Thought and action

In a recent Expressive Photography newsletter, Alister Benn makes the following comment:

If you don’t think about something at all, it has no value to you.
If all you do is think about something and then do nothing about it, you are of no value to it.

Alister was talking about photography, but I feel this has much wider application. For example, you cannot honestly say you value the natural world if you never give it a second thought. Conversely, if all you do is talk about caring for nature while continuing to live a typical modern Western lifestyle, you are certainly of no value to it.

Engaging Deconstructive Theology

A review of Ronald T. Michener, Engaging Deconstructive Theology, Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies Series (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007)

‘If Christians are to continue to communicate and incarnate the gospel in a world with postmodern assumptions, then they must seek to understand their culture and seek relevancy’ (p. 7). This is Ronald Michener’s starting point for an exploration of what he calls deconstructive theology with a view to developing insights that might make Christian apologetics more relevant to postmodern culture.

In his introduction, Michener acknowledges the intellectual and cultural diversity of the postmodern phenomenon. Clearly it would be impossible to treat the entire spectrum of postmodernism adequately in a single volume. He opts instead to focus on what he sees as the most radical intellectual strand of postmodernism: deconstructionism. Having set the boundaries of his study, he proceeds in Chapter 2 to offer a very sketchy outline of the historical context of deconstructionism, focusing on its intellectual forebears from Francis Bacon to Claude Lévi-Strauss, before offering a brief introduction to the deconstructionist programme.

Part II of the book offers an account of the ‘holy trinity’ of deconstructionism: Lyotard, Derrida, and Foucault. The three chapters in this part provide useful but inevitably brief introductions to their thought. Michener’s main aim here is to identify themes in their work that are relevant to the task he has set himself. Among the themes he highlights are Lyotard’s scepticism with respect to metanarratives and Foucault’s rejection of the Enlightenment self. But most of the space in this part is devoted to Derrida. Picking up on hints in Derrida’s work, he suggests that deconstruction does not amount to the destruction of theology. Rather Derrida’s goal is destabilize or subvert the traditional metaphysics that is so closely wedded to Western theology. Thus deconstruction can be seen as a new via negativa. Michener is even prepared to recontextualize Derrida’s notion of the ‘messianic’.

Parts III and IV turn to the effect of this on two American academics (Mark Taylor and Richard Rorty) and one British theologian (Don Cupitt) whose writings have had an impact on recent theology in the English-speaking world. These chapters follow the same pattern as those in Part II: a brief introduction to their thought followed by a teasing out of various themes that are relevant to the challenge of developing a Christian apologetic for a postmodern context. Again he finds concepts that can be appropriated by a postmodern Christian theology, for example, Taylor’s notion of ‘mazing grace’ and Cupitt’s ‘solar living’ and ‘poetical theology’.

With Part V we arrive at the real heart of the book: the development of an apologetic methodology in view of the deconstructionist concerns highlighted in Parts II to IV. Chapter 9 deals with some methodological preliminaries, highlighting the inadequacy of some current apologetic methodologies and indicating what those deconstructionist concerns require of a postmodern apologetic. Specifically, such an apologetic must be post-individualistic, post-rationalistic, post-dualistic, and post-noeticentric (by which he means shifting away from knowledge to wisdom). In the next chapter he turns to Scripture, with an examination of the beginnings of Christianity in the book of Acts in the light of deconstructionist concerns. Michener is concerned to present the gospel as a non-totalizing metanarrative (i.e. one that does not fall foul of postmodern scepticism). The early Christian community as it appears in Acts is heterogeneous: open, multicultural, and pluralistic. And St Paul provides us with an apologetic model that majors on listening and dialogue.

That last point is developed further in Chapter 11, ‘Apologetic Engagement and Dialogue’. Michener stresses the importance of being a good listener. He is even prepared to speak of atheism as being ‘prophetic’ for those prepared to listen well. This leads him in to a discussion of what is involved in a critical reappropriation of deconstructionist concerns, providing the theoretical underpinning for the examples of reappropriation earlier in the book.

If Michener were to stop at this point, his contribution would be just one more rationalistic approach to apologetics. However, he is not content to leave it here and moves on in Chapter 12 to explore the ‘Apologetic Imagination’. It is his contention that imagination, myth, and story have a powerful role to play in apologetic dialogue. His role model for this change in apologetic strategy is the literary scholar and Christian apologist C. S. Lewis, perhaps a surprising choice given his intention to engage with deconstructionism/postmodernity. In this chapter, he also explores the place of hope in Christian apologetics.

Finally, Michener takes up the question of foundationalism. Postmodernism is notoriously resistant to any suggestion that our beliefs can have any indubitable grounding. By contrast, much Christian apologetics (at least since the Enlightenment) has taken such foundations for granted. Is it possible to develop a Christian apologetic that can engage constructively with the anti-foundationalism of the deconstructionists? Michener proposes what he describes as a soft foundationalism: he accepts the postmodern critique of classical foundationalism but does not want to give in to complete scepticism. Certainty about religious beliefs is not possible, but neither is it necessary. He wants to speak instead of provisional beliefs, which cohere together into a ‘belief mosaic’ that is open to continual testing, reinterpretation, and recontextualization. Furthermore, this gathering of truth is eschatologically based, rather than foundationally based.

I must admit that, as I read through the book, I could not shake off the nagging question of whether the French deconstructionists were the most appropriate dialogue partners for a Christian apologist seeking to engage with postmodern culture. Nevertheless, there is a lot of interesting and thought-provoking material here, and, for the most part, it is presented in a clear and approachable manner.

Creation’s Diversity: Voices from Theology and Science

A review of Willem B. Drees, Hubert Meisinger and Taede A. Smedes (eds), Creation’s Diversity: Voices from Theology and Science (London: T&T Clark, 2008)

Creation’s Diversity is a selection of papers from the 2006 ESSSAT meeting in Romania. The title indicates that the editors have chosen them to offer the reader a variety of perspectives on the diversity of creation. After two introductory chapters, the papers are organized into two sections of six chapters each: ‘A Diversity of Visions of Creation’ and ‘Sustaining Creation’s Diversity’.

The first introductory chapter, by Willem Drees, simply offers an overview of the book itself. Its companion piece, by Patriarch Daniel Ciobotea of the Romanian Orthodox Church, is an interesting call for dialogue between science and religion. Unlike many similar calls, this one is rooted in Eastern Orthodoxy and specifically the theology of Dumitru Staniloae (whose work deserves to be much more widely known among Western Christians).

‘A Diversity of Visions’ offers six quite disparate perspectives on creation/nature. First we are offered a Gaian perspective of the biosphere by the feminist theologian Anne Primavesi. While I am sympathetic to the holistic view of the environment she presents, I was disturbed that there was no acknowledgement of the potential for ecofascism in this approach. In contrast to Primavesi’s focus on the history of nature, Regine Kather offers a philosophical exploration of humans as the products of nature, concluding that value is intrinsic to nature. David Goodin offers a fascinating Eastern Orthodox perspective on the Leviathan passages of the Old Testament from which he gleans a timely ecological message about the intrinsic value of creation. With his chapter, Christopher Southgate draws our attention to suffering within the evolutionary process. He revisits the concept of kenosis to suggest how the suffering of creatures might be reconciled with the notion of a benevolent creator. Alfred Kracher explores the popular myth that technology and nature are in opposition. The section ends with an article by Tony Watkins on new cosmologies and sacred stories, which calls for a re-imagining of our relationship with the environment by means of metaphors drawn largely from deep ecology and a new transcultural creation myth based on evolution.

The second section focuses on ‘Sustaining Creation’s Diversity’. Again it consists of six chapters from a variety of perspectives. It begins with Sam Berry objecting to the concept of ‘sustaining diversity’, which appears in much of the current literature to suggest the maintenance of a status quo. He prefers to speak of ‘developing sustainably’. Unfortunately, this concept also has a track record in the literature. Perhaps we should be speaking instead of nurturing diversity. In the next chapter, current threats to biodiversity are picked up and explored in some detail by Jan Boersema. Having been presented with a call to nurture diversity and dire warnings about threatened loss of the same, there follows a short paper in which Chris Wiltsher plays devil’s advocate. He argues, contrary to popular opinion among environmentally minded theologians, that nurturing the diversity of creation is not a clear theological virtue. Peter Kirschenmann explores the more general question of whether there are moral principles that would oblige us to maintain biodiversity. His conclusion is that such ‘sustainable development’ has to be rooted in an ethic of responsibility. Zbigniew Liana shifts the emphasis from biodiversity to cultural diversity. He proposes a Popperian approach to pluralism, which would allow an acceptance of the kind of philosophical and religious diversity apparent in this volume without descending into relativism or scepticism. Finally Dirk Evers draws the book to a close by examining the nurturing of diversity as a theological task in a climate of religious pluralism.

The editors have certainly succeeded in representing the diversity of opinions as to how to relate environmental engagement in the context of religious convictions. The contributors are certainly not of one mind, nor do their papers direct the reader to a particular set of conclusions. But this lack of an overarching argument does have the virtue that the book allows a view into an ongoing discussion. Sadly, there is little evidence of interaction between the chapters. I think the book could have been made more useful by allowing the authors to write short responses to each other’s papers.

My main reservation about the book is that it doesn’t really live up to the title. The emphasis is all on diversity, but judging by the content of these papers most of the authors seem blithely unaware that ‘creation’ is not merely a synonym for ‘nature’. For a book of this kind to ignore the very real theological distinction between the two is a major shortcoming. However, in spite of that reservation, this book remains a useful contribution to the continuing dialogue between theologies and the sciences on environmental issues.

No uninterpreted spiritual experience

I have long favoured Karl Popper’s slogan, ‘there is no such thing as an uninterpreted observation’. Science never merely follows the evidence, nor is scientific knowledge merely deduced from mythical theory-neutral observations. On the contrary, all observations are theory laden; they are shaped by prior theories/guesses about the way the world is, which determine what counts as evidence and what observations are of interest to us.

From time to time, I come across people who make the valid point that spiritual experience is much broader than whatever we might experience within the confines of religious worship. However, there is a danger in this generous view of spiritual experience: it is all too easy to slide towards the view that all experience of the transcendent is somehow spiritual. For examples of the sort of thing I mean, see Peter van Ness’s Spirituality and the Secular Quest: almost anything from art appreciation to scientific enquiry, from surfing to sex can be described as spiritual.

In response to this point, I am inclined adapt Popper’s slogan to spiritual experience: there is no such thing as an uninterpreted spiritual experience. Experiences of transcendence or of ecstasy are relatively commonplace. We feel awe at the majesty of nature; we are moved to tears by a work of art. Sex, drugs, (rock and roll) – all have the power to create ecstasy. And human beings have for millennia found nature, sex, and drugs to be potent sources of spiritual experience. But whether/how we see such experiences as spiritual requires something more; it depends on the interpretative framework through which we view them. For example, a convinced secular humanist will see in a drug trip only altered brain chemistry.

What initially made me think this way about spiritual experience was an interview with a Buddhist monk that I heard some years ago. He had been brought up as a Roman Catholic before converting to Buddhism in young adulthood. Imagine his surprise when as a result of intense spiritual exercises he began experiencing visions of the Virgin Mary. His teacher wisely pointed out to him that this was only to be expected because his unconscious was attempting to process the experiences he was having in terms that were already familiar to him.

One of the things that the world’s religions do is to offer competing frameworks to help us make sense of our experiences of ecstasy or transcendence. Of course, this means that one religion’s spiritual experience may be dismissed by another as a simple case of overindulgence or anathematized by a third as a case of demonic possession.

As a Christian, I am primarily interested in whether and how my experiences of transcendence might be interpreted as the activity of the Holy Spirit. How might we determine whether the Holy Spirit is active in a particular situation, experience, or relationship? As it happens, the New Testament offers a handy set of guidelines for discerning the activity of the Holy Spirit: the Spirit is present and active wherever there is a growth in ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control’ (Galatians 5:22f.).

Against natural theology

Natural theology, at least as traditionally understood, seeks to prove the existence of God (and possibly give an account of some divine attributes) solely by drawing on evidence from the world around us. A classic example would be Thomas Aquinas’s five ways.

Of course, not all Christians would approve of such a rationalistic approach to theology. In particular, many Eastern Orthodox theologians have questioned the value and validity of such an approach.

The other day, I came across a useful summary rejection of natural theology from the pen of St Gregory Palamas. Interestingly, Palamas (who was no fan of Aquinas) does not attack Aquinas directly but looks instead at the pagan Hellenistic roots of natural theology:

By examining the nature of sensible things, these people have arrived at a certain concept of God, but not at a concept truly worthy of Him and appropriate to His blessed nature. . . . For if a worthy conception of God could be attained through the use of intellection, how could these people have taken the demons for gods, and how could they have believed the demons when they taught man polytheism? In this way, wrapped up in this mindless and foolish wisdom and unenlightened education, they have calumniated both God and nature. They have deprived God of His sovereignty (at least as far as they are concerned); they have ascribed the Divine Name to demons; and they were so far from finding the knowledge of beings – the object of their desire and zeal – as to claim that inanimate things have a soul and participate in a soul superior to our own. They also allege that things without reason are reasonable, since capable of receiving a human soul . . . they have classed among things uncreated and unoriginate and coeternal with God, not only matter, and what they call the World Soul, but also those intelligible beings not clothed in the opacity of the body, and even our souls themselves. (The Triads I.i.18)

Tradition: fire or ash?

What do a French socialist, an Austrian composer, and an American Orthodox theologian have in common?

They all have very similar views about tradition:

Être fidèle à la tradition, c'est être fidèle à la flamme et non à la cendre. [To be faithful to tradition is to be faithful to the flame and not to the ashes.] (Jean Jaurès)

Tradition ist die Weitergabe des Feuers und nicht die Anbetung der Asche. [Tradition is passing on the fire not worshipping the ashes.] (Gustav Mahler)

Tradition is the living faith of the dead; traditionalism is the dead faith of the living. Tradition lives in conversation with the past, while remembering where we are and when we are and that it is we who have to decide. Traditionalism supposes that nothing should ever be done for the first time, so all that is needed to solve any problem is to arrive at the supposedly unanimous testimony of this homogenized tradition. (Jaroslav Pelikan, interview in US News & World Report, 26 July 1989)

Dromocracy

Far from allowing us to take the time to do things properly, much of modern life (even the academic life) is conducted at breakneck speed dictated by others. You know you’re not in control when someone hands you a tight deadline; or that hospital appointment you’ve been waiting for turns up and forces you to rearrange your week; or you are forced to queue for hours to go through passport control or speak to a bureaucrat; or someone cancels your train/plane.

In our society, the ones with the power are the ones who can force you to slow down or speed up. More generally, power belongs to those who control the speed at which things happen. And here is a quotation from Paul Virilio that suggests ’twas ever thus:

Every society is founded on a relation of speed. Every society is dromocratic. If you take Athenian society, you’ll notice that at the top there’s the hierarch, in other words the one who can charter a trireme. Then there’s the horseman—the one who can charter a horse, to use naval language. After that, there’s the hoplite, who can get ready for war, “arm himself”—in the odd sense that the word armament has both a naval and a martial connotation—with his spears and his shield as a vector of combat. And finally, there’s the free man and the slave who only have the possibilities of hiring themselves out or being enlisted as energy in the war-machine—the rowers. In this system (which also existed in Rome with the cavalry), he who has the speed has the power. And he has the power because he is able to acquire the means, the money. The Roman horsemen were the bankers of Roman society. The one who goes the fastest possesses the ability to collect taxes, the ability to conquer, and through that to inherit the right of exploiting society. (Virilio and Lotringer, Pure War. Translated by M. Polizzotti. New York: Semiotext(e). 1997, pp. 49-50)

Barthes on significance

When a great many people agree that a problem is insignificant, that usually means it is not. Insignificance is the locus of true significance. This should never be forgotten.(Roland Barthes, The Grain of the Voice, p. 177)

This is true across so many disciplines. Consider, for example, the state of physics in about 1900. That year, Lord Kelvin, one of the most eminent physicists of the nineteenth century, told the British Association for the Advancement of Science, ‘There is nothing new to be discovered in physics now. All that remains is more and more precise measurement.’ In the same year he told the Royal Institution that only two clouds remained to obscure the ‘beauty and clearness’ of Newtonian physics. One of the problems he dismissed as clouds led ultimately to relativity theory; the other to quantum theory. Together these new theories amounted to a revolution in our understanding of the physical world.

Philosophy as slow thinking

According to the French philosopher Alain Badiou,

Our world is marked by its speed: the speed of historical change; the speed of technical change; the speed of communications; of transmissions; and even the speed with which human beings establish connections with one another. . . . Philosophy must propose a retardation process. It must construct a time for thought, which, in the face of the injunction to speed, will constitute a time of its own. I consider this a singularity of philosophy; that its thinking is leisurely, because today revolt requires leisureliness and not speed. (Infinite Thought, p. 38)

I like the idea that the refusal to react to the latest news with a superficial soundbite is a revolutionary (or, at least, subversive) action.

It also occurs to me that something similar might be said about Christian spirituality (at least, as understood within Orthodoxy). The process of deification (of growth into Christlikeness) is not something that happens suddenly. On the contrary, it is a slow, lifelong process. Those who suggest otherwise – that there is a shortcut or a technique (usually involving obedience to the person making the suggestion) that will bring you rapidly to Christian maturity – are lying or are have themselves be taken in by the kind of counterfeit Christianity Stanley Hauerwas alluded to in the quotation I blogged the other day.

Arguments against the social medium formerly known as Twitter

In view of all the controversy over X/Twitter since Elon Musk bought it, it seemed to me appropriate to repost the following from the blog of James N. Anderson:

Semi-Serious Warm-Up Argument

(1) Twittering requires communication in 140 characters or less.

(2) Almost nothing of substance can be adequately communicated in 140 characters or less.

(3) Therefore, almost nothing of substance can be adequately communicated by Twittering.

(4) A method of communication is intrinsically flawed if almost nothing of substance can be adequately communicated by it.

(5) Therefore, Twittering is an intrinsically flawed method of communication.

(6) One ought not to act in such a way as to participate in, promote, or legitimize an intrinsically flawed method of communication.

(7) Therefore, one ought not to Twitter.

Virtue Ethics Argument

(1) One ought always to act in good faith.

(2) Therefore, if one Twitters, one ought always to Twitter in good faith.

(3) One can Twitter in good faith only if one believes one’s life to be so important as to merit the attention of others.

(4) It is narcissistic to believe one’s life to be so important as to merit the attention of others.

(5) Therefore, one can Twitter in good faith only if one is narcissistic.

(6) Narcissism is not a virtue.

(7) Therefore, one can Twitter only if one is unvirtuous.

(8) Therefore, one ought not to Twitter.

Aristotelian Argument

(1) One ought to aim for the Golden Mean between two extremes.

(2) Twittering all the time is one extreme.

(3) Not using the Internet at all is another extreme.

(4) Using the Internet without Twittering is the Golden Mean between those two extremes.

(5) Therefore, one ought to use the Internet without Twittering.

Augustinian Argument

(1) Evil is essentially the lack of goodness.

(2) It is good to be able to use more than 140 characters to communicate.

(3) Twitter prevents one from using more than 140 characters to communicate.

(4) Therefore, Twitter lacks goodness.

(5) Therefore, Twitter is evil.

Leibnizian Argument

(1) This is the best of all possible worlds.

(2) All else being equal, a world in which Twittering is morally impermissible is better than a world in which Twittering is morally permissible, for numerous reasons that are too obvious to spell out here.

(3) Therefore, this is a world in which Twittering is morally impermissible.

(4) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Plantingan Modal Argument

(1) It is at least possible that all moral truths are necessary truths.

(2) It is at least possible that Twittering is wrong.

(3) Therefore, it is possible that, necessarily, Twittering is wrong.

(4) According to modal system S5, what is possibly necessary is necessary.

(5) Therefore, necessarily, Twittering is wrong.

(6) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Kantian Argument

(1) Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.

(2) I can will that it should become a universal law that no one Twitters; indeed, I can do so with ease and without the slightest whiff of self-contradiction.

(3) Therefore, no one should Twitter.

Utilitarian Argument

(1) It is wrong to act in such a way as to reduce the overall net happiness of the human race.

(2) Twittering not only keeps people from countless other activities that might actually increase the overall net happiness of the human race, it also makes people more aware than they otherwise would be of just how banal other people’s lives are.

(3) Therefore, Twittering reduces the overall net happiness of the human race.

(4) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Natural Law Argument

(1) It is wrong to do what is not natural.

(2) There is nothing remotely natural about broadcasting the minutiae of your life to all and sundry whenever it takes your fancy.

(3) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Emotivist Argument

(1) I strongly dislike the idea of Twittering and I strongly dislike hearing about Twittering.

(2) Therefore, you should stop Twittering and stop talking about Twittering.

Alternative Emotivist Argument

(1) Boo to Twittering!

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Prescriptivist Argument

(1) Don’t Twitter!

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Intuitionist Argument

(1) I just know that Twittering is wrong.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Subjectivist Argument

(1) Twittering is wrong for me.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Cultural Relativist Argument

(1) I believe Twittering is wrong and the people I hang out with agree with me.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Rortian Argument

(1) Truth is whatever your peers will let you get away with saying.

(2) My peers will let me get away with saying that Twittering is wrong.

(3) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Divine Command Theorist Argument

(1) “Thou shalt not Twitter.”

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Pop Christianity Argument

(1) Would Jesus Twitter? Probably not.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is wrong.

Inductive Argument

(1) As demonstrated above, according to (nearly) all known moral theories, Twittering is wrong.

(2) Therefore, Twittering is (probably) wrong.

Seneca on living life to the full

I have just come across Seneca the Younger’s essay ‘On the Shortness of Life’ and my first impression is that it contains some remarkably good advice – advice that could have been tailor-made to incorporate into Christian spirituality. So relevant did his writings seem to the Church Fathers that he was adopted as a quasi-Christian author in the Western Church. In fact, Jerome and Augustine treated him as if he were a Christian.

Here is a sample from the introduction to the essay:

It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it has been given in sufficiently generous measure to allow the accomplishment of the very greatest things if the whole of it is well invested. But when it is squandered in luxury and carelessness, when it is devoted to no good end, forced at last by the ultimate necessity we perceive that it has passed away before we were aware that it was passing. So it is—the life we receive is not short, but we make it so, nor do we have any lack of it, but are wasteful of it. Just as great and princely wealth is scattered in a moment when it comes into the hands of a bad owner, while wealth however limited, if it is entrusted to a good guardian, increases by use, so our life is amply long for him who orders it properly. (De brevitate I.3–4)

Of course, the question arises, what constitutes good use of our time? Seneca thought that quiet meditation on the classical philosophers was a good use of time. A Christian perspective would be rather different – it would likely start with Christ’s summary of the Law:

Jesus said to him, ‘“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.’ (Matthew 22:37-40)

So, for the Christian, the good life is one devoted to prayer, to seeking to understand God (as far as is possible), and to loving our neighbour. The gospel defines ‘neighbour’ very widely to include our enemies and it presents a daunting picture of what loving our neighbour should look like:

I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me. (Matthew 25:35–36)