What should be resurrected? What needs to remain toppled? What needs to change? I wasn't convinced by Nolan's answers. I wasn't convinced by his city.


(Aside: It has been noted that Nolan pays homage to other works of film in The Dark Knight Rises. What I haven't read about is his tip of the hat in the direction of The Wire. The film contains (at least) two actors that starred in The Wire, no doubt indicating the not insignificant overlap in terms of their respective depictions of a city.)

Flipped

It's hard to tell whether a love story involving 14 year-olds is innocent and pure, or just trivial and sentimental. In Flipped, Juli has had a crush on Bryce since they first met as kids. It's all in the eyes, is basically what her voiceover reveals. Bryce, however, has no such crush. In fact, he finds Juli's infatuation annoying and creepy. The thing is, while Juli is by no means ugly (in fact she's very pretty), she is just not the prettiest girl in school. (That title goes to a blonde called Sherry.) But what Juli apparently lacks in looks she makes up for in spirit, generosity, and heart. As dreamy as Bryce's eyes might be, however, he can't see what's right in front of him. Stupid Bryce.

I'm not sure if it's a general problem with males, but Bryce's stupidity is certainly my stupidity. If you're looking for proof, look not further than the fact that when Sherry came on the scene, I was all "Forget about Juli- that's the one you wanna end up with!" (Okay so I didn't say that, but that was the gist of my thoughts.)

I lament that - that instinct I've fostered that makes me see so narrowly. I wonder about all the people I've failed to see, which in turn makes we wonder what I've missed. Brad Pitt's character in The Tree of Life confesses toward the end of the film that he has "failed to notice the glory" (A Malickian theme carried over from The Thin Red Line. Indeed, a biblical theme carried over from Romans 1.) Do that, and life flashes by. What is glorious? Who is beautiful? Yes, these judgements are in the eye of the beholder, but that is not an argument for pure relativism. The character of that beholder will determine whether the judgements are wise or foolish, whether the desires are with the grain of the universe or perverted. The question to ask ourselves, therefore, and the question I am often too ashamed to answer, is, "Am I the kind of beholder who can see what is truly beautiful?" Nevertheless, whatever the answer, there is more to the story...

In Flipped, Bryce undergoes a major shift in perception. Juli remains Juli, yet all of a sudden she is Juli! It's not clear exactly how this happens. I've had that experience before, yet I have no idea what causes such a wholesale transformation. I'd like to think it's an increase in maturity or some such, but that would be granting too much credit. It is probably just an act of sheer grace. Deus ex machina, in film terminology. Whatever the precise cause, Bryce's eyes are opened, and he looks at Juli in the same way she's always looked at him. But that is not the end of the story either...

Flipped is not without its faults, but I liked it. I liked it because I cared. I cared because I could relate. I could relate because I, too, am stupid and in need of constant eye-opening.

Pacifism and the Grain of the Universe

Speaking at the Toronto Mennonite Theological Centre as part of a dialogue between the Radical Reformation and Radical Orthodoxy, John Milbank had this to say about pacifism:

[pacifism is] counter-intuitive in relation to our created nature, trying too much to jump out of our animality and the limited range of our responses like the instinctive protection of those close to us. We're not angels. We can't quite, we shouldn't try to, jump out of that kind of animality, because it belongs to our created nature.

If you want to get a room full of pacifists to temporarily abandon their non-violent convictions, saying something like that is probably your best bet.

But does Milbank have a point? Is, for example, the intuition to protect through necessary coercion/violence a part of our created nature? Does pacifism expect too much of us by asking us to shed our animal skin and adopt an angelic complexion? To put it more starkly, is "pure pacifism" (Milbank's term) anti-creation?

Far be it from me to tell John Milbank what's what (or pace John Milbank, as they say), but "We're not angels" is not a sustainable avenue of argument against pacifism. I say this in part because of Milbank's own assertion elsewhere that "resurrection, not death, is the ground of the ethical." Given Jesus's description of resurrection life, Milbank actually ends up falling on his own sword (to use a confusing metaphor given the topic at hand): 

"For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven." (Matt. 22:30)

Eschatologically speaking, while we may not be angels, we will in some sense be like them. Indeed, according to Paul, we will judge them. So the admission "We're not angels", far from excusing a more animalistic morality, actually calls us to a more excellent way. My theological jujitsu is complete.

As one of the dialogue partners said to Milbank, pacifism is not an ontological state; it is a practice. A way of being in the world shaped by Jesus's way of being in the world. It is not so much interested in conforming to the created order as it is in being a witness to new creation.

Lionel Hutz on Truth

The Simpsons explains ideology in 10 seconds:

The Power of Love

If I were to use this blog to lament and ridicule the hurtful and stupid things Christians say I would be both overworked and, ultimately, self-defeating. Besides, theology -- if we can be generous enough to attach that label to some of the stuff on this blog -- is done rightly as a joyous, imaginative and creative work. Of course that doesn't mean we don't have to say "Nein!" from time to time, but only by way of underlining the "Ja!".

One such "No" goes to Douglas Wilson, who wrote the following some years ago (which was quoted with appreciation on a blog by Jared Wilson and with anger and lament on a blog by Rachel Held Evans):

When we quarrel with the way the world is, we find that the world has ways of getting back at us. In other words, however we try, the sexual act cannot be made into an egalitarian pleasuring party. A man penetrates, conquers, colonizes, plants. A woman receives, surrenders, accepts.This is of course offensive to all egalitarians, and so our culture has rebelled against the concept of authority and submission in marriage. This means that we have sought to suppress the concepts of authority and submission as they relate to the marriage bed.

I think that qualifies as both hurtful and stupid, though I'm sure I know some people who'd be interested to hear more about this "egalitarian pleasuring party". Where? When? Should they bring anything?

Anyway, what interested me about Rachel Held Evans's response was her conclusion: this is about power. Not sex. Power.

I disagree. I think it's very much about sex. Of course we can't reduce everything to the outworking of some Freudian libido or Nietzschean will to power. So I suppose it is really more a "both/and". (It's razor sharp analysis like this that keeps people coming back for more.)

The same holds true for rape. Is rape about power? Absolutely. And it is also about sex. It is about a particular body that has been formed to derive pleasure from a violent, sexual act. The rapist has to be aroused. Not by an abstract entity called "power", but by the act, by the situation, by the body of the particular victim.

The separation of agape and eros has been a theological blunder of epic proportions in Western theology. I think it's a similar mistake to separate dynamis/exousia and eros, especially when we consider that God's power is never anything but desire, love.