To Adam

To Adam
—en medias res


We took prayer requests when Cathy
asked for the third week in a row whether God
would bring back her lost cat from the woods
only to be told that you
my dear Adam
named a cat a cat

that’s when there were lots
of cat prayers and sick grandpas and scratched knees
before we were all atheists come to hail and flaunt our individuality

it reminds me of how a giraffe gelding
plops out of the womb like a shit does
congealing the dirt with the slop
yet nevertheless is expected to soon become a
standing walking around all over the place
piece of shit

the pastor calls it childhood
the Sunday school teacher success
the parents love

Cathy turned out alright I guess
I saw her at the zoo with her children
teaching that a tiger is a type of cat and saying you
my dear Adam
named a cat a cat.

Scattered Thoughts

            This semester I’ve subjected myself to two of the more popularly feared texts in philosophy, Immanuel Kant’s “The Critique of Pure Reason” and Martin Heidegger’s “Being and Time.”              

             
           Years of imperiling myself to the tutelage of philosophers has prepared me for Kant, by the looks of it. In fact, I’ve  been surprised that so many find the Critique painful to read. It’s actually straight forward compared to the Prolegomena to Future Metaphysics--a summation of this first critique. Or maybe it’s that I’ve already been exposed to the Kant (to his categories) that I find him merely laborious, not complicated.          

            

             Reading Heidegger on the other hand gives me the same feeling as when water splashes up from those auto-flushing toilets in public restrooms. It’s a mix of horror and severe agitation and bad memories. It’s also character revealing. I admit to swearing openly and without remorse during certain reading sessions.

In any event, I’ve reached that point in my academic ‘career’ where I believe I have covered enough general philosophical material to feel comfortable in my categorical adaptability and methodological familiarity. Or, to put it negatively, I’m going to die eventually, so I’ve got to stop pretending like I can learn everything I need to before trying to do solid scholarship. It’s all very tragic: very Shakespeare’s Hamlet or any guy named Cecil’s romantic life; but I’m more or less obliged to attempt saying something positive at this point.

 My thesis on Heidegger aims very much to do this. As far as my research shows, nobody, not even theologians, are discussing Heidegger on religious experience tout court. I’m on my own, as it were. I get to create the theoretical atmosphere: it’s upshots and downsides.

I’m not worried. And I feel relaxed and calm because I’ve matured enough to be disenchanted with academia. I always felt that there was never much too it even when I began, but at that point I still believed it more profound than I do now. It’s become more of a professional outlet than the sort of meta-search-for-the-truth-escapade it started as. Chesterton talks about how, after a while, you are no longer impressed by one idea over another, and become an ideological lion tamer. Wittgenstein says what? Ok, cool. *Whoopaah! Sit Mufasa! So whether with this thesis I make a fool of myself or not makes little difference to me anymore. Right or wrong, it will amount to little more than idea.

Life consists in more than books and papers. It even consists in more than ideas (I realize the irony of saying that life consists of “X,” because, of course, “X” is an idea), however powerful and influential they may be.

A very good friend asked of me once, “If not books for you, then in what does life consist”? And I answered spasmodically, “loving people and dying.” And though I still think this true, I would (in the words of Dumbledore) amend my original statement to this, “loving people and having faith unto death.”

It’s a sort of Socratean, “true wisdom is the skill and practice of death” epitaph for myself. Or that, “If you lose  your life, you will find it” bit by Jesus.

It’s all very alarming at the existential level, on the deathbed I mean, knowingly casting  oneself into the cavernous, demanding vice grip that is hope. But it appears to me the eudemonia, the good life, the good death, even. And seriously, compared to this, what the deuce does Heidegger's import on religious experience matter?

(Fledgling) Thesis Proposal

            Heidegger on Religion Experience

            The absence of Heidegger in both recent and historical scholarship surrounding religious experience is somewhat puzzling. Given the volume of debates between perennialism and constructivism over the past century—that is, between phenomenological and reductionistic models for explaining religious experience—one might have anticipated Heideggerian interest piquing, at the very least, on the phenomenological side. Nevertheless, scholarship is scant, and the debates which do occur, occur under a Husserlian canopy.   
            Over the last decade or so these debates have reached something of an impasse, with scholars tweaking stock arguments to fit new research data or theory. In 2000 the perennialist Robert Forman called for, “a truce in the twenty years,” saying (in the summarizing words of Ann Taves) that the debate, “had reached a dead end.” Admittedly, the conversation grew cyclical, with both sides doing more and more couched (or open) defenses of their worldview and less ground-breaking scholarship. Both sides accused the other of defensive strategies; both sides exposed the weaknesses of the other. And though the debate has never grown violent, it has probably gone as far as it can.
            At issue is whether intense religious experiences are, on the one hand, sui generis:  transcendently caused and unaffiliated with naturalistic explanations (as espoused by Otto, Wach, Eliade, Smart, Forman, Baranard, etc.), or, on the other hand, reducible to cultural, linguistic, or biological causes (as espoused by Weber, Durkheim, Freud, Katz, Proudfoot, Taves, etc).  At best, the phenomenological scholars have succeeded in locating the requisite phenomenological conditions necessary to produce sui generis experience— if there is such a thing. Id est, the religious phenomenologists have perhaps shown that sui generis religious experience is not logically impossible. At best on the other side, the reductionistic school has located a number of requisite cultural, linguistic, and biological conditions without which religious experience would be impossible. They have not, however, succeeded in reducing more sophisticated, hybrid experiences. For example, physiological condition “A” may be said to be necessary to a religious experience but not sufficient, especially—say the perennialists—where transcendent intervention is a necessary condition.
            When William James first distinguished individual religion from institutional religion in The Varieties of Religious Experience, he centered the discussion of religious experience around Husserl’s account of phenomenological experience, viz. the possibility of intentionality. By bracketing institutional influence on individual experience James allocated authority to the incorrigibility of phenomenological experiences. This was James’ primary contribution to the religious theory debate: an argument from authority based in intentionality. For James, mystical experiences, “usually are, and have the right to be, absolutely authoritative over the individuals to whom they come.”  Religious phenomenologists thereafter have employed more or less the same strategy.
            Rudolf Otto, for example, constructs his own argument from authority by grounding his mysterium tremendum—a trans-religious experience— on the incorrigibility of multiple phenomenological experiences. Like James, Otto thinks that since no one can tell John Smith that his experience did not appear to him the way it did, John is the authority on the matter, and we are at the mercy of his memory and communication skills. What Otto adds to the discussion is the fact that many Johns across time and space say exactly the same thing: that the experience is inexplicable and can only   be ‘known’ by direct contact with it. Otto infers from the ubiquity and similarity of these testimonies that something transcendent does, indeed, interact with people. This, again, is an argument from authority. But instead of being merely authoritative to the individual, like we find in James, Otto thinks that the similarity between cross-religious experience grants authoritative reliability to them, leaving even those who have not experienced the mysterium tremendum with good reason to believe in its legitimacy. If all the best authorities are saying that something transcendent interacts with them, who are those on the outside to disagree?
            Such were the beginnings of religious phenomenology. Of course, religious reductionists supplied their own counter-arguments, ranging from deconstructions of thinkers like Otto to upshot theory making. Not least among the reductionists is Wayne Proudfoot, who, to put it roughly, argues that religious language paradigms cultivate religio-centric experiences. Christians do not undergo nirvana, specifically, because Christian language, doctrine, and practice does not foster the disillusionment of self. Buddhism, however, does, which is why Buddhist monks undergo nirvana. Furthermore, and by implication, the ostensible similarities between the experiences of competing religious traditions is nullified. The mysterium tremendum is not universal because religious experiences burgeon out of their particular socio-lingual traditions.
            Once these reductions are admitted, biological reductionists like Ann Taves step in to fill the remaining gaps. After positioning herself under attribution theory—arguing that religious people attribute sacredness or ‘specialness’ to ‘things’ (objects, events, or relationships), using the religious system with which they are most familiar—she assigns these ‘things’ biological causes. Most engaging among her examples is how she explains felt presences (ghosts or otherwise) during sleep paralysis. At the risk of oversimplification, she argues that the threat activation system (TAVS), an alert system intended to warn against predators, activates during sleep paralysis. In cases where religious people are involved, attributions of transcendent agency are given to would be predators. Religious people , she says, tend to attribute agency in ideal, anomalous, or ambiguous situations.
            So much for the reductionistic school. The question to ask is to what degree Husserl has influenced the overall debate. As representatives of the phenomenological school, James and Otto show clear signs of Husserlian influence. Both build arguments from authority off of an account of intentionality. And obviously, if they depend on an account of intentionality, they depend on Husserl. After all, it was Husserl who first exposed philosophy to the rigors of the phenomenological reduction. If, for example, we turn to Husserl’s The Idea of Phenomenology we find him concerned almost exclusively with a bracketing methodology. Ignore everything but ‘that which is appearing,’ he says, especially ontological questions and categories. Only once ‘that which is appearing’ is our object of study can we begin an empirical analysis of what conditions of consciousness must be necessary for intentionality to occur at all.
            On the other side, the story of the reductionists consists in large part of reactions to the phenomenological school. As such, their theoretical apparatus (its questions and categories) developed out of the phenomenological school itself. Specifically, beyond the deconstructions of phenomenological theorists, the positive theory making of reductionists offers naturalistic instead of supernatural explanations for instances of religious experience. In short, the phenomenologists turned to ‘being’ and the reductionists followed. Proudfoot turns to language and culture; Taves turns to language and biology. What Husserlian impulses lead the phenomenologists to their work lead the reductionists to theirs.
            The debate rages on, but now that it has reached a ‘dead end’ of sorts, it would seem advantageous to the tradition to approach religious experience from a new angle. For this reason, I trust that Heidegger can offer an approach both close enough to be related and far enough away to generate new discussion. That is, he is still doing phenomenology of a type, not to mention a religiously minded individual. But he is not Husserl in that Being and Dasein take precedent over intentionality.
            So a myriad a questions confront us: does Heidegger give an account of phenomenology that has import on religious experience? If so, does it in any way deal directly with the historical/current debate between perennialists and constructivists? If it does not deal directly, is there a way in which his account may shift the perspective on religious experience to new grounds, creating a self-sustaining theoretical environment primed for new scholarship? Or, to put it positively, in the way that Husserl’s phenomenology has import on religious experience can Heidegger’s have import on religious experience?
            There are also more specific questions: can the deconstruction of history tell us anything about the evolution of the religious mindset, and therefore religious experience? Does the hermeneutic turn toward Being have any relationship with religious experiences? In what way do Dasein’s being in the world and religious experience ‘line up’? How does Sorge (or ‘care’) relate to the ethos of various religious institutions, and perhaps through a filtration process, religious experience?

The Twenty-Five

The Twenty-Five

The narrative hurries
till our cheeks slump down
like panhandlers do holding money their cans;
and our eyes drag their memories behind them:

breathing heavier walking the stairs;
eating less, sleeping less,
the narrative hurries.

An old man said to me while watching the stars,
“I trust you think these look the same to you as to me,”
and I said, “I don’t see why not,”
and he said, “of course you don’t;”
and then a pretty girl walked by and I said watching her,
“I trust you think she looks the same to you as to me”
and he said, “she doesn’t.”

In a graveyard, near a newborn plot burial,
grows a patch of four leaf clovers;
In a nursing home there is a perverted joke
about suckling babes.

the narrative hurries
like virgins hurry
and jokes hurry
and poems hurry.

now you can stick me in the gum-ball machine,
now you can count as high as me in Spanish;
I am a convenient percentage,
I am an adjective to the century.

I am a narrative
a narrative
a narrative that hurries.

"If Thy Penis Offend Thee"

 Essays on Essays Part #1: “Big Red Sun” By David Foster Wallace (Consider the Lobster, Back Bay Books, New York: 2006, 3-50).  


“If Thy Penis Offend Thee”

Originally, I thought I’d end up criticizing the ethics in David Foster Wallace’s essay “Big Red Sun,” which covers the AVN (Adult Video News) awards. And to some degree I will. But I cannot criticize his ethic of the porn industry because it is not clear to me that he has one. It seems, instead, that I am stuck carping on Wallace for something of which he seems constantly guilty: a story telling method which stifles or hides the strength or even existence of any argument. To my eyes, Wallace has the rather curious habit—at least in his essays—of taking a long time to say almost nothing.  

The perfect example appears in the first page of “Big Red Sun,” where Wallace begs men—certain self-mutilators exhausted by their own lusts—not to go through with castration or penis guillotining. “Stay your hand,” he writes, “hold off with those kitchen utensils and/or wire cutters. Because we may have found an alternative.” It’s a provocative beginning; really, it’s a provocative essay: mention of penises—or one third thereof—often has that effect. You wouldn’t want your mother to know you’ve read it.[1] But in any case, 47 pages make up the total of this essay, and yet Wallace never actually offers these men his promised alternative. I have searched the pages many times to no avail.

Of course, I grant that arguments and alternatives may be implicit to stories. Wallace, genius that he is, probably employs anecdotes in a didactic fashion all the time. But there are two reasons I disagree with this method of essay writing. The first has to do with the weakness of an ethical vocabulary in language paradigms—which I’ll get to shortly. The second is that anecdotes bypass the traditional essayist’s imposition: namely the act of assertion. It was either Frege or Pierce (I forget now) who first pointed out that the act of assertion implies a certain degree of commitment on behalf of the speaker: a willingness to defend or supply reasons for the truth of said assertion. Hence the traditional essay’s tendency to have a certain chutzpah about it;  it’s a ballsy act on behalf of the essayist. That’s why I can’t figure out why Wallace neglects the assertive balls to talk, if I may, ethically about porn balls. The two seem to hang together, as it were. The way I see it, when he opts for maundering within the narrative he opts for weakened prose.

You won’t find me guilty of the same sin—or, I guess, peccadillo.  Nor could you sensibly accuse Jesus and Freud of it—that is maundering—which is why I’ll bring them in on this discussion. Both of them have a knack for taking things to the extreme.

I often wonder, for example, what Freud would say about the fact that the porn industry has been dubbed the ‘adult’ industry. Probably he would balk at the notion, arguing that sexuality haunts us from infancy. “There’s very little adult about it,” I hear in a thick German accent. In fact, he’d probably want to say sexual sensitivity at large, whether taking the form of active prohibitions (usually religious) or commendations (like the porn industry), are a direct result of the ubiquitous sexual tension between mother and son. He is, without question, wrong concerning the universal applicability of the specifics—not to mention a bit suspect and creepy. But he is right about the ubiquity.

That is, Freud’s real insight lies with the interpretive range of sexuality, its causal connection and applicability to day to day living, how so much of human psychology and pragmatics hinges on vaginas and penises. It’s all very alarming and fantastic, for sure, but that’s what makes it important—and a bit funny too.

Is it any wonder why pornography dominates the American landscape in media, religion, and social politics? And what, by the way, is pornography if not a sexual instantiation of the easy access (pun intended) American motto? It’s flapjacks from the easy bake oven, if you know what I mean; it’s a sort of microwavable surf and turf, if you catch my drift.

But to return to the point, the classes of people with whom Freud is concerned—and who I wish to include in this essay—do not consist merely of porn industry employees, nor merely the men and men and women who purchase and partake of porn industry product. We also want to include those who repress and prohibit access to pornography because of a belief that it is immoral. In America this class usually consists of Evangelical social enterprises like ‘accountability partners,’ XXX.Church.com, purity ring seminars, and the like. I myself remember more sexual prohibitions during youth camp sermons than I remember gospel presentations. The American church (worldwide and historical) is as sexual an enterprise as any other, perhaps even moreso than most.[2]

And I think that the church’s staunch attitude toward sexuality comes from , among other things, [3]Jesus’ ethical radicalism. What, for instance, would Jesus have written had he been given the same assignment as Wallace? (For some reason an image of white Jesus wearing rimless glasses and writing on a journalist's notepad enters my mind and gives me a chuckle). If Jesus’ essay came in the form of a narrative, surely it would be a parable with a punch line, and not the empty prose or passivity of “Big Red Sun.” Surely not the spoken and articulate aloofness of, “stay your hand” without an alternative. I imagine, rather, that Jesus’ essay would consists in something near the exact opposite of what Wallace writes, something at once poignant and vulgar and shocking. Really, I see a fresh and amended Matthew 5:29-30: “If thy penis offend thee, grab thy kitchen utensils and wire cutters and saw it off”!  If we’re willing to pluck out eyes and cut off hands to join the kingdom of heaven , I see no reason why cutting of penises shouldn’t be included.

And you may dance however you like around the hermeneutics of Matthew 5:29-30. Odds are the majority of my readers (all 3 of you) haven’t done their homework, and it would be exactly that, a dance. So whether we are to take the passage literally, metaphorically, both, allegorically, as hyperbolic or quite seriously, or whatever is beside the point. Because the principle point Jesus is trying to make is true in all of these cases: immorality destroys human identity. Morality is a serious matter: the most serious of matters.  

You have to look at the vocabulary paradigm used by American (and historical) Christianity compared to class vocabularies that hide or stifle moral thought to see what I mean. [4] David Foster Wallace, as I’ve been arguing, avoids explicit moral vernacular in his essays. His language paraphernalia fostera a type of vocabulary that isn’t as much concerned with immorality as amorality, agnostic ethics, or moral ambiguity. His is not even like a Buddhist’s grammar, which generally wards off desire and then calls that warding off morality. I’m not saying that he cultivates an attitude of wretchedness; I’m saying he cultivates a type of that thinking that doesn’t think very much is wretched. It’s all tragically and obviously symptomatic of the times. Skepticism now covers the moral sphere where it belongs in the epistemic sphere,[5] truncating or atrophying the will toward action.[6] Or when an action does occur, especially sexual action, it happens to happen—it’s a matter of course, or an accidental property of high sexual tension.

So you have the dichotomy: a false one, I grant, but a useful one. Some of us are nonchalant about the porn industry and some of us are its greatest antagonists. I realize that many of us will oscillate between the two positions on a given day. But it seems to me—for reasons I have no space to express— that the good life consists in the moral life, and the moral life consists, at least in part, with a well thought out ethic concerning pornography. In other words, I am with Jesus on this one.

And tangentially, the moral life cannot consist merely in words but in deeds. “Because people to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just a matter of words too” (Faulkner). I myself do not bank on the historical fact of Jesus dying and rising again ipso facto because phenomenologists have demonstrated quite irrefutably that there is no such thing as any fact eo ipso­. It’s why ultimately I think trying to analyze the semantic dialectic between faith and works in James’ epistle ends up a futile exercise. When you exclude the epistemological claims of modern Christianity from the program, you end up with faith concomitant with action. The proposition that Jesus died and rose again, on this model, no longer causes moral action, moral action is the faith. Moral action does not demonstrate that I have belief in Christ, I am (present tense) believing in Christ while doing the good. Faith in this sphere is not assenting to a proposition in any sense of the term, but concomitant with action, every moral act one of banking on the hope that Jesus did, in fact, die and rise again—even, if not especially, where that hope is a fool’s hope.

---

[1] Take for example this passage, “It is difficult to describe how it feels to gaze at living human beings whom you’ve seen perform in hard-core porn. To shake the hand of a man whose precise erectile size, angle, and vasculature are known to you. That strange I-think-we’ve-met before sensation one feels upon seeing any celebrity in the flesh is here both intensified and twisted. It feels intensely twisted to see reigning industry queen Jenna Jameson chilling out at the Vivid booth in Jordaches and a latex bustier and to know already that she has a tattoo of a right sundered valentine with the tagline HEART BREAKER on her right buttock and a tiny hairless mole just left of her anus.”

[2] Take a look, for example, at the range of sexual thought and activity within Christian history: Paul, on my reading, got stuck in the quagmire that is sexual pragmatics. Au fond  he says, “Look, if you’re a ravenous mammal, too bad for you. Hop on the sex train and get married if you must. But if not, singleness is a most excellent, nay, much better alternative.”[2] Augustine wasn’t much different, though he had the trouble of being much hornier. In Confessions  we find a chronicle of his sexual misadventure supplemented by a philosophical discussion with the Stoics tradition concerning humanity’s appetitive nature. St. Abelard, that great medieval theologian and philosopher, suffered famously for the sexual prowess of his youth, having been castrated by the father of his beloved Heloise. During the tryst he and Heloise spoke of little besides their love; later Abelard confessed his relief that sexuality no longer burdened him. John Milton, among others, believed pre-fall Adam and Eve could control their sexual impulses, literally kick-start them on command, as it were. Certain sects of Puritanism—or so I’ve been told—taught their followers how to circumvent sexual pleasure altogether, opting solely for sex’s procreative uses—a most religious and unfortunate bit of dogma, if you ask me. Ascetics, monks, priest, nuns, and many more have been and are putatively known for rejecting any sexual activity. I could go on to the point of boredom, and probably, Christianity would do well to be given a history of its sexuality.

[3] Among these things is the rabbinic tradition. The three Semitic religions, in fact,—and their respective offspring—likely account for the highest concentration on ethical awareness in the world. Something about the Adamic myth, the creation of being and its corruption through moral failure has reverberated through history.

[4]  To what degree Nietzsche is responsible for this shift in vocabulary I won’t venture a guess. Probably, I think, his project turned out just as much descriptive as prescriptive. But few would agree with me on that.

[5] I agree with the skeptics within the liberal arts tradition. The data, whatever it is, may be interpreted in any way, religious or no. We have no particular reason to be Christians or Buddhists or Atheists in any evidentialist’s sense. Our penchants and parents guide us, and neither are sufficient grounds for epistemic belief. That’s why I say quite seriously, that ‘no’ I do not know whether Jesus died and rose again. How could I? Even if I were there, on that blessed day, I could not know it wasn’t an illusion. After 7 years studying philosophy, its not clear to me that we can ever know anything in a useful sense of the term, not even differing versions of JTB theory which seemed so promising for so long work out the problem. So epistemologically, I am about as agnostic as they come. But it’s not quite so simple and easy to say that humans have the luxury of moral agnosticism. Heidegger is right to think that our throwness here—our here and nowness rather than there and theness—obliges us to be morally authentic. We are beings stuck in time, and our limitations require a type of being in the world: morality isn’t an option, it’s a state of affairs. We are either successful or unsuccessful. Where Heidegger went wrong was in thinking that empathy follows from authenticity and throwness, and that humanity can build an ethic off of it: though, certainly, much of Western society has tried. Without delving into an argument, the very language of empathy requires a tradition within which to arise and have meaning. And empathy, so far as it has meaning, has Christian meaning.

[6] I have to go with Aristotle view of akratic action on this one. People always do what they take to be the good, whether they are conscious of it or not, whether that good is explicit or temporal believed to be good, or not. What type of akratic action can agnostic morality support? Anything consistent? Authentic/? Anything at all where it does not have an operant Good besides we do not know what the Good is?

Excerpts From Essays I Will Probably Never Finish

1. Because of course the epistemological problem with Absurdism (and with a little finagling, Emotivism) is that it separates the Good from the true. Many atheists would be surprised at their own, latent Christianity (not to mention Platonism) at assuming the necessary relationship between true utterances and their value as truth. There is no such necessity. If I may borrow and abuse Kripke, the relationship of a truth to its value as truth is contingent a priori. Only given state of affairs “x” where objective value exists can we say that true utterance ‘U’ is objectively valuable. In state of affairs “y” where there is no objective value, and only true utterance ‘U’ obtains, a theory of the relationship between the value and true utterance is necessarily subjective: that is, arbitrary, sentimentally inclined, or more to the point, not actually valuable.

Thus for the Absurdist who says, “the world is ultimately reducible to axiological meaninglessness,” the value of that utterance as true only obtains insofar as it rises in conjunction with a preset theory of quasi-value. In comes Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus and the like: sentimentalists. To even be consistent with themselves these thinkers can only call a true utterance quasi-valuable when that utterance supports the overarching, preset quasi-value conditions each thinker supplies. This proves a difficult task for one very simple reason. These thinkers operate from the Western, nay, human belief that the true and the Good ‘line up.’ They think that the truth is objectively valuable.

2. The pride of Raskolnikov, of the underground man, of Kierkegaard, of Camus, of Kafka, all consists in one very true truth: they have guts and most people do not. But one mistake I’ve noted of which all these existential thinkers are guilty is the conflation of intellectual naivety and intellectual weakness. They are not the same. Some people are simply incapable of complex self-reflection or reflection on abstract qualia. I do not think these thinkers nor we are disgusted with this phenomenon. We are disgusted with something else.  (Granted this unintelligent class is smaller than people think: one symptom of the problem is that too many people think that too many people are incapable of complex thought.) What we despise is cowardice not weakness. We despise banal distractions and a mechanical existence. We despise the psychological road blocks by which people barricade themselves; we despise the safety net and the self-delusions. Really, the existentialists are probably the most honest people in all the world, and they can’t stand liars. Existentialists have stared at the absurd face to face, and find it difficult to tolerate those who have not.

3. I want to talk about a class of phrases. They go something like, “only God knows” or “God obviously doesn’t want us to know” or “it’s one of God’s mysteries.” Theologically I have no problem whatsoever with these phrases when they are used rightly. They act as logical placeholders which function within a theological framework meant to distinguish the greatness of God from the weakness of man. I get that. That’s obvious. But I have a very simple observation: most of the time that people use these phrases, they are not distinguishing between God’s greatness and man’s weakness, they are pussyfooting around intellectual issues. In other words either laziness or cowardice  results in intellectual cop-outs. This occurs 9 times out of 10, and it s stupid and sinful.

4.The word cautious is used when the word terrified is meant.  That’s half the trouble now. Caution probably should never have implied something negative. It should have meant something like, “look what happens when you abuse out this or that good,” not, “avoid that good because it’ll cost you if you abuse it.” This is one fundamental problem with Christian fundamentalism. It avoids goods like a Buddhist monk and calls it Christian. There is a difference between setting oneself up for failure and over-generalizing the dangers of, say, alcohol. It is the difference between struggling with alcoholism and the potential to struggle with alcoholism. Everyone has the potential to struggle with alcoholism. Likewise everyone has the potential to murder.  But we don’t advocate avoiding human contact because we might kill a few of people. Why do we avoid alcohol if we only might become alcoholics?

Fundamentalists might answer that the proclivity for alcoholism is greater than murder. In the first place this is simply false. Many have murdered and turned to alcohol for consolation, not the other way around. Proclivities are particular to persons. This brings me to my second point: to talk of universal proclivities is an example of the ridiculous fundamental generalization. Fundamentalists generalize because fundamentalists are lazy thinkers and psychological weaklings. They want their rule fixed so they can follow it without having to think about particulars. They do not want to see Bob the man, how on Saturday he can have this proclivity and Tuesday not, how Bob might intentionally change his proclivities for the sake of God and the church, how Bob might transform altogether simply as a matter of course and never desire a drink, or how Bob might continue to struggle with alcoholism. They want a formula; they want to reduce Bob to sentence, as if a man were merely ‘an alcoholic’ or ‘a recovered alcoholic’ or ‘a recovering alcoholic.’ They want to say, “Well, since alcohol destroyed Bob’s life, we should all avoid it too.” But the trouble is that this is logically equivalent to saying, “Well, since Mary’s marriage destroyed her life, we should avoid it too.” The evil is not the thing, but the abuse of the thing. The thing itself is good. Because obviously there are goods which, unlike food and water, are not necessary to living—alcohol and marriage—which are disastrous when abused but good when not. That’s what the fundamentalist will never understand. Proper drinking is a beautiful thing, a laudable practice, a Christian virtue. And when he does not participate in it in the right way, he intentionally ignores a part of God’s creation. It would be like waking up at dawn and refusing to look at the sunrise for fear that one might commit idolatry. The beauty of nature can make us idolatrous, but does it follow that we should walk around blindfolded?

Scattered Thoughts on Method

         I have a penchant for putting the Christian faith in awkward situations. What happens, I often wonder, when you run this or that idea through the theoretical machinery of Christianity? Sometimes I think the machinery fails. That is, one particular brand of Christian theory fails, and a better, more suitable theory must be found to replace it. In the end, this method will probably result in me converting to Eastern Orthodoxy, or something. For now, however, it has only resulted in the near total abandonment of Evangelicalism.

        The problem with this method, I’m afraid, is that I have been raised by and large within an Evangelical setting. So when I say ‘Christian’ I conflate it, and was taught to conflate it, with ‘Evangelical.’ Really, when I say anything ‘Christian’ I probably mean something ‘Evangelical.’ At the very least, my starting stock vocabulary is Evangelical. This is tantamount to saying that I have a biased and prejudiced psychology informed by my vocabulary. We all do. In fact, the salient trait I’ve noted about converts to atheism is the narrowness of their views on Christianity. Rarely do they mean Christianity at large: of my atheist friends in this country, most live on the Eastern seaboard, and by Christian they mean Eastern seaboard Evangelicalism and the theoretical framework it espouses.

        But I know better than that, and realize that the actual facts place Evangelicalism on the fringe of Christian belief—historically, and, in more ways than ten, doctrinally. Ask any contemporary religious theorist, and he will tell you how little work has been done of those odd Evangelicals. Don’t take what I’m saying too far, though, I’m cheating (and so are the theorists) when I use ‘Evangelical’ as if its an agreed upon term. It isn’t. It can mean fundamentalist/ emergent/ anarchist/anti-intellectualist/solo scripturalist/ Calvinist/ Presbyterian/ Baptist/ American / superstitious/ emotivist/ etc/etc/etc. Depending on who you talk to it can be a positive or negative term. Any of these terms can. Fundamentalists do not take offense to being called fundamentalists: they take pride in it. The same with Calvinists and solo scripturalists. As far as I’m concerned, of course, they’re all something equivalent to a clown in a ball pit at the end of a rainbow. But in any event, what I mean when I say Evangelical is informed by the environ within which I grew up. Probably it is a useless word.
        So what am I talking about? If I had the space, and you had the patience, I would give numerous case studies to show what exactly happens in the process of theoretical paradigm shifting. There is a psychology to it. What happens to the literal/eternal view of hell, for example, when you ask the question, “how can God be a just God and require infinite punishment for finite sin”? If you don’t have counter-intuitions, fine, but it’s not because the question isn’t problematic to the view, it’s because you don’t understand the problem. The fact that you neglect the problem demonstrates something about the weakness of your curiosity, not the weakness of the problem. And if, as an alternative view, something like Annihilationism doesn’t, intuitively (and prima facie), solve the problem for you, then you are stilted yet again for some reason or another. In these cases, the problem is not the weakness of the proposed criticism or solution, it is the receiver of said criticism or solution. Where the idea cannot even be understood, how can it be said to be wrong?
        Anyway, its the intuition or counter-intuition I’m after, and I’m after them because I’m after the psychology of theorizing.  Theoretical shifting occurs through the conduit of intuitions, not beliefs or knowledge. What happens when the very intuitions we have are biased in favor of this or that system? All intuitions are biased. What happens, moreover, when the very systems we appeal to are biased in favor of intuitions? All systems are biased. Do we dive into the hermeneutic circle, letting our intuitions inform our overarching theories and our overarching theories inform our intuitions? Probably the answer is that we have no option in the matter, and yes. Time to strap on our speedos and take the plunge.  

        I think when we engage theory this way we find that the dialectic will push us toward a more prominent theoretical structure. I think this method will keep us vigilant and always willing to learn. I think this method will ensure that we have to hold more beliefs in abeyance than we wish—a sort of willing suspension of belief thing. I think this method will make us agnostics, but not dogmatic agnostics.