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Despite being underwhelmed by their post-Zooropa output, all the hype got to me and I picked up U2’s How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. I have to say, it is a darn fine record. In particular, “Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own,” “Crumbs From Your Table,” “City of Blinding Lights” and “All Becuase of You” have stood out for me on the first few listens. I could be wrong, but this seems to be their most explicitly religious album in years.

Thunderstruck has a comprehensive collection of reviews and other U2-related media items here.

Nat Hentoff on Alberto Gonzales, President Bush’s nominee to replace John Ashcroft as AG:

In the July–August 2003 Atlantic Monthly, Alan Berlow wrote a long, carefully documented article, “The Texas Clemency Memos,” which told of the role of Gonzales, then legal counsel to Texas governor George W. Bush, in deciding the fate of prisoners on death row, including the mentally retarded. Even then, Berlow noted that Gonzales was “widely regarded as a likely future Supreme Court nominee.” […]

“Based on this information, Bush allowed the execution to proceed in all cases but one.” Berlow says the first 57 of these summaries were written by Gonzales and were Bush’s primary sources of information in deciding whether someone would live or die. “Each is only three to seven pages long. . . . Although the summaries rarely make a recommendation for or against execution, many have a clear prosecutorial bias, and all seem to assume that if an appeals court rejected one or another of the defendant’s claims, there is no conceivable rationale for the governor to revisit that claim.” […]

Gonzales refused to be interviewed for the Atlantic Monthly article. I would expect that a public official of conscience would have wanted to reply to Berlow’s conclusion that “in these documents, Gonzales repeatedly failed to apprise the governor of crucial issues in the cases at hand: ineffective counsel, conflict of interest, mitigating evidence, even actual evidence of innocence.” (Emphasis added.)

One of the cases in the article was that of “Terry Washington, a mentally retarded thirty-three-year-old man with the communication skills of a seven-year-old.” In his three-page report on Terry Washington, Gonzales never mentioned that Washington, as a child, along with his 10 siblings, was “regularly beaten with whips, water hoses, extension cords, wire hangers, and fan belts.” And this was “never made known to the jury, although both the district attorney and Washington’s trial lawyer knew of this potentially mitigating evidence.” Just hours after Gonzales’s brief report to Bush, Washington was executed.

In the July 20, 2003, Washington Post, Peter Carlson wrote, “It’s hard not to conclude that both Gonzales and Bush were rather callous, even cavalier, about the most profound decision any government official can make—the decision to kill another human being.” And now Gonzales will be our chief law enforcement officer.

For more of Hentoff on Gonzales, see here.

As far as I can tell, the “Emergent Church” is to evangelicalism what the “postliberal” church is to mainline Protestantism, i.e. an attempt to come to grips with postmodernity through a recovery of a more robust sense of what it means to be the church, often drawing on pre-modern and pre-Reformation sources for inspiration.

The Christian Century has two articles up on the Emergent Church movement. First is The Emergent matrix: A New Kind of Church?

If “contemporary worship” and “seeker services” looked like Christian versions of rock concerts, emerging worship looks more like a Christian version of Starbucks. Small spaces, comfortable seating (preferably couches) and interactivity are prized. But here, alongside the accouterments of café culture, are the very signs of Christian identity that had been purged by the iconoclasm of Willow Creek and its descendants. Candles and crosses, bread and wine, incense and altars create an eclectic, ancient-future blend with the video projection screens, electric guitars, and televisions rolling looped images like postmodern icons. The ambiance evokes more the art gallery than the arena, and the technological elements are intentionally subdued, made subservient to personal connection and spiritual reflection.

Second is an article on Brian McLaren, one of the leaders of the movement.

As I mentioned here, I think a commitment to pacifism could have major ramifications for how one relates to the larger structures of society, especially the state.

So, in that vein, I’ve been wondering: Does a pacifist have an obligation to avoid endorsing political leaders who employ violence? For instance, in his book Choosing Against War, Mennonite John Roth suggests that a Christian pacifist might refrain from voting, or at least voting for president, since the President is the commander-in-chief of the armed forces.

The underlying logic seems to go something like this. In voting for president, I am authorizing him to deploy lethal force if he deems it necessary. But if I am a pacifist, I don’t think it’s permissible for me to deploy lethal force, so how can I authorize someone else to do so on my behalf?

It may be that in voting for president it’s not the case that part of what I’m doing is authorizing someone to use violence on my behalf. In other words, maybe that’s not the right way to understand what I’m doing when I vote. But doesn’t it seem, at least commonsensically, that if I vote for president I am (at least implicitly) accepting the legitimacy of using force, since that’s a major part of what the President’s job entails?

This is very weird but fascinating. Not sure what to think about it.

The Nation has a forum up with input from various left-wing and liberal luminaries trying to hash out where they should go in the wake of the election.

Here are some snippets I found of particular interest:

SUSANNAH HESCHEL:

Democrats are being advised to respond to their election losses by enhancing their rhetoric of religion. What we need to do instead is revive the prophetic tradition, especially its critique of religion.

Major movements of social advancement in this country have spoken in the name of the prophets, not in the name of churches or religion. Martin Luther King Jr., for example, spoke as a prophet, not a priest or theologian, and in fact was regarded with suspicion by many religious leaders, including in the black church. “Let justice roll down like water, and righteouness as a mighty stream,” the anthem of the civil rights movement, were the words of Amos (5:24). Central to the prophetic tradition is its critique of religious rituals, beliefs and those who enforce them. In words applicable to today, Jeremiah declares, “An appalling and horrible thing has happened in the land: the prophets prophesy falsely and the priests rule at their direction; my people love to have it so, but what will you do when the end comes?” (Jeremiah 5:30-31)

MICHAEL LIND:

In an era in which most US population growth is occurring in the South, West and heartland, American liberalism is defined by people in the Northeast. At a time when rising tuitions are pricing many working-class Americans out of a college education, the upscale campus is becoming the base of American progressivism. In a country in which most working-class Americans drive cars and own homes in the suburbs, the left fetishizes urban apartments and mass transit and sneers at “sprawl.” In an economy in which most workers are in the service sector, much of the left is obsessed with manufacturing jobs. In a society in which Latinos have surpassed blacks as the largest minority and in which racial intermixture is increasing, the left continues to treat race as a matter of zero-sum multiculturalism and white-bashing. In a culture in which the media industry makes money by pushing sex and violence, the left treats the normalization of profanity and obscenity as though it were somehow progressive, making culture heroes of Lenny Bruce and Larry Flynt. At a time when the religious right wants to shut down whole areas of scientific research, many on the left share a Luddite opposition to biotech. In an age in which billions would starve if not for the use of artificial fertilizers in capital-intensive agriculture, the left blathers on about small-scale organic farming. In a century in which the dire need for energy for poor people in the global South can only be realistically met by coal, oil and perhaps nuclear energy, liberals fantasize about wind farms and solar panels. And in a world in which the greatest threat to civilization is the religious right of the Muslim countries, much of the left persists in treating the United States as an evil empire and American patriotism as a variant of fascism.

RICHARD RORTY (sounding pretty darn despondent):

As far as I can see, the only recourse Democrats have is to reverse the drift toward the center that began after McGovern’s defeat in 1972, and once again put themselves forward as the Party of the Poor. This may not work, but it is the only card they have left to play. They should beat the drum about the widening gap between haves and have-nots, about the humiliation and misery of families without health insurance, about the scandal of disappearing pensions and about outrageous corporate tax dodges, about fabulously overpaid corporate executives, about Halliburton and Enron. If they adopt this strategy, at least they will be positioned to take advantage of any future economic downturn, and can hope for something like a reprise of the 1932 election. If they instead edge still further to the right, the Republicans will simply shift the goal posts by doing the same.

BETH SHULMAN:

We need to continue to push at the state and local levels to bring changes that help working Americans. Initiatives to raise the minimum wage and provide healthcare won handily in states that went for Bush. Yet while we should build on coalitions formed during this election, we cannot just talk issues and policies. Without a clear vision of America based on the values we believe in, we will face another Republican victory. Voters do judge issues through a moral lens. But if the other side is the only one articulating a vision, we will continue to lose. John Edwards began a conversation about “the two Americas.” The Democratic Party needs to continue that conversation and set forth a bold agenda based on values that will insure economic opportunity, fairness and prosperity for all.

JULIET SCHOR:

… Democrats must also gain ground on authenticity (character) and quality of life (culture). The former trumps policy positions and facts. It’s an animating value in consumer markets, where authenticity is created by promoting a brand myth and history. It’s why companies use “founded in” language, and niche brands don’t reveal their corporate owners. Once presidential politics became a branding exercise, the value of authenticity soared, and we got “postrational politics.” It explains the appeal of McCain and Dean. Bush successfully rebranded as a real-deal Texan. Kerry got hammered as an opportunist. Whether it’s possible for him to successfully rebrand himself in the next four years is an interesting question.

On culture, it’s not “god, guns and gays” the Democrats should address but the quality-of-life issues that cross the red-blue divide–excessive working hours, loss of community, commercialized childhood and rampant materialism. A people’s environmentalism could target the poisoning of food and neighborhoods. Eighty-five percent of Americans believe society’s priorities are “out of whack,” and they’re not all in blue states. But to be authentic on these issues Democrats need to give up corporate money and remake themselves as the party of small donations. It’s a bold but high payoff move that would enable both cultural and economic populism, differentiate the Democrats from their opponents and free them up to offer real, galvanizing solutions.

After some not-so-subtle prodding from me, Jennifer graciously responded in greater detail to some of my questions about “sectarian” Christian social ethics.

Her response comes in the form of a reply to the criticisms offered by Robert Benne in this essay I had linked to earlier.

Here’s Benne’s criticism:

If God is indeed the creator and sustainer of the larger world of economics, politics, and culture, then we as Christians are called to witness there. Our salvation is not in that witness, but our obedience is. And though we know that much of contemporary culture is debased, we also know that it is not beyond redemption. Indeed, reminding ourselves of the illusions of perfectionism, we might even grant that, relatively speaking, it is not all that bad. In any case, modernity’s own norms of procedural justice and individual rights offer openings for Christian witness.

Jennifer agrees with this and points out that “sectarians” are committed to offering concrete assistance to those in need. The difference, she says, has to do with eschatology:

The main theological difference may be eschatological, as Vaughn points out:

But the difference is that if we believe that Christ’s work really changed the world (in some objective sense) and indeed changed the course of human history (that is, it didn’t merely create ‘possibilities’ for the few who believed) then I have to believe that the Church’s reasons for caring for the poor, freeing the oppressed, and bringing peace among enemies is not because it is going to make the world a better place (i.e. a useful social strategy) but because we can’t imagine NOT doing these things. We simply can’t imagine the world otherwise.

I call it living into the kingdom of God, into salvation.

In response to my question whether the church replaces the political order, she says:

I agree the state has a role to play, so I don’t know that I would say the church replaces the earthly political order. The Church isn’t a political order in the sense that it will pave roads or pass laws. In order to say that the Church is its own alternative polis, you must accept that Jesus, who we just celebrated as King, was political. And that liturgy, baptism, eucharist, hospitality, binding and loosing, visiting the sick, sharing possesions in common, preaching, etc. are political acts that often put us in opposition to the claims the state makes upon us. A quick example: baptism tells us that our primary identity is Christian and makes us brothers and sisters with one Father. The state sometimes tells us we have to kill our brothers and sisters because our first and primary loyalty is to the state, which supercedes any bond we might have with Christians in other countries. (The Benne essay doesn’t even mention violence or pacifism, which I found odd.)

So I wouldn’t agree that the state and Church always have complementary missions, or that “the state serves the Church by making possible its mission.” The life, death and resurrection of Christ and the work of the Holy Spirit make possible the mission of the Church. The state can help create a “peaceful” space in which to do that, free from oppression, but I’m wary of “make possible” language.

Great stuff! Let’s see if I can tie a couple of threads together and make a little more sense of this for my own edification.

I agree that the different eschatological perspectives of a Yoder or Hauerwas and a Benne are driving a lot of this, and I think that the question of violence & pacifism does come into play as a result, even though Benne isn’t explicit about it.

For Benne (and for the mainstream Catholic and Refomed-and, more ambiguously, Lutheran-traditions) the structures of the “larger world of economics, politics, and culture” are more or less given as “orders of creation.” That is, they are intended by God as the means by which humans cooperate in the care and sustenance of creation. And, as such, they are fundamentally good, and, at worst, morally neutral. They can be turned toward good ends or bad ends, depending on the character of the agent. Therefore, it makes sense that Christians should participate fully in these structures and attempt to “baptize” them by turning them toward the good.

Someone like John Howard, however, has a much more ambivalent attitude toward these structures. He identifies them with the “powers” of Pauline theology – the suprahuman forces that, while not fully under the control of human beings, nevertheless exert great influence on human affairs.

For Yoder, the powers are fallen, but are nevertheless under the Lordship of the risen Christ. However, they will only be fully subjected to his will on the Last Day. The state, for instance, is used by God to maintain order in a fallen world, but the means by which it does so do not fully express God’s will for creation or for relations between human beings.

In his study of Yoder’s thought, The Politics of the Cross, Craig Carter characterizes Yoder’s view of the powers’ relationship to the present reign of Christ this way:

The present age is characterized by the defeat of the powers by Jesus Christ by means of his resurrection and by his rule over them. However, “the present paradoxical state of the world” is seen in 1 Corinthians 15:20-28, which says that, although Christ is now reigning, not all of his enemies have yet been subjected to him. So, although they have been defeated, the powers still have great destructive capability and run rampant in the world. One day, every knee will bow “in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:10-11). D-Day has occurred but V-E Day is still future. (pp. 146-7)

Therefore, for Yoder, Christians cannot derive norms for their behavior from the structures of political, economic or cultural life that are supposedly “given” as part of creation. This is because the powers retain the mark of their falleness which distorts their true nature. For Christians, all principles of action have to be subjected to and measured by the norm of God’s revelation in Jesus.

How is this related to the issue of violence and pacifism?

For the mainstream, or what I’ve been calling the “realist”, tradition, violence almost inevitably winds up appearing “normal,” part of the “way things are.” For instance, if we take the nature of political authority as it currently appears in our world as given, we will conclude that, since it rests ultimately on the threat of violence, such violence must be proper to the functioning of society. The state exists to deploy violence against internal and external disturbers of the peace. Paul Ramsey, perhapst the most consistent advocate of this position, treats the use of force as morally neutral in itself; it belongs to the esse of politics, and the relevant moral question is determing the proper use of that force, or the benne esse of politics.

For the tradition represented by Yoder, on the other hand, the present behavior of the powers can’t unambiguously provide us with norms for behavior. Only Jesus can do that. This entails that Christians must follow their Lord in relinquishing the sword. Violence is not part of God’s intention for his creation. The church represents the “advance guard” of that new order that will only be fully revealed at the Parousia. The church is the place where Christians learn how to live into the kingdom, to steal Jennifer’s phrase. This is one sense in which I think it makes sense to say that the church is a new polis – it is where Christians learn to live under the Lordship of Jesus.

But if we are truly learning to live in the kingdom, it seems inevitable that we have to reject the world’s standards, which reflect a fallen world, not God’s ultimate intentions for it. This is the heart of Bonhoeffer’s critique of the Reformers’ justification of Christian participation in war (and other forms of violence) that I discussed briefly here. According to Bonhoeffer, the Reformers are asking us to divide our selves between a “public,” official self and a “private” self, and that only in our capacity as private selves are we supposed to follow the teachings of, e.g. the Sermon on the Mount. But, he argues, our whole self belongs to Christ, and there can ultimately be no such division if we are truly going to be disciples.

In a comment on this post Bill Keezer questioned whether torture should be prohibited in all circumstances, raising the wrenching hypothetical dilemma of a loved one who can only be saved from certain death by applying torture.

I tried to offer some reasons why one should never resort to torture, but it occured to me that I’m not perfectly clear on what exactly we mean by torture, and thus what kinds of actions fall under that category.

So, it seems necessary to ask: what is torture, and what distinguishes it from other uses of force or coercion?

Here, from the UN Convention against Torture, is an attempt at a definition:

… ‘torture’ means any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity. It does not include pain or suffering arising only from, inherent in or incidental to lawful sanctions.

(Emphasis added)

The highlighted parts seem to me to be a nod toward something like the principle of double effect. It’s not torture to inflict pain as a foreseeable but unintended side effect of some other legitimate sanction, or constraint, or whatever. In other words, to count as torture, the infliction of the pain must be intentional and is usually intended as the means to the end sought.

In the post I cited from Disputations, Tom quotes from the relevant passage in the documents of the Second Vatican Council:

… whatever is opposed to life itself, such as any type of murder, genocide, abortion, euthanasia or wilful self-destruction, whatever violates the integrity of the human person, such as mutilation, torments inflicted on body or mind, attempts to coerce the will itself; whatever insults human dignity, such as subhuman living conditions, arbitrary imprisonment, deportation, slavery, prostitution, the selling of women and children; as well as disgraceful working conditions, where men are treated as mere tools for profit, rather than as free and responsible persons; all these things and others of their like are infamies indeed.

(My emphasis again)

I think the notion of “coercing the will” gets at part of what we find so horrific about torture, apart from simply the infliction of the pain itself. The notion of coercing the will seems to imply an invasion of the inner sanctuary of the self – of reducing the self, soul or personality itself to a thing to be manipulated. This distinguishes torture from other forms of coercion which at least leave the will intact. For instance, the robber who says “Your money or your life” is undoubtedly engaging in coercion, but the victim’s will is still free to assent or not. If our dignity as human beings consists in part of our freedom of will, torture, to the extent it destroys this freedom, destroys the victim’s dignity.

None of this shows that the torture is categorically wrong, and there do seem to be some outstanding questions such as: How severe does pain have to be to count as torture? What about the threat of severe pain? Is that torture?

Hopefully, though, a clearer idea of what counts as torture will facilitate the understanding of its moral status.

So says Jacob Hornberger.

Godspy interviews Pat Buchanan.