I meant to flag this interesting article from the New Republic last week: “The Usefulness of Cranks: Nature as a standpoint for social criticism.” It’s about, among other things, the tensions between forms of environmentalism that value nature for its own sake and the progressivist and humanist assumptions of liberalism. Mainstream environmentalism (as represented by various activist and pressure groups, policy wonks, etc.) can have a very technocratic, managerial flavor, but this doesn’t necessarily sit easily next to the nature mysticism and eco-centrism of some of the most profound environmental thinkers. An essay worth reading and pondering.
Author: Lee M.
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Feminist conversion as a source of theological speech
In part II of She Who Is, Elizabeth Johnson discusses the sources she’s going to use for her project of theological reconstruction, or as she puts it: “resources for emancipatory speech about God” (p. 61). These are women’s interpreted experience, the Bible, and classical theology. It’s hard not to be reminded of Hooker’s “three-legged stool” of reason, scripture, and tradition or Wesley’s quadrilateral of reason, Scripture, tradition, and experience. The idea is that theology and the life of faith draw from multiple sources, though there is debate about which of these, if any, are the controlling factor.
Regarding experience, Johnson writes:
Consulting human experience is an identifying mark of virtually all contemporary theology, as indeed has been the case at least implicitly with most of the major articulations in the history of Christian theology. Listening to the questions and struggles of the people of an era, their value systems and deepest hopes, gives theology of the most diverse kinds an indispensable clue for shaping inquiry, drawing the hermeneutical circle, revising received interpretations, and arriving at new theological insight. (p. 61)
It follows straight away that theology is always, to some extent, provisional. The questions, struggles, values, and hopes of one era and place will be different from others. Theology is always, therefore, to some degree “contextual.” Only an extremely simplistic understanding of the theological task would deny this.
To complicate matters further, though, Johnson points out that there is no simple and universal “women’s experience” to which we can point. Johnson doesn’t take a strong stance on the nature/nurture debate, but it’s clear that women’s experiences and how they interpret them vary widely across social, cultural, religious, and other locations.
However, there are common, if not universal, experiences to draw on. Johnson focuses on what she calls the experience of “conversion,” by which she means “a turning away from trivialization and defamation of oneself as a female person and a turning toward oneself as worthwhile, as in fact a gift, in community with many others similarly changing” (p. 62). Following Karl Rahner, Johnson interprets the self as being in an inextricable relationship with the other, including the Divine Other. Therefore, changes in how one perceives oneself will change how one perceives the other. Consequently, when women come to experience themselves both as victims of oppression and as persons of value with moral agency, this is bound to affect their understanding of religious symbols and language. “The shock of the negative in traditional, internalized devaluations of women, known in the surge of self-affirmation against it, is at the same time new experience of God as beneficent toward the female and an ally of women’s flourishing” (p. 66).
Johnson goes on to discuss some of the implications of feminist thinking for ethics and for the doctrine of the imago Dei. A feminist ethic of relationship and mutuality will have different implications for how we characterize divine perfection than a traditional ethic of rights that defines the self over against the other. The recognition that women are created in the image of God just as men are gives impetus to using female images for God.
One might worry here, as has often been worried about “liberal” theologies, that “experience” becomes an independent source and norm for theology and threatens to crowd out revelation. I think Johnson’s answer is indicated by her statement that “the experience of God which is never directly available is mediated, among other ways but primordially so, through the changing history of oneself” (p. 65). We can’t step out of our own skins to achieve an unmediated experience of the divine. Our theologies are always colored by our experience, sometimes for good and sometimes for ill. To the extent that women “reject the sexism of inherited constructions of female identity and risk new interpretations that affirm their own human worth” (p. 62)–and to the extent that men join them–their understanding of God will be affected.
The question comes down to whether the Christian tradition should be thought of as a hermetically sealed ark of salvation, which contains all truth and outside of which is only darkness and chaos, or as a more porous vessel–a tradition that can be nourished by insights originating elsewhere. I think it would be historically dubious to assert that advances in moral thought–not only feminism but abolition, civil rights, animal welfare, and others–owe their success primarily to Christian theological truth. While these movements can certainly claim religious support and sanction, Christianity was often late to the party if not actively resisting. And not only did these movements change Christian moral practice, they often changed the way Christians thought about God.
But I don’t see why this should be particularly worrying. If, as we believe, people are God’s good creation, then we should expect that they are capable of attaining moral and spiritual insight, even outside the boundaries of the church (and sometimes in spite of the church). And rather than distort, these insights may open to us new ways of understanding the tradition, discovering truths that were previously obscured by an equally context-bound interpretation of faith.
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Tradition as a source for liberating speech about God
Granted my theological reading is pretty spotty to begin with, but a particular hole I’ve been meaning to fill has been feminist theology. So, when I saw a copy of Elizabeth Johnson’s She Who Is at a local used bookstore I decided to pick it up–and I’m glad I did. Not only does Johnson make a compelling case for revisiting how Christians speak about God in light of feminist insights, she writes clearly and straightforwardly, without dumbing down her material.
I think among feminist theologians Johnson is probably considered to be somewhat conservative in the sense that, while acknowledging that the Christian tradition has played a major role in oppressing women, she also thinks that it has rich resources for liberation. Other feminists think that a wholesale reconstruction, or even rejection, of the tradition is called for, but Johnson is able to mine it in surprising ways, and uncover long-neglected truths.
Johnson’s main thesis is that Christian speech about God has been deformed by patriarchal social structures and that theological discourse has tended to elevate masculine language for God to a normative and even literal status, despite official disclaimers to the contrary. This not only relegates women to second-class status, but is theologically inadequate, and even idolatrous. Since all speech about God is inherently analogical and God’s mystery eludes any of our attempts to name or describe it, insisting on one set of images presumes that we have captured God in our conceptual or linguistic net. Johnson shows this most clearly when she points out that any deviation from masculine language about God is thought to be in need of justification, which implies that such language is more “proper” or “appropriate” for speaking about the divine.
But Johnson argues persuasively that this, in effect, denies the full personhood of women. Women are created in the divine image, just as men are, so it follows that feminine language can represent God just as adequately (or inadequately) as masculine language. In fact, both types of language (along with more “cosmic” language drawn from the realm of nature) are necessary if we are to avoid idolatry and recover a more holistic way of speaking about God. The criteria for adequate speech about God, from a feminist perspective, is “the emancipation of women toward human flourishing” (p. 30). No theological language or system that oppresses and dehumanizes can be religiously true, adequate, or coherent.
Johnson rejects some common attempts to correct the exclusive use of masculine language. One such solution is to avoid personal language for God altogether. The problem with this is that it has the effect of denying personality to God. While God is certainly “supra”-personal in that God transcends personality as we know it in human beings, God is not less than personal.
Another strategy Johnson rejects is that of attributing “feminine” qualities to some aspect of the divine. The Holy Spirit is the usual candidate here. The problem with this approach is that it usually leans on stereotypes of men and women and associates the “feminine” aspect of God with qualities like nurturing, compassion, etc., while the other more “masculine” qualities are attributed to other aspects of God. Not only does this perpetuate stereotypes of men and women, Johnson argues, it introduces a kind of division in God. (Indeed, Johnson argues that in the West many of the feminine qualities were, in practice, transferred to the figure of the Virgin Mary, creating another de facto mediator between us and a wrathful, “masculine” God.)
What Johnson proposes instead is that women and men can both–in their diversity and complex fullness–point to the inexhaustible reality of God:
The mystery of God transcends all images but can be spoken about equally well and poorly in concepts taken from male or female reality. The approach advocated here proceeds with the insight that only if God is so named, only if the full reality of women as well as men enters into the symbolization of God along with symbols from the natural world, can the idolatrous fixation on one image be broken and the truth of the mystery of God, in tandem with the liberation of all human beings and the whole earth, emerge for our time. (p. 56)
To tackle this task of enunciating a more adequate language about God, Johnson draws on three sources: women’s (interpreted) experience, scripture, and classical theology. I’ll try and say a little about each in a future post (or posts).
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Hebblethwaite on natural and revealed morality
In his book Christian Ethics in the Modern Age, British philosopher-theologian Brian Hebblethwaite offers a nice summary of what I tend to think of as the classic Christian understanding of the nature of ethics:
Christians certainly believe that all goodness stems from God and reflects both God’s own nature and His will for man. But recognition of this comes in two ways: the good for man is built into human nature and can be discerned, however fragmentarily and incompletely, in what makes for human relationship and human flourishing. This ‘natural’ recognition of the good can be affirmed despite the ‘fallen’ state of man. But the true good for man is further revealed, so Christians believe, through the saving acts of God, culminating in the story of Jesus and his Resurrection. (p. 13)
Hebblethwaite goes on to point out that both of these ways of knowing are subject to distortion and in need of correction:
Here too there is no guarantee of freedom from distortion in the human media of revelation or in man’s understanding of divine revelation. So it is quite possible for the two channels of moral knowledge, human experience of goodness and human response to the revelatory acts of God, mutually to illuminate and correct each other. Moral criticism of religious revelation-claims is possible because natural human morality is itself a reflection of the image of God in man. Christian morality’s criticism and enhancement of natural human morality are possible since they reflect the definitive revelation of God’s nature and will through His saving acts.
And yet there is only one moral truth:
But the two channels, on this view, cannot be ultimately incompatible, since it is the same divine nature that is reflected, however hazily, in human goodness, as is reflected most clearly, on the Christian view, in the character of Christ. But the divine revelation, including the character of Christ, has itself to be understood and applied correctly by men and women down the ages; they may get it wrong, and thus be open to moral criticism.
Where Hebblethwaite may depart from some classical views is in recognizing the context-bound nature of our understanding of revelation. Even if God reveals his will and nature to us, that revelation still has to be mediated through human language, concepts, and understanding. These will (inevitably?) produce a kind of distortion. This is why Hebblethwaite can say that our natural morality can act as a corrective on “revelation”: because no revelation is sheerly self-authenticating. A purported revelation that outright contradicted some tenet of natural morality would for that reason be highly suspect.
This also allows Hebblethwaite to say that Christian morality can be not only confirmed, but enriched by insights from other sources. We can see, both in other religions and in secular movements, aspects of God’s goodness reflected that may not have been so clear in our own tradition. Christians may be compelled to reject insights that flatly contradict the Christian revelation, but they needn’t believe that they all ready possess the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. For instance, it seems clear that Christian theology and practice have been enriched by the insights of such movements as feminism, Marxism, and environmentalism, insights that are compatible with the essential tenets of Christianity, but which Christians previously weren’t able to derive from the resources of their own tradition. Similarly, other religions can reveal aspects of the truth that Christians might not otherwise have been aware of.
On this view, explicit belief in God is not necessary to discover the conditions of human flourishing, but those conditions are–ontologically speaking–rooted in or derived from God’s creative will and goodness. Thus the revelation of that will in Christ gives a fuller and clearer picture of the good. Just as importantly, Hebblethwaite argues, the work of Christ, the sending of the Spirit, and the formation of the Church provide resources for embodying that good in our lives and communities that transcend natural human capabilities.
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Derek Webb
I don’t usually listen to contemporary Christian music (though I do have a soft spot for Jars of Clay), but I’ve been listening to some Derek Webb after being tipped off by a review of his new album at PopMatters. It’s pretty interesting stuff: an eclectic mix of electronica and pop at times a bit reminiscient of Radiohead. Apparently he’s also somewhat controversial because he says “shit” and that hating on gay people is wrong. Anybody else into this guy?
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Conditional and unconditional vegans
Here is an interesting post on veganism that distinguishes what I would call “conditional” vegans from “unconditional” vegans. The former group opposes the current system of factory farming, but would, hypothetically at least, eat animals raised “humanely” and sustainably. They don’t think, in other words, that it’s inherently wrong for humans to use animals, just that, under current conditions, one should boycott the animal industry. Unconditional vegans, by contrast, think that it is inherently wrong to use animals for food (or clothing, medical experiments, etc.), even if they’re humanely raised, painlessly killed, and so on.
That’s a useful distinction, it seems to me. But this, regarding conditional vegans, isn’t quite right:
If you think that producing and consuming animal products is morally acceptable, then for you veganism is a boycott. Perhaps you’ve decided that veganism is a socially and environmentally responsible choice, but you don’t feel that animals have rights beyond “humane” treatment. To you, veganism is a choice, not a moral obligation.
That last sentence just doesn’t follow. If I conclude that, all things considered (environmental impact, treatment of animals, etc.), veganism is the right choice, even if under some very different set of conditions I might conclude differently, then I do consider veganism a moral obligation. It’s no less of a moral obligation simply because, were things different, I might not be obliged to do it. Similarly, I may believe that I am morally obliged to boycott non-fair-trade coffee, but not the fair trade stuff, because I think there’s nothing inherently morally problematic about consuming coffee. Or: I may be morally obligated to reduce my carbon emissions, but if I lived a thousand years ago or in sub-Saharan Africa or if the laws of chemistry or physics were radically different, I wouldn’t be.
It could be that the unconditional vegans are right and there really is a moral obligation not to consume animals tout court (or at least under normal, non-“lifeboat” conditions). I’m not a vegan and don’t really have, um, a dog in this fight, but the difference here is between two different moral positions, not a moral position and a non-moral one.
(Link via)
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The Trinity as a model for human society?
From Mark D. Chapman’s article, “The Social Doctrine of the Trinity: Some Problems“:
In these various different discussions of the implications of the doctrine of the Trinity for life together in society, there is an implicit assumption that the picture of the relationships between the Father, Son and Holy Spirit is able to function as something of a blueprint for human society: God is spoken of in terms of an idealised society which in turn is capable of being mirrored here on earth through the witness of the Church. Although this is undoubtedly appealing, it is precisely at this point that a problem begins to emerge. Whereas all the conceptions of the social God discussed understand the Trinity as a community of mutually interdependent persons who necessarily exist in relation, it does not necessarily follow that the sociality of human societies, even ideal ones, is rooted in such a notion of being-in-relationship. Factually, it is patently true that human beings do not always act together in conformity of will and action; and yet the claim is that the social Trinity and its concomitant ecclesiology should provide a vision as well as a practical model for humans in society. It is this step in the argument that does not seem to be self-evident. It is at the very least questionable that human beings express themselves most fully and perfectly in terms of the harmony and balance of mutual reciprocity.
If it can be shown that tension, conflict and debate rest at the heart of human society, then the opposite might indeed prove to be the case. Indeed it may well be that far from an aberration or even sinful distortion, the normal and proper condition of society, and even of the Church, is one of dispute and conflict. And this leads on to a question: if we are to try to model the Trinity, then what place is there for the tensions and conflicts resulting from human diversity and difference? The harmonious understanding of God, which characterises so much of the social Trinitarianism discussed above, perhaps expresses a longing for concord and a conflict-free zone, but it seems quite divorced from the creative and constructive conflict that can plausibly be shown to be the foundation for democratic human societies.
It’s fairly common in contemporary theology–popular and academic– to leap from some idea of the Trinity as a “perfect community” to using that as a blueprint for ecclesiastical and/or social reform. Chapman’s concern here strikes me as well founded: even assuming we can describe with any confindence the “inner” life of the Trinity (itself a dubious notion), it’s far from clear that this is an appropriate model for human communities. In the traditional Christian understanding, the persons of the Trinity enjoy a unity of will that is not only rarely found among human beings, but probably undesirable.
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Two episodes from Buffy season 7 seems a bit dicey…
But, otherwise, this is an interesting list of the top 25 “Whedonverse” episodes (i.e., shows from creator Joss Whedon, including, inter alia, Buffy, Angel, and Firefly).
A Thinking Reed 