The Wisdom of James Cruickshanks

These thoughts on the sacralization of the American military were offered by Worcester, MA preacher James Cruickshanks on a Union fast day during the Civil War. They offer not only a relevant critique of an ongoing trend in American culture, but also a strong implied censure for those Christians who believe that they can be both patriots and politicians without having any blood on their hands:

If indeed God be a God of peace, and he is Almighty, we ask, why is war, with its untold evils, permitted to brood over this fair land?...In a word, the army is the people’s God. They idolize it—they worship it...We are then as a people a nation of idolaters. We are at once, the most religious, and the most idolatrous people on the globe.

The quote is taken from Harry S. Stout's Upon the Altar of a Nation.

Complementarianism: A Defense from a Nobody

I find it important to begin here by pointing out that Roger E. Olson is a scholar for whom I have the utmost respect. Having studied for years under noted Arminius scholar Keith Stanglin, I have learned to appreciate Olson's impassioned defenses of classical Arminianism. More directly, his 20th Century Theology (co-authored with Stanley Grenz) has a place of honor among my contemporary theology texts and is the book I find myself most often recommending to people who struggle to navigate through the quagmire of modern Christian thought. With that political caveat out of the way, however, Olson recently posted an article concerning "extreme complementarianism" which raised my hackles. In it, Olson quickly does away with the "extreme" qualifier, and paints a sweeping picture of complementarianism as a system dedicated first and foremost to the subjugation of women, the depressing them into the roles of children in relationship to men. That's alright, I suppose. After all, everyone should be used to having their beliefs misrepresented for polemical ends. My problem didn't really arise until sometime later when Olson's own hackles were raised by a similarly biased treatment of Arminianism by a Calvinist. When I suggested to Dr. Olson that this may give the impression of hypocrisy on his part, he demurred.

In fairness, his suggestion to me was entirely reasonable: cite well-known complementarians who clearly and consistently present a philosophy of gender economics that contradicts his caricature. Whether or not he would be sincerely interested in such an effort is irrelevant. As a historian, I lack the resources and the expertise (not to mention, in large part, the desire) to offer such a response. I simply do not swim in those academic streams. I don't know who the well known complementarians are nor how they treat their wives. My vision of gender economics comes from a less vaunted source. It comes from being mentored at the feet of couples in my childhood and adolescence who believed "that men and women are both created in God’s image but assigned different roles" without all the nasty baggage of infantilization and domination that Olson imputes to all complementarians. It comes from studying under professors who are complementarians and respected in their respective fields but who would by no means qualify as the kind of "well-known complementarians" who might impress Dr. Olson. It comes from having a strong, intelligent, unashamedly complementarian wife who is in no respect a child relative to her husband.

So without making any claims to prove anything by anyone's standards and without even trying to argue in a way which might convince Dr. Olson, I do hope to undertake here to sketch in brief a reasoned vision of complementarianism which believes that men and women are created equal and different, that the former of these facts is more foundational and more important than the latter, that it is nevertheless possible and necessary to respect economic gender differences, and, finally, that a proper understanding of Christian submission purges the discussion of gender economics from unChristian conceptions of power.

Komen vs. Planned Parenthood: The Real Story is Hypocrisy

The news media, blogosphere, and (of course) posturing politicians all have some new and exciting news to howl about: Susan G. Komen for the Cure has ended its financial partnership with Planned Parenthood. The story, only a few days old now, has provoked vitriolic responses from the masses, or at least from masses of Democrats, feminists, and pro-choice advocates. The assumption fueling the hue and cry, in spite of denials from Komen, is that the charity has collapsed under political pressure from pro-life groups who criticized the partnership with a program that provides abortions. Responses have ranged from denunciations from members of Congress, calls to arms by political commentators, and withdrawn support on the part of every day people.

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that Komen did terminate its partnership with Planned Parenthood as a result of abortion controversy (and frankly it is hard to imagine that isn't the case). Surely those voicing their strong negative reactions to this decision can see the hypocrisy in their response. Yes, Planned Parenthood does so much more than provide abortions. Yes, in fact, abortion services are only a very small portion of the many wonderful services being provided by Planned Parenthood. Yes, this move may very well make it harder for some poor women to receive cancer screenings (although that appears to be more scare tactic than fact). So, yes, I can understand frustration over Komen's decision to generalize a small portion of Planned Parenthood's activities into the entire identity of the program.

But Planned Parenthood was only a small part of what Komen did. In the past two years, Komen gave $1.25 million in grants to Planned Parenthood. Extrapolating from those numbers, that is roughly $7.5 million dollars since the partnership began in 2005. When you consider that Komen has donated more than $1.9 billion dollars to breast cancer related causes since its 1982, the portion of funds that had been dedicated to Planned Parenthood were less than 4%. In other words, to condemn the entirety Susan G. Komen for the Cure for a single politically driven action is no different than Komen condemning all of Planned Parenthood for a single politically charged service. Just as Komen's move is likely to inadvertently effect, for the worse, the health of many women who might have received help from Planned Parenthood totally unrelated to abortion, going to war against and boycotting Komen is bound adversely effect the health of the same women protestors self-deludedly purport to represent. It is the height of hypocrisy.

One blogger, joining loudly in the politically fashionable rage against the machine (the heartless breast cancer fighting machine), has argued that to claim to be pro-life and be against Planned Parenthood is oxymoronic. Any such oxymoron isn't truly concerned about life but about propping up a worthless self-image. In truth, the whole battle--and contestants on both sides--are actually only interested in projecting their own values into the public sphere for the purpose of triumphing over another's values. If either party were primarily concerned about women's health, they would realize that Komen is a fantastic tool for saving lives, that Planned Parenthood is also a fantastic tool for saving lives, that neither is perfect, and that condemning either outright on the basis of their imperfection is nonsensical. Mostly they need to realize that lambasting any organization that has dedicated nearly two billion dollars to preserving women's lives is not feminism. It's partisanship, an ugly, self-interested, doctrinaire contest in which their are no winners. Ever.

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction is Truth

Paul Auster's aptly named Travels in the Scriptorium takes the reader on a journey through the human condition, which is astounding, exhausting, and fulfilling all because the reader has a sense throughout that the books delights and disappointments are life's delights and disappointments. The book is not, in any traditional sense, pleasurable to read. Make no mistake. With his deliberately dry, encyclopedic style of narrative, Auster is not prone to cheap titillation. He is an absurdist author, as much as anything, and his novella deals with deep-seated questions of identity, knowledge, and existence. Travels will not make you laugh and cry and scream (except from boredom). It will make you think.

The premise of the story (and I give nothing away here, because there is nothing to give away) is that a certain Mr. Blank finds himself in an unfamiliar room almost completely without memory. Within moments of beginning the account, the narrator reveals to us that Mr. Blank, because of his strange condition, will find himself grappling not with trivialities but with more basic questions: "His mind is elsewhere, stranded among the figments in his head as he searches for an answer to the question that haunts him. Who is he? What is he doing here? When did he arrive and how long will he remain? With any luck, time will tell us all." As is so often the case, however, it turns out we don't have any luck at all. At the end of the story--through the means of a less than sophisticated plot device--the narrator reintroduces the questions to us as if to say, "Just in case you forgot, these are the important questions that didn't get answered."

The questions that form an inclusio for the entire piece are presented as peculiar to this unfortunate man in this extreme situation, but it should be immediately apparent to the reader that these are the very questions which are universal to mankind regardless of circumstance. Who am I? Why am I here? How long do I have? These are the most foundational of existential quandaries which transcend time and culture. In perfect concert with his absurdist forefathers, Auster sidesteps the primal impulse to construct answers to these questions. He clearly finds it more compelling to thrust the reader headfirst into the brick wall of reality: these questions never get answered. They are phantoms which disappear the moment we try to grasp them, like the "figments" that dance around in Mr. Blank's head throughout the story. Laments Mr. Blank, "I walk around the world like a ghost, and sometimes I question whether I even exist, whether I've ever existed at all." He cannot prove that he is, not even to himself. How is he then to demonstrate conclusively where or when or even why he is? Unifying theories are no sooner expressed than they prove to be inadequate, the falter under the crushing weight of everyday experience.

It is this everyday experience which forms the meat of Auster's tale and which makes the reading so dense. Auster takes pride in describing in minute detail every occurrence within the very limited frame of the story. Because of this, the story--like life--is both mundane and disgusting. Auster takes note of activities ranging from putting on a shirt to moving one's bowls. The narrative consequently proves dreary, non-linear, scatological, and pornographic in the way that life really is. There is a certain irony to the realization that in spite of the fact that we must constantly stand up, sit down, bend over, consider inconsequential choices, and actualize our decisions, we can barely stand to read about Mr. Blank doing all these things and more. At one point--apparently not above teasing his audience--the narrator declares that he sees no point in describing with microscopic precision some normal activity of Mr. Blank's, and the reader lets slip a deep sigh of relief.

This exhaustive account of nothing is not (or at least not entirely) simply to fill out the pages of what might otherwise be a very brief and hackneyed philosophical point. The reader's navigation through Mr. Blank's world becomes a kind of a reflection on how all life is supposition and inference and memory. Mr. Blank will dramatically vacillates from thoroughgoing empiricism (e.g. Mr. Blank sees no closet ergo he refuses to believe there is a closet, even though he seems to see the effects of the closets existence) to a fantastic epistemology which assumes causality in the most tenuous of circumstances (e.g. Mr. Blank health improves and so he assumes it has to do with proximity to Anna). Mr. Blank is a case study in the way humanity, no matter how noble our efforts or how convincing our self-deceptions, engage the world in ways which are ultimately inconsistent and indefensible. What Mr. Blank seems to know is suggested to be untrue. What he believes is impossible, the circumstance would seem to indicate is the case. What he considers important, the reader is inclined to think is trivial. What he disregards as inconsequential are the questions forefront in the other characters minds. Mr. Blank is a child and an old man and a type for all people.

There are of course countless other avenues which Travels offers to the reader's mind. One that particularly delighted me was the narrator himself, who takes great pains to present his narrative as if it is the result of hidden cameras and microphones yet he has no qualms about telling us not only what we can see and hear but what Mr. Blank thinks as well and how many seconds it takes him to think it. The narrator is, at any given moment, a character in the story, an entity on the same plane as the reader, and an omniscient observer. (The conclusion is likely intended to shed light on this, but I won't tip Auster's hand.) At the same time, the story often seems to be trying too hard. Still struggling with the question of existence, Mr. Blank wonders, "When was the last time someone took a photograph of someone who did not exist?" This strikes one, or at least struck me, as more akin to a lyric from a hipster anthem than a serious philosophical musing. Then again, it would be possible to argue that Auster does this deliberately since only rarely do people express themselves with any marked profundity.

That, in the end, is the beauty of Auster's Travels in the Scriptorium: it is as much or as little as the reader wants to make it. Any reader may pick up the work and decide, with equal justification, that Auster is a deeply engaging philosophical novelist or a tiresome author whose lack of compelling plot leaves the reader with only a drudging, unrewarding prose to suffer through. For my part, I would recommend the novella to anyone who delights in absurdism, fiction with a philosophical bent, or offbeat novels in general. With the exception of an extremely disappointing ending--which was a grossly transparent attempt to dress cheap Hollywood tricks like serious discourse--I found the work to be successful at its most obvious goal: provoking thought.

Leading Atheist on What's Wrong with Atheism

Prominent atheist Alain de Botton recently gave an interview to Talking Philosophy regarding his latest book, Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer's Guide to the Uses of Religion. The purpose of the book is to look at how religion has functioned for society and, insofar as religion has been successful in its more beneficent efforts, to identify areas in which a purely secular culture may profit from the adoption and adaptation of religious ideas and methods. In fairness then, my admittedly sensationalist title might better read "Leading Atheist on What's Right with Religion." One of the features of the interview, however, that makes it immediately inviting for believers to read is that de Botton is upfront and candid about what he sees as four potential dangers that atheism faces and to which theism is not (or at least less) susceptible. It is critical to note that de Botton rightly sees these as pitfalls to be avoided rather than inescapable defects in atheism. Below are his four dangers of a purely secular worldview, with my own elaboration of each included.

1. Individualism: When the absolute and transcendent "other" in God is removed from the equation, humanity becomes a level-playing field. More destructively, as the only human who is me, I am faced with the overwhelming temptation to understand and interact with the world as if I am somehow special within it, to behave as if my will is intrinsically more valuable (because it, tautologically, coincides perfectly with what I want). One feature which finds near ubiquitous emphasis in the world's religions, as universalists are quick to point out, is some version of the ethical imperative "Treat one another as you would like to be treated." In a world without religion, such an ethos need not necessarily exist.
   
2. Technological Perfectionism: Even among the religious, there seems to be a pervasive belief that technology is marching inevitably toward social utopia. It plays out in every corner of our society. With enough research, we will do away with cancer and heart disease and AIDS. It never occurs to us that there may be new incurable diseases just around the corner. With enough research, green energy will replace oil and give us peace in the Middle East. It never occurs to us that we were making war before we were making cars. Accurately, de Botton critiques the prevailing myth that "it is just a matter of time before scientists have cured us of the human condition." In a world where science is the ultimate arbiter of truth, there is a temptation to create a techno-soteriology that is unrealistic and, to a degree, dangerous.
   
3. Contemporary Exceptionalism: A world without God is more prone to lack not only a sacred history but also a normative image of the future and an eschatological vision of an ultimate telos. The result is the mistaken belief that the now is somehow privileged because we live in it. There is a tendency to want to downplay the achievements and importance of past humans who lived in past moments and to ignore the possible achievements and importance of future humans who will live in moments that we will never experience. By virtue of our presence in this place and moment, there is tendency to lose sight of just how transient our time is and how qualified the importance of our achievements is.
   
4. Ethical Nihilism: This is not to suggest that one cannot be an atheist and be ethical. I have atheist acquaintances who are at times genuinely upset that I won't embrace the common evangelical tactic of claiming that there are no morals without God. It is impossible to deny, however, that there are internally consistent ethical systems which are entirely atheistic. The fear here is not whether or not someone can be ethical without God but what it is that compels them to be ethical without God. Evil, such as it is, becomes blurred in a system where humans are left to identify it independently. As we struggle to decide what is right and what is wrong, there is not ultimate, incontestable arbiter of whose definition of evil is correct. There is nothing to compel me to accept your ethos, nothing to make you accept mine. Rampant ethical relativism, unchecked, quickly resolves itself into a society incapable of mustering the kind of moral majority necessary to resist corruption by evil. Ethics is possible for atheists, but the issue certainly becomes cloudier with the removal of God.

Of course, none of this commends theism any more than it condemns atheism. It certainly wasn't my purpose to try to do either, nor was it de Botton's. It does, however, represent a necessary exercise for atheists who want to have a rigorous understanding of their own worldview. The impulse among so many New Atheists is to expend all of their available energy finding every conceivable flaw in theism. It is fruitful, therefore, to see de Botton critique this emphasis latter in the interview:

What is your view of the so-called New Atheist critique advanced by Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens and others?

Attempting to prove the non-existence of god can be entertaining...Though this exercise has its satisfactions, the real issue is not whether god exists or not, but where one takes the argument to once one decides that he evidently doesn’t. The premise of my book is that it must be possible to remain a committed atheist and nevertheless to find religions sporadically useful, interesting and consoling – and be curious as to the possibilities of importing certain of their ideas and practices into the secular realm.

What de Botton ultimately recommends to his atheist readers is a middle path between belief and militant unbelief. It is a perhaps a more genuinely reasonable path that is not ashamed to disbelieve but that at the same time recognizes the real role that belief has played in society. It recognizes the importance of religion has played in addressing central human questions that are not done away with simply because religions are done away with. It applauds the good, abhors the bad, and, at the end of the day, finishes in a more satisfied and stronger position than the New Atheists.

Not to beat a dead horse, but...

An op-ed put out on Fox News yesterday by the Executive Director of Beta Upsilon Chi, a national Christian fraternity, details yet another instance of "non-discrimination" trumping freedom of conscience, not to mention common sense.

In the fall of 2010, Vanderbilt University began investigating the constitutions of every religious organization on its Nashville, Tenn., campus after a discrimination complaint was filed against a Christian fraternity. During the investigation, the university changed the student organization handbook to remove a section protecting religious association. The university eliminated a clause that read, "In affirming its commitment to this principle [of non-discrimination], the University does not limit freedom of religious association and does not require adherence to this principle by government agencies or external organizations that associate with but are not controlled by the University."

In a letter to Vanderbilt students and faculty on Jan. 20, Chancellor Nicholas Zeppos insisted that the university "does not seek to limit anyone's freedom to practice his or her religion. We do, however, require all Vanderbilt registered student organizations to observe our nondiscrimination policy. That means membership in registered student organizations is open to everyone and that everyone, if desired, has the opportunity to seek leadership positions."

Contrary to the university's stated goal of inclusion and tolerance, the change in policy jeopardizes the operational freedom of all religious organizations on campus. Patricia Helland, an associate dean who oversees religious life at Vanderbilt, defended the change in an interview saying "organizations can have core beliefs, but that organizations can't require their members or leaders to abide by or adhere to those core beliefs."

It is this final quote which brings into sharp relief the insanity of "non-discrimination" in its present form. Essentially, the position of the university is that a person may believe whatever they want and may even create a society which shares those core beliefs, but that society cannot refuse membership to anyone simply because that person does not share the core beliefs which constitute the very identity of that society. It ultimately reduces all societies, religious or otherwise, to totally amorphous and pointless entities. The article points out that a Jew could not be barred from leadership in a Muslim society, nor a Christian from a Jewish society, but it extends to even more ridiculous examples than that. The next Paul Ryan couldn't be barred from membership or leadership in a society for Democrats, the next New Gingrich from a society on marital fidelity. It's nonsense.

If students are to flourish in a learning environment that values diversity, community and debate, college administrators must return to the nationwide practice of allowing an exemption in their religious nondiscrimination policy for religious organizations – organizations whose very reason for existence is to promote a particular religion. Policies like Vanderbilt's irrationally discriminate against such groups, and fail to fulfill universities' duty to protect students' rights to associate and operate under their constitutionally-protected beliefs.

The casual observer is left to wonder why a Jew would want to be head of a Muslim organization, a Republican the head of a Democrat organization, or a homosexual the head of an organization whose founding principles are heteronormative (and it is this last one that is likely the hidden impetus behind all the controversy). But that insignificant bit of pragmatism doesn't seem to be the point for either party. What this ultimately boils down to is one group of activists with a self-defeating vision of liberalism that will tolerate anything but intolerance squaring off against another group of activists who firmly believe that their right to restrict access trumps another's right to access. Both views seem repugnant on the surface, but at least there is common sense working (de facto) in favor of the latter. If core beliefs do not define the bounds of membership in a voluntary organization, what should? Consider Justice Alito in his concurring opinion on Hosanna-Tabor: "Religious groups are the archetype of associations formed for expressive purposes, and their fundamental rights surely include the freedom to choose who is qualified to serve as a voice for their faith."

Then again...(or Positive Secularism Fights Back)

Perhaps my last offering was prematurely triumphant. I awoke this morning to find an article analyzing President Obama's decision to press the issue of faith-based organizations providing sterilization, contraceptives, and abortifacients as part of their health insurance regardless of any moral qualms or religious conscience. The position taken by the executive branch seems more ideological than practical, forcing Catholic groups to provide birth control which is freely and widely available elsewhere. For the author of the article, the message the government is sending is clear:

Obama's decision also reflects a certain view of liberalism. Classical liberalism was concerned with the freedom to hold and practice beliefs at odds with a public consensus. Modern liberalism uses the power of the state to impose liberal values on institutions it regards as backward. It is the difference between pluralism and anti-clericalism.

I don't know that this can necessarily be cast as "anti-clericalism," and I certainly reject the provocative claim that "the war on religion is now formally declared." This is, however, indicative of this shift in American conceptions of liberalism that I referenced last night, away from the idea of non-intrusive freedom that dominated, at the very least, in the antebellum period and toward a new idea of government sponsored, socially mandated positive pluralism. It is no longer enough to merely not infringe upon the life and liberty of another; in fact, infringing on that liberty can be seen as a moral good provide it is done in the service of securing an increasingly bloated list of rights on behalf of another. (Imagine suggesting to an American two hundred years ago--or one hundred, or fifty, or twenty--that abortion, sterilization, and birth control were inalienable human rights that trumped religious liberty.) There does some to be a clash in cultures occurring here--though again, not some vague war on religion--which no longer sees conscience as the liberty so essential that it became enshrined in the very first amendment to the Constitution, but instead considers it to be a private peccadillo to be tolerated so long as it doesn't interfere with the liberated mindset of post-sexual revolution America.

Without climbing too high onto my soapbox, I'd like to suggest that this viewpoint is only possible because of the trivial way contemporary Christians have handled their faith, allowing it to become more about politics than piety, more about sexual ethics than kingdom ethics. I am ultimately convicted that if Christians were to take faith in Christ as the all-consuming, life-transforming, community-constituting reality that it is and allowed it to distinguish us from society at large rather than trying to conform it to social expectations, perhaps it would be harder for the world to see faith as secondary in importance to the all-powerful right to have a thin, lubricated layer of latex between you and the sexual partner of your choice.